Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It happened too fast for him to keep up.

One moment, they’d been content, tired, and worn out from days of battle. But they’d been rescued. Safe, or something like that. Nick had been stiff with distrust, of course – “if anyone had known what they were doing, we’d never have been in this mess in the first place!” – but they’d been safe from the Infected. Safe from danger. Rochelle had been drifting off into slumber, despite the amazing amount of racket from the helicopter. Ellis was just dancing in his seat with giddiness (“A helicopter? Cool!”), and Coach had been settled and thanking God for mercy.

It had been a growl that had brought his attention. Ellis had been gazing out the side with wide eyes at the forestry below, Coach’s eyes were closed, Rochelle was too half-conscious to notice anything. Nick looks towards the cockpit, eyes widening when he saw their pilot clambering out with wild eyes and a snarl contorting his expression. As they’d only had the one, inexperienced guy picking them up, Nick had been able to sneak his pistol onboard without much trouble. He hadn’t even had to take it off his person.

Ellis’ head lifted at the sound of an Infected snarl growing closer, and he twisted in his seat to investigate, eyes wide and horrified. Coach’s eyes snapped open and he grabbed Rochelle’s arm to rouse her. The helicopter had started swaying just as Nick had stood up, taking aim and killing the “zombie” without a second thought. Ellis gaped at him, horrified – “Nick, you shot the pilot!”

The hillbilly had already been about to unbuckle himself and get up as well, but Nick snarled at him to stay put just as the flying mechanism jerked violently. He lost his footing, his head slamming into vibrating metal and the world spinning away into darkness.

“NICK!”

…

The landing had been painfully harsh, chopper blades snapping loudly and flying through trees as they spun and skidded to a stop, the wet ground beneath them soaked enough to keep the gasoline-filled tank beneath them from igniting. For a long moment, they were sitting in shaken silence. Ellis could hear Coach’s rattled nerves, he could practically feel Rochelle’s heartbeat even though he wasn’t sitting next to her. He couldn’t even muster up his sense of humor to lighten the mood.

After taking a moment to regain his sense, he all but tore off the belts holding him in place and stumbled out of the chopper, green eyes frantically searching the area. He could hear Rochelle and Coach fumbling around behind him, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that he wasn’t armed, Ellis would’ve gladly risked alerting all the nearby zombies and started cawing for Nick.

He’d seen the man’s head connect with the side of the helicopter moments before he’d lost his footing and fell right out of the thing altogether. If it chopper hadn’t chosen that moment to start spinning in midair, he’d probably have thrown himself out after the conman. As it was, he’d just about yelled himself hoarse when he’d seen the fall. There was – even in his naturally optimistic mind – no way Nick could’ve survived that fall. They ‘d flying above the trees, and it wasn’t like they could count on there being a nicely sized, very durable trampoline to be conveniently place right where the pessimistic man had landed. No way.

But still, he couldn’t bring himself to imagine that Nick was dead.

Someone grabbed his arm roughly and turned him around, startling him out of his wits. Oh, right, he was still accompanied by two other survivors.

“We got to move,” Coach was no-nonsense, “We ain’t armed and that racket probably just attracted everythin’ in a hundred mile radius.”

Ellis’ lips parted, but no sound came out. He nodded mutely, swallowing hard as he suddenly remembered that, yes, they were in massive amounts of danger. Again. They paused for just a moment to scan the trees, looking for anything – lights, signs of previous life… anything to point them in the direction of shelter. There wasn’t anything, though. Rochelle glanced to the sky, looking for the direction of the setting sun.

She hiccuped slightly around her words as she spoke, pointing into the dimming forest, “West is that way,” she forced out, lowering her hand and smoothing out her shirt briefly, trying to keep herself calm after what’d just happened, “We go f-far enough that way, we’re bound to find something…”

Coach nodded, “Good enough for me,” he agreed, glancing at Ellis. The brunette nodded again, still wrapped up in his own thoughts. Nick? Dead? No, that… that couldn’t be right. He had half a mind to tell them they should head in the direction they’d flown from; maybe they could find the conman. Despite Coach’s reservations about traveling with someone like Nick, the lot of them had become pretty close. Sure, Nick was still a pessimist and never passed up an opportunity to tell Ellis to shut up, or to insult the Midnight Riders, or to flirt shamelessly with Rochelle in the worst of moments, but he was still one of them.

Losing him made Ellis feel impossibly mortal and he didn’t like it. He’d never been so painfully aware of the beating, fragile heart in his chest, or the lungs that could be filled with blood, or the bones that cracked all too easily, or the danger that surrounded his every living moment.

He couldn’t guarantee that he was going to live, and if anything in this rotten world scared him, it was that particular piece of knowledge.

…

God only knew where he was in the world.

Actually, scratch that. God probably didn’t know either.

Despite falling out of a helicopter, Nick didn’t feel particularly injured. His throbbing head was currently the only part of him that hurt in any way. Perhaps he’d landed on a nicely sized, very durable trampoline that had been conveniently placed right where he’d landed. Not likely, but entirely possible. He sucked in a deep breath, slowly cracking his eyes open. It was dark, wherever he was, and quiet. He couldn’t see the sky, and upon closer inspection he discovered that he was actually under a roof.

He honestly had no interest in aggravating his headache, but he wanted to know where he was and what had happened. So, after a moment’s deliberation, he carefully began lifting himself up. Once in a seated position, he looked around the shelter and swallowed to wet his throat. It was too dark to really see anything, but he was able to pick out a few key objects – a relatively shredded sofa, a broken wood stove, a table with two chairs, the third smashed up in the corner of the room. Whoever had brought him here, they appeared to have tried to “tidy up” by shoving things into corners. But that person was nowhere in sight. Perhaps they’d gone scavenging or something.

Whatever the case may be, Nick didn’t like the deep claw marks he spotted on the walls. Almost like someone had been sharpening their claws on it, but way too large and high up to be the work of a cat. And he was pretty sure there weren’t any tigers around the area. At least, none that would rescue him from certain death.

He cleared his throat, testing the surroundings. Nothing around him stirred or started at the sound. He was alone, at least for now. Slowly, Nick swung his legs to the side, standing up from the musty, uncomfortable mattress-like object he’d been laying on. He worked his way over to the nearest window and peered outside. It was quiet out there, but way too dark for him to be traveling alone.

And unarmed, the conman reminded himself in mild frustration, patting his hip just to be sure. He was unarmed and alone. Unless whoever rescued him from certain death was willing to hand over a gun or two from wherever, he wouldn’t be able to even try finding that chopper. He had no idea if the others were alive, but he wasn’t about to risk his own life to try finding them when he had no idea which way that helicopter had even gone and the woods around him were pretty much pitch black. He’d wait until morning. Surely by then that person would be back and they could have a calm discussion about the immediate future.

Nick muttered a curse to himself. If they had survived, they would probably assume he was dead and start working their way west without him. His chances of catching up were low, but perhaps they had also stopped for the night. Even if they had, though, it was going to take him time to catch up with them. What if they found a car, or got a ride from another chopper? He didn’t exactly like being stuck with three strangers, but he didn’t want to be left out in the apocalypse by himself either.

Clicking his tongue agitatedly, he stepped over to the uncomfortable mattress he’d woken up on. He wasn’t going to get much sleep tonight, but he should at least try. It’d do him no good to be tired the following day. After packing the moldy blankets against the wall, he leaned back into them and closed his eyes. He was anything but comfortable, but he wanted to be in a position to see anyone (or anything) that came into the one-room house.

Nick sat there for at least two hours, waiting, before he decided to abandon waiting up for his rescuer.

Or captor.

He shuddered at the thought and sank back against the smelly cushioning behind him. Once he’d decided not to wait, sleep found him easily. He didn’t wake through the night, and Nick couldn’t help but be thankful for that. At some point in the night, he could’ve sworn he heard someone enter the house, but he didn’t let it wake him. He’d talk to the guy in the morning.

Chapter Text

That had been the plan, anyway.

Nick cracked open his eyes, shifting around blearily as he reminded himself of his current predicament. He rolled onto his back, not entirely clear on which point in the night he’d moved to lay down, and rubbed the heel of his hand into his eyes. The sound of footsteps startled him, and he froze instinctively. The footsteps stopped probably right next to him, and he heard a soft crack, like someone popping a joint.

Nick cleared his throat, but there was no responding remark from the person standing (or crouching, perhaps) next to him. He sat up, shaking the rest of the sleepiness from his mind, and looked up at the person beside him.

As he’d suspected, they were in a crouch, nails scraping gently against the floor. What he hadn’t suspected was the length of those nails, or the grime and blotchy bruising on those hands, or the hood of a dark hoodie pulled up to shade most of the boy’s face. A pair of light green eyes (they practically glowed they were so bright) looked him up and down, head to toe. Nick flinched when one of those clawed hands reached up and scratched at the matted hair beneath the boy’s hood, and shrank back instinctively when he suddenly stood up.

The boy cleared his throat, and Nick wasn’t entirely sure if he was doing that because he needed to or if he was mocking the conman. Either way, the boy turned from his prey (because that was what Nick was to one of these freaks; just another hunted animal waiting to have its throat ripped out) and walked over to the stove that was apparently not broken because it was turned on and the Hunter was poking at something that smelled dangerously delicious with what might’ve been a steak knife but also could’ve been a stick. Nick stared, lost somewhere between nerve-wracked and confused. He couldn’t find his voice, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. For all he knew, that thing was going to start tearing off limbs to stick into his pot of soup but god that smells so good almost like chicken noodle I am so hungry.

His stomach made an audible sound, and he nearly punched it. The Hunter turned to glance at him, and he couldn’t tell what kind of expression it was making because he couldn’t see the top half of its face. Ugly brown hair was draped in front of its eyes, matted together with what looked like mud and possibly dried blood. His stomach lurched, but that might’ve also been hunger-related nausea.

The Hunter lifted a clawed hand, gesturing at him directly and then brandishing at the couch. He didn’t move. The thing didn't move for a long moment, and Nick wondered if it was thinking about something. Assuming that the thing could think at all.

Well, that's not entirely fair. There is a certain amount of thought necessary to work a stove.

It glanced back at the pot, poking it again with the stick-that-might’ve-been-a-knife before turning off the stove (how was that thing still working it looked like a gas stove where in the hell would a Hunter find gasoline no how would this thing even know what gasoline is) and looking back at Nick. The conman hadn’t budged even a quarter of an inch. He didn’t dare. He knew all about these things. Ellis practically attracted them. He was perfectly aware of what they were capable of, what they did to non-infected persons.

It frowned this time, but only very slightly. He couldn't tell if that was irritation or not. He flinched again, shifted back when the boy crossed the room again, crouching down in front of him. They stared at each other for a long time. It gestured at him again, then towards the couch.

“W-…” Nick’s throat chose that moment to start working again, “What? You want me to go sit on the couch?”

The Hunter stared at him for a long, long moment, and then nodded very slowly, as if it thought he might not understand such a motion. Don’t you give me attitude you little

The Hunter stood up, and stared down at him, waiting. Nick rose carefully, suddenly aware that his tension was making his head start to pound. He paused once he was standing next to the incredibly short stature of the Hunter who appeared to have kidnapped him, one arm seeking out the wall. The boy lifted a hand, looking like he was ready to catch him. But Nick steadied himself, and glared at the Hunter with all the strength he could muster around his throbbing temporal lobe.

For some reason, the thing nodded. What, was that approval? It walked away, heading back towards the stove, and Nick trailed several steps behind, veering towards the couch and sitting down. Despite looking like it’d seen the moodiest days of a cranky panther, it was reasonably comfortable, like a seat that had been worn in just enough. He stared hard at the Hunter as it scavenged around the cupboards, looking for something. Perhaps if he stared hard enough, he’d be able to see into its brain and figure out what the hell it was thinking.

After rummaging around for a few minutes, the boy pulled out a tired mug, tracing his fingers over a crack on the edge as if to determine if that crack would leak.

Nick watched, slightly dumbfounded, as the Hunter dipped the mug into the pot of whatever-the-hell-that-was, filled it up, produced a slightly rusty spoon, and brought it over to him.

They stared at each other for a long, long time. Nick wasn’t known for trusting people, let alone zombie-people who were usually known to have torn his throat out long before handing him a mug of soup. He tentatively received the mug, looking down at what he’d been given. It was definitely chicken noodle.

“Where the hell did you find a chicken,” Nick grumbled. The Hunter tilted his head, before indicating the counter. Nick spotted the empty can of Campbell’s easily enough, and he frowned. Hunter’s weren’t supposed to know anything that didn’t involve the proper method of killing people. At least, that had been his assumption. Was this common? Was it common for one of these freaks to kidnap a person and feed them Campbell’s? Was he going to be let go? Or was this kid gonna stuff him like a Thanksgiving turkey, ready for slaughter?

He hadn’t even realized that he’d pretty much inhaled the mug of soup until he heard the spoon clattering around the bottom of it. The Hunter was staring at him, and once again Nick found himself wishing he was telepathic.

“What the hell are you planning, anyway?” He snapped, ignoring the way the beast flinched at his tone. It didn’t respond at first, and then Nick was sure it shrugged. His eyes narrow suspiciously as he placed the mug on the cracked coffee table in front of him and leaned back against the couch. He settled for glaring hatefully at the thing, hoping he was getting his point across.

…

The guy was definitely getting his point across.

He stepped away from the well-dressed man, wanting to give him some space before he started throwing things. The guy was glaring at him furiously, and quite frankly, he didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t what he’d been intending. This guy was supposed to be all thankful for being rescued. Hell, he made the bastard brunch! What did a kid have to do to get a little gratitude?

But, Dal supposed, he couldn’t blame him. He hadn’t looked at himself in a mirror in a long time, but he was sure he looked like something straight out of Hell. He was covered in countless scars that marred his body and face. He didn't know where most of the injuries had come from, but when he'd waken up after his initial blackout, he'd been covered in claw marks and had scratched up his face pretty badly. He wasn't sure if it had even finished healing yet. He didn't have a clue how much time had passed since he'd been bitten in the first place.

He wanted to start swearing in frustration, but it wasn't like he could talk so such a thing was impossible anyway. Besides, getting angry in this situation was a bad idea. He also didn’t want to leave and take a walk, because he was afraid this stranger would run off at any given moment. Dal turned away from the man, stepping over to a window and peering outside. There were a couple of crazies pacing around outside, a pair punching and kicking each other near the edge of the small clearing.

This cabin wasn’t his; he didn’t know whose it was. He’d found the place before his fever hit and he blacked out, and had turned it into something akin to “his own.” That is, he shredded the place in what had probably been some insane frenzy while he'd had his fifteen minutes/hours/days of mind loss. He swallowed to wet his throat, lowering his head slightly and pressing his forehead to the boards that covered the cracked glass.

He heard movement behind him and turned around, seeing the suited man standing up and staring at the door. Anger was creeping up around his mind, but he pushed it down. No, he wasn’t going to do anything rash here. This was going to be a calm exchange.

“I need to go and catch up with the rest of my… group.” The guy stated, looking uncertain. He probably had no idea whether or not Dal understood him. There was a lengthy pause.

Dal, knowing there wasn’t another way for him to communicate, shook his head insistently. His companion (who was not a captive) raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“You can’t keep me here.”

He put a hand on his hip and worked his body language until it clearly read; Oh really?

There was another pause. Dal watched the man take a few stabilizing breaths, scowling darkly and looking around himself as if he thought a door might magically appear. Finally, he turned to Dal, determination in his eyes, and started towards the door.

“I’m leaving.”

The desperate anger came back as suddenly as it did violently, and all he could think of was how lonely he was, how he didn’t want to be ignored anymore, and how he wouldn’t let this guy leave him here by himself again.

He let out a snarl unintentionally and shot forward, stopping in front of the door and shrieking angrily, wishing his throat and mouth would work properly so he could just tell him what was wrong, why he couldn't just leave...

The guy stopped in his tracks, froze for a moment in fear, but didn’t back down. Dal wasn’t sure if he was stupid for assuming that he wasn’t going to hurt him, or if he had figured out that Dal didn’t want to hurt him. The guy continued forward, stopping less than two feet away.

“Get out of my way! I’m not staying here!” He snarled, and Dal could see the stress, he could see how his carotid was pounding against his throat that’d be great to rip open then maybe he'd be able to physically experience my emotional pain the rat bastard, he saw the way his hands clenched and unclenched with nervousness fear he’s afraid he’s afraid of me he has no reason to be frightened I'm not going to kill him I just don't want to be alone anymore, the strange wildness in his eyes as they darted around looking for an escape route there's no way I'm letting you leave me here no way…

Dal tried to say something, but what came out instead was a deep snarling sound, warning him to back off unintentionally. Even so, he wouldn’t back down. He was just going to leave. He’d leave and Dal would be alone, again, like he had been since birth. Ignored. Unwanted.

Forgotten.

His chest was burning and aching, but that wasn’t what he reacted to. No, he saw his captive shift, like he was about to make a mad dash for one of the boarded windows, and Dal snapped. He snapped because he didn’t want to be abandoned again. He didn’t want to be forgotten about. He wanted to seen. He wanted to be heard. It didn’t matter to him anymore whether the attention was negative, hateful, cruel. It didn’t matter if all he received were taunts and threats and insults, if someone would just talk to him. If somebody, anybody would say his name, let him know that he’d been thought about, even if it was only fleeting…

He threw himself at the man before he knew what he was doing, slamming him into one of the walls harshly. His fists balled up around the lapels of the once-white blazer, yanking his prisoner (because this person wasn’t a companion, he would be a prisoner because he didn’t want to be here and Dal didn’t have the emotional fortitude to accept that there was just one more person in the world who didn’t want him around) forward and staring into his gray-green eyes wildly, searching for something that might give him a spark of hope for his situation. But he couldn't see anything but the fear. Fear because Dal had a fist clenched, reared back and ready to commit an act of assault against a this perfect stranger. Fear because Dal was growling and gasping with anger and his pupils were blown, and all he could see around the fact that he was unwanted was the fact that he was, evidently, frightening.

No, no, no I don’t want this. I just want you to see me. See me . I want you to say my name sometimes, I don’t care if it’s because I’ve done something wrong or dangerous and you’re just yelling at me to get my act together, just please see me look at me and see me and notice things about me even if they’re bad things please I don’t want to be ignored I don’t want to be forgotten…

His eyes were burning and stinging and he hated it but he didn’t care. He didn’t care because this person was going to leave him alone, forget about him, ignore his existence, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want that. He wouldn’t allow it. There had to be a way to keep him here. There had to be. He couldn’t let him leave.

I bet if I broke his leg, he wouldn’t be interested in going anywhere .

More of that horrible, primal anger rose up from the depths of his mind, gripping him tightly and murmuring suggestions of violent solutions in his ear. His murky black-brown hair hung in front of his eyes, shielding the mess of terrible thoughts roaming around his imagination. I could break him. Easily. I could keep him from running away.

The man was frozen, eyes wide, lips parted as he pressed himself against the shredded walls as though he might be able to sink through them. Those gray-green eyes snapped shut as Dal's fist jerked, ready to actually start hitting him, but he stopped. He stopped because he knew that it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter if he broke the guy’s legs, it didn’t matter if he bashed his head in just a little more so he turned into a vegetable. It wouldn’t change the fact that he didn’t want Dal around.

He doesn’t want me around.

He lowered the hand he’d almost used to beat his prisoner to death, heaving gasps and blinking away the tears threatening his composure. Why did it always have to be like this? Why didn’t anyone want him around? Was this a punishment? Was he repenting for some stupid stunt he’d pulled in a past life?

No, no, no, he commandeered his thoughts back to the problem at hand. This guy wanted out. But Dal didn’t think he could spend one more night alone, ignored, unwanted, forgotten…

He pulled back, releasing his captive. This was a stupid idea. If this guy got a gun, he’d kill Dal in an instant. No hesitation. No remorse. That was how the world worked now. He clenched his jaw, lowering his gaze for a moment. It wasn’t like dying would be a horrible thing at this point.

He grabbed the man by the sleeve and dragged him to the door, which he threw open. He shoved the man outside, and watched as he turned around, confused. Dal gestured towards the swampy forestry around them, glaring furiously. The guy stared at him with a strange expression, but his jaw set and he turned away, storming off towards the trees. He wouldn’t last two seconds without a gun, and Dal knew that.

But, he also knew that his captive knew that.

He started after him, his fists clenched. He caught up easily, and the guy heard him coming and turned, fist raised and eyes flashing with anger. Dal didn’t even flinch at the threat of violence. It wasn’t like this person would be able to take him out.

“Don’t follow me, you fucking freak!” He snarled, “The last thing I need is a goddamn psycho-zombie stalking me!”

At that, Dal winced, but he didn’t back down. Instead, to properly indicate what he was saying, he gestured towards his charge, towards the trees, and dragged his thumb across his throat. You’re dead if you go out there alone.

“You’re a fucking… No, you know what? Fine!” He yelled, brandishing a finger at the Hunter, “The second I find a gun, you’re dead.”

There was a long pause, and Dal lowered his head. Obviously, the guy didn’t want him around. But still, it hurt to hear it put into words. He took a shuddering, calming breath, and look at the guy again, defiance coloring every fiber of his being. Fine. So he was dead meat the second this person got his hand on a gun. So be it.

Death couldn’t possibly be worse than this.

Chapter Text

A couple hours later, Nick was wondering. He felt that, while his initial reaction had been fairly exaggerated, it was completely justifiable. He could justify it further by thinking of reasonable comparisons; Batman waking up with the Joker treating his injuries; Al Qaeda offering to rebuild the Twin Towers; a serial murderer babysitting the child of the woman he’d just killed. Sure, they were pretty drastic comparisons, but it made him feel a little better about over-reacting.

But, had that been an over-reaction? What could be considered an exaggerated reaction, anymore? Was it reasonable or unreasonable to shoot a teammate in the foot after they accidentally shoot you? Was it a big deal or a little deal if you finally caught up to your wife of twenty-six years, only to find out that she’d been sleeping with your best friend in your absence? The whole situation was reminiscent of a poorly-made drama series. The kind that ended with everyone dying because the writers had no clue what else to do with the show by season three.

Sure, the situation had a dramatic twist added to it, but really, what was the big deal?

Of course, it wasn’t a question he really needed to ask or have answered. He knew what the big deal was. The big deal was that his new traveling companion was an zombie teenager. The big deal was that it hadn’t killed him.

Yet. He made sure to remind his brain that he had no reason to trust that this thing wouldn’t suddenly turn on him. Wasn’t that how rabies worked? Something about mood swings and hallucinations, right? It was perfectly sane for him to imagine that this Hunter might suddenly start seeing a giant, juicy Nick-steak and tear into him. Right?

It’d been two hours since they’d left. It’d been probably four to six hours since he had initially awakened in that cabin after the crash. The Hunter still hadn’t killed him, even in that long amount of time. The zombies weren’t supposed to be relatively stable individuals. Nick hadn’t seen any sign of the sociopath-style anger the creature had exhibited towards him back at the cabin. There hadn’t been any inconsistencies with its muted behavior. It just walked with him, in silence, bright green eyes darting around the area.

“This sucks,” he informed the trees around him. It was probable that the stupid Hunter didn’t even understand him. It turned towards him at the sound of his voice, but didn’t make any offer of a reply.

No, that’s not right, he thought, part of him disappointed and a little irritated at the revelation, he was perfectly responsive and engaged in “conversation” earlier. He does understand me.

That meant that he probably couldn’t get away with treating the kid like a dog and teaching him tricks like “fetch” and “kill that zombie.” In fact, if he was even going to expect the brat to not leave him for dead in the face of a horde, he’d need to find a way to make a peace offering. This wasn’t going to work in his favor if he didn’t have the kid on his side. Sure, it seemed fairly bent on following him around, but that didn’t necessarily mean that it’d protect him or watch out for him.

He smiled ever so slightly, suddenly feeling like he was playing catch with a time bomb. He needed to play his cards right. He was a conman – a gambler. He’d played Russian Roulette, he’d had poker tournaments with the mafia, he’d lied and cheated and stolen his way to get whatever he wanted. He’d been playing with fire since he was eight, and he’d never been caught in a con.

For some reason, the idea that he might get to play one last con brought a brightness and shine to his outlook on life. He’d always loved the feeling, the rush of danger and uncertainty. He could be confident, but he could never be sure.

He could make this work. This stupid kid wouldn’t know the difference between being helpful and being used. He could do this with his eyes closed and his hand tied behind his back.

This would work perfectly. He just needed to act; to pretend that he was warming up to the Hunter, that he’d begun to trust it. It was indeed a fine line to walk, but he could do it. It wouldn’t be hard. He’d been married twice on false pretenses. This would be a cakewalk.

He glanced over at the Hunter, who didn’t look up. He felt rather like a drug dealer at a playground – this Hunter couldn't have been older than 17. But it was a dog-eat-dog world, and if he was going to survive, he needed to use every tool in his possession. This was something he needed to do, that was all.

He looked ahead again, his jaw set and his eyes straying to the Hunter that seemed somewhat desperate to keep him around. It didn’t matter what kind of life the Hunter had experienced up until now. Everyone had their skeletons.

It’s survival, he told himself. There’s no room for morality in survival.

…

This over-dressed bastard obviously thought he was an idiot.

Honestly, he couldn’t really blame anyone for making such a deduction. It wasn’t like he could talk to prove any theories wrong. The only thing he’d proven himself able to say was the first half of his given name – “Dal.”

However, with his senses apparently enhanced, little changes and ticks didn’t escape his knowledge. His companion had a concussion, likely sustained before his fall. He’d been unconscious when Dal had caught him, and the teenager hadn’t missed the blood that had congealed amongst his companion’s black hair.

The guy was trying to hide his headache and nausea, but he wasn’t succeeding. Every so often, in increasingly frequent intervals, he’d press his palm into his gut and grimace, or run a hand through his hair. He had considered suggesting they stop, but Dal hadn’t yet been able to figure out a pantomime to explain that particular thought.

The man beside him sighed agitatedly. Dal was considering attributing the temper to the concussion, but he didn’t know this person well enough to make that deduction. For all he knew, this guy was just an asshole by nature.

He glanced over at the man when he cleared his throat, looking a little green, “Do you even know where we’re going?” His voice was strained, words spoken around a tense jaw. He was trying not to throw up. Dal could imagine he would probably lose that battle. The Campbell’s had probably been a bad idea.

Dal nodded in reply to his question, turning his attention back to the landscape in front of them, steering his thoughts away from dangerously hostile sarcasm. It was easy to get angry anymore, though he wasn’t sure if just a newfound function of his personality or not.

He stopped when he noted that the second set of footsteps had disappeared from his hearing and turned around. His nauseous traveling partner was bracing himself on a tree, eyes slightly wide and fist digging into his gut. His grey-green eyes slowly closed, his posture relaxing slightly.

He looked like he was ready to start walking again, but Dal stepped over to him and leaned up against a nearby tree. The guy needed a break – that much was clear. He sank into a crouch, staring at the man expectantly. Slowly, the man moved to sit down on the forest floor, one hand still pressed against his stomach. That all by itself was a little weird. Either his companion was feeling worse than he was letting on, or he had decided that arguing was a pointless exercise. The prospect that this guy could be feeling worse was a little disturbing. His face was pale and covered in a sheen layer of sweat. The physical exertion wasn’t good for him.

Dal had, in his short time as a reckless fool, sustained three different concussions of varying degrees. The second had been the worst. He’d been laid up in bed for days, more or less unable to move and definitely not interested in trying.

The point was that Dal knew all about head injuries – he’d done his research. He knew that it was dangerous to be traveling with a head injury when there were crazies running around and the risk of a second injury was high. If he thought he could talk the guy into it, he’d be more than willing to carrying his companion – he had already noticed his increased strength, so he could probably handle sprinting with an extra 170-or-more pounds on his back. It’d be much faster, and probably safer if he didn't run into anything or anyone. Unfortunately, there just weren’t enough crude hand gestures at his disposal.

He considered for a brief moment the option of simply picking the guy up against his will and running anyway.

“How do you know where we’re going?” Dal looked up at the sound of the man’s voice, blinking past his hair. The man was staring at him, still looking fairly ill. He was probably trying to distract himself from the discomfort. The guy was lucky that there was a person around who was willing and able to tend to him while he was hurt and otherwise unwell.

Dal reached up and tapped his nose to indicate that he could still smell the hot metal and gasoline from the helicopter. It’d crashed not much farther from their current location, and had made an incredible racket and stench in the process. If he had to guess, there were probably going to be a little more than a few crazies wandering around the crash site.

The man didn’t say anything else. Dal cleared his throat, working his jaw carefully as he pointed to himself.

“Da-…al.” He managed, throat croaking around the syllables. He frowned and tried again, “Dal.”

The guy stared at him for a long moment with an odd look on his face, somewhere between disbelieving and confused.

“Dal?” He repeated, “What’s…? Is that your name?”

At least he’d figured it out quickly. That meant good things for his cognitive function. Dal nodded in response, offering a smile of acknowledgment.

“I’m Nick.” Was the relatively quiet, unhappy reply. Dal nodded, committing it to memory. They lapsed into silence once again.

“How long are we going to sit here?”

Dal looked up at him, thoughtful. The color was starting to return to his face, and overall he looked like he felt better. Dal shrugged, gesturing towards Nick and then to the wooded area around them. Nick stared for a long moment, obviously taking the time to process what, exactly, Dal was trying to say to him.

Slowly, the man stood up. Dal followed suit, glancing around and sniffing the air. No signs of life. To be honest, he was a little surprised that they hadn’t been attacked while they’d been sitting there. But, he supposed, not every day could be a Monday.

…

Dal had led them through a particularly decimated portion of forest, keeping a careful eye on him the entire time. They’d done no more than exchange brief pleasantries and find civility amongst themselves. He reminded himself endlessly that this was what his intention were; that it was a good thing that Dal seemed to be warming up to him rather quickly. He hated the idea that he was being looked after by this freak, but it was convenient to him and that was all that really mattered. But even though he reminded himself of that, he couldn’t help but wonder too much about the kid. Why was he so eager to have company? Why was did he seem like it didn’t matter to him that Nick treat him terribly?

He knew better than to let those thoughts corrupt, though. Wondering turned into caring faster than anyone could ever be prepared for. He disciplined his thoughts down a carefully constructed path made up of how much he hated his situation and why he hated Hunters in the first place. It was those kinds of reminders that kept him away from the dangerous land of curiosity and giving a damn.

For example, he told himself to think about how much it was pissing him off that Dal seemed too keen to watch out for him. The Hunter had one eye on him at all times, it seemed, like he was worried about something. Nick had gone through his nauseous episode earlier, sure, but other than that he was fine. His head hurt, but he’d also smashed it into a helicopter less than a day ago. Having a residual ache after a blow like that was normal. The actual damage wasn’t even that bad. He had a nice cut on the back of his head, and probably a bump and bruise.

He’d been clocked before. Sure, he’d never taken a baseball bat to the skull or anything, but it wasn’t like he’d never been hit upside the head before either. It wasn’t nearly as bad as this Hunter seemed to be making it out to be.

He glanced at the kid again for a brief moment. What kind of nonsense went through this brat’s head? It was hard to read the kid – his facial expressions didn't always match up with the look in his eyes (on the occasions when Nick could see his eyes) and when he was expressing something, it was very slight and difficult to even notice. Whether that was a function of his illness or related to his actual personality, Nick couldn't tell.

When they'd had their little altercation an hour or two ago, Dal had vocally expressed anger, and his eyes had burned with a fierceness that Nick hadn't seen since his father had died. But, despite his physical assault and vocalizations, he hadn't expressed much emotion at all. The only movement on his face had been when he looked like he was trying to work his jaw, but was snarling instead of talking.

Jesus Christ. What did you just say, Nick?

Uh... oh. Oh. Yes, yes, sorry. Not thinking about these things. Not doing it.

Dal led him over to a smashed bit of foliage and trees, crouching down and peering through and over the broken branches. He beckoned for Nick to crouch down and join him, his movements deliberate. Clearly, they were hiding. The conman carefully crawled over to the Hunter, peeking through the trees. There were seven Infected milling around the chopper – much less than he’d been expecting. Dal was sniffing the air, eyes scanning the area. Nick couldn’t pick up on the stench of a Boomer or a Smoker, so he had no idea what Dal was seemingly hiding them from.

He made to move slightly, but Dal’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm, squeezing tightly to keep him still. He froze, a lump moving into his throat. Something was wrong. He wasn’t so stupid that he’d jump to anger at the contact, nor was he blind enough to miss that something was pushing Dal dangerously close to fight or flight mode. Whatever the Hunter was picking up on, it wasn’t good news.

Nick just wished that he knew what the Hunter was hearing, or smelling, or seeing so he could help make a judgment call, or respond appropriately to any suggestions that Hunter might throw his way. He felt the Hunter shift slightly beside him, and adjusted himself silently when he felt the kid gently trying to tug him closer.

They stayed like that, in complete silence and hidden by the foliage around them, for probably ten minutes before Dal started to relax a bit. Nick softly let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, looking at the Hunter again. Dal was obviously concentrating hard, even though his face was startlingly blank, his eyes darting around the area, nose twitching as he took in every scent he could.

Finally, Dal shifted forward, pulling Nick with him. The conman allowed himself to be led, fully understanding that there was something more dangerous than a few zombies in the area. They were going to have to move through the area pretty fast. Dal seemed to be making calculations as he looked up and around the area, likely searching for route that would take them farthest from the bigger threat without slowing them down.

Somewhere in the back of his head, there was room for the conman to feel a certain amount of contempt at the situation. He was, without a doubt, relying on this Hunter’s skills to keep him safe. He couldn’t take care of himself in this situation. He couldn’t handle things on his own, like he was so used to do. He had to rely on Dal. He didn’t know how well this kid knew the area, or if he was any kind of a tracker, or anything about him. Sure, they’d found the helicopter, but that one was easy. Finding his group was another story.

Dal tugged him to the right and started moving. Nick followed after him, making sure to stay low to the ground. They crept around the smashed up area of the forestry, undetected by the Infected. Nick was slightly impressed with how quiet the two of them could be. Normally, he and the other three seemed to storm through areas like a pack of elephants. Then again, they were also usually armed with assault rifles and machetes.

It took probably ten minutes of crawling around the forest floor and hiding, but they made it to the other side of the helicopter-made clearing, and crept up behind the chopper itself to stay hidden. The zombies hadn’t yet noticed their presence, and Nick had to thank his lucky stars for that one. He made his way up to the chopper, peering inside. Dal was sniffing around the remaining artifacts – a sleeping bag that had been buckled down, and what looked like Ellis’ hat. That would be perfect to help with tracking – assuming for a moment that Dal was as much of a bloodhound as he had portrayed himself to be. He picked it up and handed it to the kid, who pocketed it in silence and without question. Nick had hoped he might find a pistol, or even a knife amongst the mess of twisted metal, but he had no such luck.

He heard a loud snarl, and his head shot up, eyes widening at the zombie running towards them, four others right behind him. Nick stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet. Dal stepped in front of him, growling lowly, but the Infected didn’t back off.

To be honest with himself, Nick had been expected a pounce-and-shred sort of situation, but that wasn’t what he saw. Dal reared back a fist and socked one of them in the face, the force of the blow smashing the skull into the metal around them. The Hunter grabbed a fistful of another woman’s hair and drove his knee into her face, crushing bone. The other three fell in similar fashions, all killed or otherwise taken out in a single hit.

Holy shit.

That particularly style of movement reminded Nick of the kind of fighting he used to partake in – street brawls, bar fights, and the like. Had he done a lot of fighting in his life? Was he a regular brawler or just a punk who liked to start shit? Did he fight or did he just get the hell beaten out of him by the bigger kids? Had he been bullied, or had he done the bullying? Did his parents beat him, or was it a sibling who had taught him to fend for himself?

Not that it matters,he viciously reminded himself. The conman stood up slowly, ignoring the pulsing headache that was spreading through his skull. He took a moment to blink the vertigo out of his vision before turning his gaze on Dal. The Hunter was staring at him again with that blank look that didn't match the weird glint in his green eyes.

The Hunter pointed to his left, poking at the hat in his pocket to indicate who he was referring to. Nick scowled at him, but it was mainly the pain that was putting him in a foul mood. He didn’t like hurting, but he supposed that was true for most people. His straying thoughts were also starting to bother him. Why was it so hard to keep himself in the “look out for number one” mindset anymore? His brain felt like it’d been scrambled around and replaced with something that was way too friendly for his lifestyle. He hated it.

“How can you be sure they went-… no, why the hell should I even trust you? I mean, sure you found the chopper, but you could be stringing me along just so I’d keep you company for all I know.” The words were tumbling out of his mouth in a mixture of paranoia and disbelief. How could this kid possibly trust him so much? Was this trust, or was it just plain desperation? Why would anyone ever allow someone like Nick into their life without some kind of bargaining chip or contract?

Dal had rescued him twice now, and seemed fully intent on looking out for him without expecting anything in return and it was not normal. In his head, it was wrong. People were supposed to look out for themselves. That was just what people did. They looked out for number one and used others to further their own goals. That was natural. That was just how the world worked.

So why…?

The Hunter stared at him, head slightly tilted and lip pouting out in what Nick was beginning to feel certain was supposed to be a frown.

This kid kept not-smiling and not-frowning. His eyes would light up, and his cheek would spasm, but he wouldn't smile. Sometimes his eyes would betray his unhappiness, and his jaw would slacken and his lower lip would poke out slightly, but he wouldn't be frowning. All in all, it was making it harder to understand Dal when he was gesticulating and trying to make himself heard. He didn't quite understand why the kid couldn't just talk. It was probably rabies-related.

Nick could imagine the kinds of things Dal was thinking – why wouldn’t you trust me? What have I done to prove I’m not trustworthy? The conman himself was wracking his brain for a reason, a plausible reason for a person to behave like this towards him, but he couldn’t think of anything. No past experience could have ever prepared him for this ridiculous, unsolicited trust. What the hell was wrong with this child?

Finally, Dal shrugged. It was such a simple, stupid, non-committal reply. What the hell kind of answer was that supposed to be to a question like that? Nick had half a mind to start laughing. The kid knew that Nick was absolutely right. There wasn’t a reason for the conman to trust him, and there wasn't even a reason for him to trust the conman. And it didn't really seem to matter to the kid either way – Nick was his companion now. Trust was (apparently) not relevant.

“Fine, I’ll… go with it for now,” Nick finally conceded, frowning deeply at his decision, “Lead the way.”

Dal's face was curiously blank for a long, long moment, before his expression twisted into a strange kind of grin – at least, Nick was relatively sure it was supposed to be a grin. The scars on his cheek twisted about and the corners of his mouth didn't pull up (or down) at all. It looked like he was trying to smile but couldn't actually feel his face. He stared at the kid for a long moment, brow furrowing at the bizarre expression. Dal's “smile” relaxed back into his usual blankness and he turned and started walking, glancing over his shoulder briefly to make sure Nick was following him. The conman sighed, hoping he wouldn’t regret his decision. Maybe he wouldn’t kill Dal the moment he found a gun. The kid was useful and…

No, Nick didn’t like him, but Dal was entertaining.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

As if things couldn’t get any worse.

Nick blinked the stars out of his vision, coming to an immediate realization; he was about to be torn to shreds. He could feel the Hunter’s claws ripping into his bicep, the soft dirt pressing against his back, the splitting headache in his skull, and most importantly the numbness in his extremities. He sucked in a breath, swinging his left arm – the one that hadn’t been pinned down – and managing to land a decent blow on the Infected’s face. Its head swung to the side, dazing it momentarily, but Nick didn’t get a chance to strike again before a long set of claws tore into his ribs. He swore, his voice cracking as as he started thrashing wildly. His head was spinning too fast and the pain accompanied by his bruises and cuts were muddling his ability to think coherently of something he could do in this situation, forgetting all he’d learned over his years of fighting and fending for himself.

The Hunter on top of him snarled, slashing more or less aimlessly at him as it tried to get past his flailing limbs and gain access to his throat. He felt his skin split on his arm but the pain barely registered past everything else. What had happened? Where had this thing come from? How had he ended up in this position?

He heard a shriek that seemed farther away than right in front of him, and remembered the oddly well-planned ambush, the Smoker, the three infected that he’d barely had time to deal with before he’d been pounced on.

But most importantly, he remembered the moment of terror he’d felt when he’d seen that rope-like tongue wrap tightly around Dal’s throat and drag him off, the instant knowledge that his companion was in danger, the horrific realization that he didn’t just wonder about the kid, he cared. He’d panicked, barely managing to take out the three Infected that had come at him because he’d been too busy calling for Dal, trying to figure out which direction he’d been dragged in.

And now he was probably gonna die. See, Nick, this is why we’re supposed to be conning and not caring.

In a blur of movement, the Hunter that had been holding him down disappeared and Nick was left to recall how much everything hurt. He slowly started to move, trying to find his bearings and relocate his body parts. The injuries he’d sustained were throbbing and aching, and every time he moved it aggravated his pounding headache. He considered just not moving, but he knew he couldn’t do that. Someone (or something) had gotten that Hunter off him. He needed to know who and what; he needed to figure out his course of action.

He forced himself to turn his head, his vision spotty and blurry with dizziness. Eventually, though, it focused and he could hardly figure out what he was looking at around his disbelief.

Dal was back – and injured, judging by his stiff and sparing movement – and he was standing between that Hunter and Nick. He stood still, shifting only slightly when the thing prowled back and forth, looking for an opening as it snarled and growled. It abruptly darted to the side, trying to get around Dal and get back to its prey, but the younger, slighter of the two dove at it, tackling it to the ground. They thrashed against each other, Dal’s face blank but his eyes watering from the pain he was in, and the other’s twisted with rage. It was hard, from his angle, to tell who was winning. All he could tell was that the bigger Hunter had a sizable advantage.

He slowly started to move again, his eyes locked onto the two brawling Hunters. He swallowed down a mouthful of nausea, unsure of how he’d made it to his feet. But that didn’t matter right now, he needed to do something, he needed to…

He needed to help Dal. Nick found himself glancing carefully around the area, looking for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. He’d just spotted a decent sized rock when he heard a cry of pain that he recognized. His attention flew back to the Hunters, his eyes locking onto a torn portion of Dal’s sweater, blood flowing freely from a location far too close to his throat.

He didn’t have time to find that rock again, and so his feet were moving before he knew it. He saw those clawed fingers bend slightly, rearing back and ready to tear into Dal. He shouted something he was relatively sure was incoherent, catching the Hunter’s attention easily by kicking it square in the side of the head and sending it to all fours. Dal scrambled to get away, and Nick took the opportunity he’d presented by dazing the Hunter to kick it to the ground and grab its head. In one fluid, practiced motion, he snapped the Hunter’s neck, inwardly acknowledging that he’d done it with enough ease to have frightened the group he was looking for.

Man he needed a gun.

He fell away from the fresh corpse, the adrenaline finally reaching his headache and making it probably a million times worse. He groaned, hands coming to his head in an instinct to try and hold his splitting skull together. He did not have time for excruciating agony, he needed to take a look at Dal’s injury and run for it before anymore Infected came-…

He felt a hand touch his shoulder and he flinched away from it because he hated being touched, but he couldn’t move away fast enough when Dal’s hands grabbed him and hauled him to his feet, making Nick’s head spin even worse. His knees buckled immediately and he heard Dal make a soft, noise that sounded both worried and shaken. He felt his feet leave the ground but he didn’t have the energy or mental fortitude to argue with Dal’s method of getting the hell out of there. He allowed himself to lean against the impressively strong boy, ignoring the sticky wetness against his side and willing himself to pass out.

Oddly enough, as darkness began to filter into his aching brain, Nick suddenly wished he would stay awake at least long enough to deal with Dal’s injuries. He had a feeling the kid wouldn’t do it himself.

…

One of the things he’d kept on him at all times, even after the stupid apocalypse hit, was his wallet. In his wallet was his Learner’s Permit, thirteen dollars and seventy four cents in cash, and a family photo he’d nagged his parents into taking with him the day before he left home for good. The leather artifact was in his back pocket, probably all kinds of soggy and smelly now that he’d trudged through waist-high swamp water and muck.

Dal knew what he had looked like three weeks ago, when he’d ditched North Carolina, when he’d left home. He knew what Dallas R. Easton looked like. He hadn’t been prepared for what he had turned into.

Nick was lying on the smelly, moldy wooden floor in the room adjacent to him, a single gauze pad holding barely staunching the blood flow from his injury, and a roll of shredded tape by his hip that Dal hadn’t been able to operate. The kid (monster)reminded himself that he needed to open the medicine cabinet and see if there were any medical supplies in there, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the dirty, cracked mirror. He could tear his gaze away from that… beast he was looking at.

He looked like that thing he and Nick had killed yesterday. The crazy guy that had pinned him down and slashed open his shoulder, nearly tearing out his jugular. He looked like the crazies. He looked like a freak, like a product of a zombie movie.

He took in a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, trying to ground himself in reality before he fell into despair and really lost himself. He reached up and opened the medicine cabinet forcibly, finding a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and another box of gauze bandages. He didn’t let himself stop again to look in that mirror, to retrace the deep, ugly scars that marred his cheek, or the bruise and rashes that he could see poking out from under his hoodie…

He slammed the mirror shut and turned away quickly, returning to Nick’s side. The first gauze pad he’d used had been one he’d discovered in Nick's jacket, luckily still sealed in its plastic wrapping, but the single pad hadn't really been enough to clean and bandage the area.

Carefully, Dal peeled back the red-stained medical gauze, grabbing a bottle of hydrogen peroxide that he’d come across and pouring it over the injury. The wetness would help to make sure he didn’t rip off any scabbing while he took off the bandage.

It came off cleanly, and it looked like the bleeding had stopped. He put the new gauze pad on anyway, just to protect the wound from the swampy, muggy, bacteria-ridden air. Dal placed his hand on Nick’s throat, trying to feel for a pulse with the seemingly-dead nerves in his hand. He could hardly feel anything in his hands and feet, it was almost like he’d developed gangrene but he hadn’t.

The guy probably wasn’t going into shock with the relatively minor injuries he’d sustained, but Nick was concussed and he had just fought tooth and nail with one of … those things. He shook his head to clear his head away from the reminders that he was, actually, a freak and kind of a monster and all that fun stuff.

Setting aside the thought that you look like something out of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” music video, let's take a moment to remember that we're treating someone's injuries. Sort of.

Nick’s pulse was stable and strong, though he was a bit clammy and looked fairly pale. Nothing serious to worry about though – it was likely that he was beginning to come out of his fainting-spell and was simply reacting physically to whatever amount of pain he was in. Dal retracted his hand, glancing down at the gauze again. There wasn’t any blood seeping through, so he had been right to assume that the bleeding had stopped. He just needed to make sure Nick took a moment to properly tape the gauze down so it stayed in place.

Just as the teen (freak) was beginning to let his thoughts creep dangerously close to depression and brooding again, Nick stirred. His eyes fluttered open and shut several times before his eyelids decided to settle for half-open. His gaze was tired and slightly glassy, as if he wasn’t entirely conscious. Dal looking him over again, wanting to make sure that he wasn’t actually dying or something, but nothing jumped out at him. No signs of infected injury, and since he had woken up, the chance of a brain bleed or something was significantly lessened. Nevertheless, Dal held up his index finger and moved it back and forth in his companion’s line of vision. Nick followed the movement, looking bewildered in his own not-entirely-awake manner.

It was probably just fatigue that was putting him in such a state. He wasn’t getting nearly enough rest, considering his injury. He needed rest for his brain to heal; the guy probably had no idea how important it was to properly treat and tend to a concussion.

“Dal…?” He muttered hoarsely, blinking as he tried harder to rouse himself. Dal felt his shift against his hand, and he quickly grabbed Nick’s shoulder and held him down before he could reopen his wounds. He wasn’t met with much resistance, which only emphasized how completely exhausted Nick was. It was slightly worrying, but, Dal reminded himself, if a person was worn out enough to faint, it wasn’t a surprise if they woke up slightly delirious.

Dal croaked in reply, “Dal,” he confirmed, just so Nick knew he was in familiar territory.

“How long was…” Nick trailed off, blinking as if he was being met with bright light, “You can’t talk,” he recalled to himself. Dal frowned slightly, and then held up his hands with all his fingers up.

“Ten…? Oh, ten minutes?” As the minute passed, though, he seemed to be regaining his awareness, “I was out for ten?”

Dal nodded mutely, lowering his hands. He grabbed Nick’s wrist and maneuvered his arm until his palm rested against the gauze pad, just so he’d know it was there. The well-dressed man hissed slightly in pain, nodding in understanding and pressing gently on the gauze pad as he slowly sat up. He moved the pad, looking down at the injury.

“It’s not… too bad,” he muttered, “I’ve had worse. Where’s… Uh, tape?”

Dal handed him the roll that he hadn’t accidentally shredded, watching his companion tape down the gauze. He wanted to stay there, in the shack, a little longer. Nick really did need to rest, but he knew that the man wouldn’t be willing to sit still for more than two minutes. He frowned, unhappy with his predicament. He needed to tell Nick to let him carry him (or else), but there weren’t many descriptive gestures he could use to explain that set of thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” Nick’s voice cut into his thoughts and he looked up, surprised. Since when did Nick concern himself with things that were wrong with Dal? The corner of his mouth tipped up, a slight smile gracing his features for only a second before he sighed. He pointed to Nick, and then to his relatively useless throat and shrugged unhappily.

“Yea, it does kind of suck that you can’t talk. It’d probably make everything a bit easier if you could.” Nick agreed, “Too bad neither of us know sign language.”

Dal snorted. He actually did know sign language – at least, he knew the alphabet. He’d had a deaf aunt that he’d met a couple of times, and so his mother had begrudgingly taken an hour of her time to teach him, entirely because his aunt (her sister) had requested it.

The only issue with that was that he couldn’t use sign language anymore. He still remembered A through Z, but that didn’t matter because he couldn’t make the symbols with his hands anymore. Writing out the alphabet in sign language had been his favorite way to calm himself down when he was pissed, but he couldn’t do it anymore. His fingers didn’t work right, and the knowledge that literally every method of communication had been taken from him put a serious damper on his already down-trodden mood.

His mouth twitched into a bitter scowl, his mind taking that opportunity to remind him that it wouldn’t matter even if he had been able to communicate – who’d listen to something with a face like his anyway?

Nick suddenly stood up, tapping Dal’s head, “We should get going, right? The others aren’t gonna last much longer without their daily doses of verbal abuse.”

The comment was funny, and Dal managed to force a slight smile despite the fact that he wasn’t entirely amused by it. He was officially in a bad mood, but he wasn’t going to let himself take it out on Nick. The guy already had no reason to let him hang around as anything other than a bodyguard. And it wasn’t like they were going to be “friends” anymore after Nick found a gun, anyway. Part of him miserably hoped that the guy hadn’t changed his mind about killing Dal the moment he found a gun, but the rest of him squashed the thought immediately. It was no good to think like that. Getting upset over it wasn’t going to fix anything, and a big baby was the last thing anyone needed in the middle of the God damn apocalypse.

He’d trudge on, like he always had.

…

As they delved further into the swamps, the humidity increased with the water level. It had already been pretty horrible to take deep breaths, but it only seemed to be getting worse. Dal had been leading them in a slightly more roundabout route, keeping parallel to the path that the other's had been traveling but purposefully avoiding the shanty little villages with the mildly higher populations of Infected. However, now that the water had gotten high enough to warrant a certain amount of sloshing and the humidity was so thick that it felt like he was inhaling dirty water, Nick had taken the initiative to lead the way along the trail of fresher corpses. Dal's sense of smell had become nothing short of useless once the others had started cutting through the water. He knew that they hadn't done it on purpose, but he couldn't help but curse the way they had managed to thoroughly inconvenience him without even realizing he was still alive.

It seemed like the rest of his group had been taking the most obvious paths they could find in the hopes of finding signs of civilization. Obviously they had found the signs, but actual civilization was no longer available. He glanced over at Dal briefly, noting the stiffness in his companion's movement – it had been made apparent within the past hour or so that the boy was not happy about the situation with the swamp water. At the very least, the absence of his flashlight and the height of the water, the Infected didn't seem particularly bothered enough to attack them. Water was enough to keep them away as long as they kept quiet and didn't wave around light.

Once again, he thought to the trio of torch-wielding, noise-making idiots he was looking for. They would probably be less often attacked if they didn't move through areas as obnoxiously as possible. If only Ellis could be relied on the shut up for a full ten seconds.

He tapped the baseball bat he had stumbled across against his shoulder and frowned. He'd be better off and more likely to survive this mess if he stuck with Dal and let the other three go off on their own.

They stepped up a slight incline onto dry land once again, pausing just long enough to peer around and listen carefully for any tell-tale snorting or growling, as well as relocate the trail of corpses. Surely enough, only a few feet away there was a bloody body lying in the wet sod, so they started walking again, ignoring the squelching of their wet shoes.

His mind sank away from the shallow waters he had sent it to in an effort to recuperate his brain from his awful slip up earlier. This was supposed to be Operation: Stay Alive, and yet somehow it was turning into a relief effort for Nick's skewed personality. His common sense and street smarts had been pummeled nearly to death when his conscience had teamed up with a whole army of the dusty remains of his actual personality and waged an all-out war. Somehow, his life motto had wound up being a prisoner of war and was being forced to parade around a billboard the size of Texas that read “ Look out for Numbers 1 and 2!! ”

Nick wasn't entirely sure which side he ought to be rooting for. Obviously, his common sense and street smarts had kept him alive, but...

“Surviving and living aren't the same thing,” Tragic Childhood Experience wisely stated.

Street Smarts rolled his eyes, “Surviving is more important than living.”

“Especially during a zombie apocalypse,” Common Sense added.

Conscience pointed an accusing finger at Street Smarts, “ So, you would just leave this kid out here in the middle of the apocalypse, alone ?”

“What a jerk,” Kindness muttered.

“Yea, who does that?” Life Motto chimed in unashamedly.

Common Sense made a face at Street Smarts, “ Really, though, that's kind of harsh, even for you. He's like, 18, tops.”

Streets Smarts looked around helplessly, grasping at excuses that wouldn't work in this particular situation. In the background, several others shook their heads and muttered about how mean Street Smarts was, going so far as to gossip about the terrible things that his advice had wrought in the past.

“W-... B-... We can't just keep him !” Street Smarts attempted to defend his point of view, “He's... uh...”

“What? ” Faith in Other People scowled at the last remaining line of defense for Nick's bastard-without-a-heart persona, “Willing and able? Surprisingly helpful? Obviously very bright?”

No, no, no! Nick cut off his thoughts valiantly, It's not like that, its...

“I like 'im.” Metaphorical Ellis offered unhelpfully.

He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked over at Dal, who was staring up at something. He followed the kid's gaze, swimming his mind back to the shallow waters again as he took in the sight of the corpse hanging from the trees. It took him a brief moment to realize that it wasn't flying, but hanging from a series of strings and ropes and straps that connected it to a parachute.

Who in the world would think that parachuting into this place would be a good idea? Setting aside the stupidity of mankind, Nick glanced over at Dal again, who was stepping over to one of the trees this parachutist was connected to.

“What?” Dal gestured back to the corpse again, and Nick took a couple of steps closer. It was surprisingly dark in this part of the swamps. He couldn't make out much, but he thought he could see a promising glint from what might have been a pistol.

Dal clambered up the tree carefully, making his way across the branches to the not-floating carcass. The kid fumbled around the belts for a moment before pulling a pistol out of the fella's holster and pocketing it. He couldn't help but smile slightly as Dal worked his way back down the tree. Willing and able? Surprisingly helpful?

“The second I find a gun, you're dead .”

His stomach lurched and he really hoped that Dal didn't remember him saying that. The boy stepped over to him, pulling out the pistol and holding it out for him. He hesitated, his brain driving in uncertain circles around what he should do and what he wanted to do, and running over what he'd previously said several times in the process.

He took the gun from his companion, habitually checking to see if it was loaded and how much ammo he would have to work with. After all this time of not having a gun and subsequently not thinking about it nearly as much as he should have, Nick found himself at a loss for what he ought to do next.

Dal stared at him, and Nick wished he could read the kid's mind, or at least as him what he was thinking about. The look on the boy's face was completely unreadable (as usual), but there was an expectancy in his eyes that unnerved Nick. Dal was probably waiting to be sent away, and Nick was trapped between his hatred of contradicting himself and his unreasonable need to keep the kid around.

“Y-... uh...” he started and stopped himself in the same breath, tearing his eyes away from Dal's face and looking out at the dimness around them, absentmindedly counting the fireflies as they lit up, “If... you wanted to, I wouldn't mind it if you stuck around a little longer.” He huffed out, partially hating himself for saying it, but mostly hating that he'd put himself in a situation where he had to say it in the first place.

He glanced down at the boy again, who was still wearing that blank stare, but Nick thought he could see a sheen of tears in his wide eyes. Dal didn't move, didn't nod or shake his head or shrug or anything. He just stood there, staring, his eyes about to overflow.

Nick frowned, “If you don't decide then I'm going to choose for you,” he started saying before he could stop himself, “And if I decide then you're going to be trailing after me like a duckling for the rest of your life.”

“This is a bad idea,” Street Smarts said resignedly.

“I don't care,” Unbearable Loneliness snapped angrily, shoving all contrary opinions away, “There's someone here who can to stay. Don't screw it up.”

Both of us are really lonely people, huh? This is pretty pathetic, Nick, even for you. The conman sighed, shoving the barrel of his pistol into the empty holster he'd picked up back in Savannah. Especially for you.

…

Nick was in pain.

They sloshed as quietly as they could through the waist-high waters, Dal more or less leading the way. Nick was breathing more heavily than he should have been. He was moving more slowly that he normally did. His balance was off and he kept squeezing his eyes shut. He probably had a pretty horrible migraine by now – they had just made their way through what must have been a safe room at one point – before some Tank had gone through it like an F-5 tornado.

Prior to that, they had stumbled into what Nick had referred to as a Spitter, who’s rattling shriek of excitement had alerted several nearby crazies. They’d been trapped by the acidic slobber and four or five of the sick-looking crazy people, but they had managed to fight their way through it, and Dal had grabbed Nick and leapt over the puddle, leaving him for just a moment so he could beat the Spitting-Crazy to death.

Nick called them zombies and infected interchangeably. Dal liked “crazies” better.

Before that, they had been forced to run probably a half a mile by an enraged girl with talons for fingers and a shriek that had called forth this violently laughing little creep that had leapt on Nick’s shoulders and hauled him away. Dal had been forced to stop and kill the Crazed Talons before chasing after his companion, who’s hollering and cries of pain had summoned several more crazies. Once Dal had ripped the Back-Humper off his partner’s shoulders, Nick had collapsed to the ground, and Dal was left to take care of the other crazies as quickly as possible and then carry his companion for probably another quarter mile to escape the horde that had been alerted by the loud scuffles.

The combination of adrenaline and soreness and blood-rushes had slowed Nick down. Dal didn’t know what to do. His friend…

Is it “friend?” I don’t… know? I mean, we’ve only known one another for about a day, give or take five hours. I…

I want him to be my friend. I trust him, right? That means we’re friends. Friends trust each other. I guess he must trust me a little bit. I haven’t killed him yet, no matter how grumpy he’s gotten. Nick should at least know how tempting it is to throttle him.

His friend was in a world of pain, and Dal wasn’t sure he knew enough pantomimes and crude gestures to indicate that they should stop soon. He glanced over at Nick again when he felt a stiff hand grab his elbow, watching Nick’s pace slow exponentially yet again as he pushed himself past whatever level of agony he was in.

Judging by his physical behaviors, the guy probably had a headache to rival all headaches. Dal didn’t have a clue how this person was even able to keep walking. He had managed to offer to keep carrying him earlier, but Nick had rejected the offer in a snarl of crankiness and frustration that he hadn’t expected. They hadn’t communicated in any way since.

But Dal wasn’t holding it against him. Nick was in pain and, if he was remembering his research right, mood alterations caused by concussions usually leaned towards the negative – as in, people with concussions would be incredibly irritable as opposed to deliriously nice.

That was fine, though. The teen had, for the most part, figured out how to deal with Nick’s moods. Generally, he just ignored his irritability as best he could, keeping his frustrated and hostile reactions as internalized as possible. He could always just curse out the man walking beside him in his head, after all.

They stepped up onto dry land again, plodding forward with squelching shoes and ignoring the way the mud wanted to swallow up their legs. Nick grabbed Dal's arm again, physically pulling himself forward with the younger of the two as his leverage. Dal slowed again, planting his feet carefully to make sure he didn't lose balance. Nick uttered a pained sound and the younger came to a complete stop. With every forced step, Nick had to be making his pain that much worse.

He looked around carefully, spotting a light in the direction of the bodies-trail. That had to be a safe room, or a shack, or something they could hole up in so Nick could rest. He looked over at his companion again, who had doubled over and was pressing a hand against his right ear.

“ Fuck ,” suddenly, he straightened up again, flinching visibly, “I can't see right, Dal.” He said tightly, “Le...” He uttered that soft, pained sound again, his fists clenching as tight and his eyes squeezing shut, “We ne-... I need to stop somewhere, just... somewhere ...”

Dal, alarmed at this point by the rawness that was presenting itself in Nick's voice, grabbed the man by the elbow and wordlessly led him toward the light he had seen. He watched his partner's feet carefully, making sure he didn't trip on anything. They made slow but steady progress until they came across the source of the light – a safe room. Dal let out a sigh of relief and led Nick over to the door, directing his hands to it.

He couldn't work the door – it required too much finesse for his clumsy hands. Nick hastily pulled the locking mechanism open and pushed the door open, stumbling inside. Dal caught him and directed him over to some sleeping bags on the floor.

It didn't require much pushing and shoving to get Nick to the ground, and once he was laying down he completely stilled, “They're warm,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, “The other... s'were here...”

Despite what he'd said about warmth, Nick shuddered, and then immediately choked out a gasp of pain. He curled in on himself until he was in fetal position, fingers digging hard into his biceps before relaxing slightly. Once he had managed to find himself comfort, he didn't move, save for his shivering. He had to be cold – he was pretty wet.

There weren't any towels in the room, so Dal couldn't manually dry Nick off. He instead grabbed one of the other sleeping bags and – after a few minutes of wrestling until he wound up clutching with his teeth – unzipped the bag and spread it over Nick, covering his head as well. The light would make the pain worse, he was sure. That was why Dal wore his hood up – the sunlight bothered his eyes. It never used to, but since... turning, he found that bright light was blinding . He positioned himself by the door of the safe room, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his chin on them as he watched the lump of mold-grey cloth. There was no shifting or movement at all. Dal hoped Nick would sleep for at least a couple hours. He knew the man wanted desperately to catch up with the rest of his party, but he really needed to let himself heal. That concussion wasn't going to get better if he didn't let it.

His stomach dropped suddenly – the rest of the party. Nick had mentioned that the blankets felt warm, and while Dal could have chalked that up to the sunlight, he knew that it was likely that the rest of Nick's party had been here recently. Should he try to look for them while Nick was asleep? Should he hope that Nick stayed asleep for a very long time? He was afraid that Nick would keep to his unspoken words from before and send Dal away when he had company again. The teen wasn't sure he could handle that. He didn't want to be alone anymore. He couldn't handle it.

His eyes burned and he buried his face in his arms. That wasn't fair to Nick, though. That wasn't fair to anyone but Dal, and he didn't happen to be the center of anyone ' s world – not even his own, it seemed. He sniffled, trying his best to muffle the sound. It would bother Nick's head.

He ought to go and see if he could catch up to them while Nick was asleep. He could potentially lead them back to the safe room.

How, though? He couldn't talk . He couldn't use sign language, and they probably didn't know it either. He couldn't explain that their friend was unconscious in a safe room they had recently left. All he had was the hat that Nick had given him for scent tracking, as ridiculous as that was. He had kept it because he thought Nick's friend might like to have it back when they found them. He hadn't thought about the actual prospect of meeting them again though, because he didn't think it would happen. Or maybe he had just been so hopeful that it wouldn't happen, he hadn't given it any more thought than that.

I don't want him to send me away .

He choked on another sob, and stood up suddenly. He couldn't stay in here like this. He was going to aggravate Nick's headache. He walked over to the door, and carefully spent ten minutes silently getting it open. The air outside was muggy and hot and disgusting, but he could distinctly smell a hint of gunpowder.

He would find them and lead them back to Nick.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

Obviously, he hadn't thought this through very well. But it was a bit late to turn back now.

Dal rubbed at his bare arms absentmindedly, ignoring the raised scars that his fingers ran over. He had left his hoodie wrapped around the bars of the safe room door so Nick would (hopefully) know that he would be coming back. Without it, he wouldn't be automatically marked as a... a... what had Nick called that thing? A Hunt? A Hunter? Something like that.

He sort of looked like that one straight out of The Grudge with the hoodie on, so he had left it behind and now wore the hat that he had been carrying around for Nick instead. He had pushed his hair away from his face, leaving the scars visible but deciding that it was possible for someone to get the impression that he was just the victim of a mauling.

He hoped.

The teen stepped across a thin bridge over an equally thin stream, listening carefully. Earlier, he had thought he heard gunfire. Now, there was just silence aside from the occasional grunting and snarling of the lesser crazies - the ones who didn't hunt their prey so fixedly. They didn't seem particularly bothered by his presence so long as he stayed rather quiet, so he did just that. Occasionally, one would rush at him for no apparent reason, but he hadn't had any problems taking them out.

Which was good, because he hadn't traveled through this place on his own before, and his shoulder was bothering him where he'd been bitten before. It stung harshly when he moved it around to swing, and aside from that it was just a constant, bitter ache. Occasionally, it swelled to a horrible pain that slowed his pace but didn't stop him.

He pressed on, not quite knowing where he was going. He was simply following the powerful stench of gunpowder and the trail of fresher bodies. Hopefully, he would eventually catch up to the people Nick was looking for.

His stomach clenched with a mixture of anxiety and emotional pain, but he shoved it down hard. He could handle it, if Nick decided to leave him behind. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been left behind in some scenario or another, and it surely wouldn't be as painful. His parents had forgotten him at a multitude of places, quickly teaching him to stick to their sides like glue to avoid getting lost.

If Nick decided that he would rather leave Dal alone, then... then that was just how it was going to be.

"I wouldn't mind if you stuck around a little longer."

He heard a snarl and turned suddenly, eyes widened with surprise at the seven crazies rushing towards him. His anger and hurt swirled into a frenzy of emotion. His shoulder locked up and his stomach twisted with panic, but he let out a cry of his own, mixed with pain and rage, and attacked.

...

He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, but his head hurt much less when he finally opened his eyes. It was quiet in the safe room - assuming for a moment that this was a safe room. He didn't actually remember arriving in the place, whatever it was, and collapsing, but he could guess that he had from his current sweat-soaked position beneath an unzipped, smelly sleeping bag.

He took a mental index of his physical condition before kicking the sleeping bag again and sucking in a breath of the cooler air.

"Dal?" He called immediately, the silence decidedly bothering him. There was no answer, even as Nick slowly started to sit up. He looked around the safe room, his eyes unwilling to focus. After a moment of fighting with his pupils and blinking rapidly, however, he came to settle his vision on the sight of the safe room.

It was empty .

Where is he?

Nick clumsily made his way to his feet, an unexpected swell of anger throwing him into a frenzy of searching, as if Dal would have been able to leave a note or something. The kid couldn't work gauze, there was no way he could write. Dal wouldn't have just left without some kind of sign, or note, or something . No, after all that nonsense to get Nick to let him come along, after that ridiculous fight they'd had in the first place, after that stupid confession of weakness that he'd presented for that stupid idiot child, Dal couldn't have just left .

His hands clenched into shaking fists, and he very nearly started yelling at the walls. After a few stabilizing breaths, though, he mastered himself. Logically thinking, Dal probably didn't just leave. He might have gone out to look at any nearby shacks for food or other supplies. Or...

Or he tripped over his shoelaces and broke his leg in a ditch , Nick thought sourly. He glanced to the door and halted his thoughts. There it was - the sign, the note, the something. Dal's hoodie, wound loosely around the bars of the safe room door. Nick could have laughed.

He walked over to it, pulling it out of the bars. It was cold, from the chilly outside air. Night would be coming in probably a couple of hours, give or take. Nick looked outside, wishing for a moment that Dal would just appear around the copse of trees and wave in greeting or something. Nick would, naturally, slap him upside the head and demand to know why he was out past his curfew. And they would return to their pointless task of hunting down the rest of his party. All would be well.

Of course, no such thing would happen. He was going to have to go and track down Dal, now. He couldn't just wait for him. If the kid was hurt and in trouble... Well, he probably was, knowing anyone's luck. The actual thought of Dal in a ditch with a broken leg was nauseating all by itself. Even if it wasn't the case, even if it probably wasn't the case, even if the statistical likelihood of it happening was close to zero, Nick couldn't bring himself to just wait.

He had allowed Dal approximately ten minutes just between the moment he had woken up and the current seconds. That was plenty of waiting. He turned, finding the table that held the remaining supplies, and grabbed a second pistol and the automatic shotgun sitting on the table. He slung it over his shoulder, making a point to also stock the backpack he'd picked up with medical supplies and the remaining ammo. Screw anyone else who came through this wretched place.

He walked back over to the door, wrenching it open and stepping out into the cool air. His head was still aching, but it wasn't as bad and he could easily ignore it. He holstered the second pistol and started walking, looking around for signs of where Dal had been. Obviously, the kid couldn't use a gun so the bodies trail would be limited.

Bodies trail...

Did he decide to go and see if he could catch up with the others alone ?

If that was the case, the sheer capacity for Dal's stupidity was even greater than Nick could ever have perceived. Clearly, the kid didn't realize the fact that he was infected , or at least looked like one of the infected. Nick was almost a hundred percent certain that Dal was infected with this stupid rabies-flu, but he couldn't be certain because Dal didn't act like them, he just looked like them. But there were little things. Like how he apparently couldn't work his hands right, and how he couldn't talk, and how his facial expressions were so weird. Whatever form of the infection had hit him, it had left him disabled in odd ways. Ways that would make more sense if his primary drive was to attack and kill things.

What it came down to was that Dal looked like an infected and he couldn't talk to prove any theories otherwise. Nick muttered several curses under his breath as he stepped over a thin bridge, looking around for any sign of anything.

He walked several more feet before he came across bodies. His heart leaped clear into his throat as he looked at the bodies, wanting desperately to make sure that none of them were Dal. He flipped over all seven of them, looking at their crushed faces. Not Dal, thank God.

They had all been taken out by strikes to the head and face, nose cartilage smashed, cheekbones crushed, heads caved in... Definitely the work of the little brat he was looking for.

The kid's almost-superhuman strength frightened Nick on a level that he didn't quite understand. The fact that he could do so much damage with a single punch incidentally reminded him how glad he was that most Hunter's relied on their claws rather than their fists. None of the other infected - save for the Tank - were as physically powerful as the Hunter.

Dal wasn't a Hunter, but if there was a separate mutation of the virus that made those physiological changes in the infected, then Dal probably had the one reserved for "Hunters." Nick continued on, hoping that he was heading in the right direction. Dal's hoodie was tied around his waist securely, and he wasn't sure why. He just felt like he ought to keep his safe for his partner.

Suddenly, he hoped that Dal hadn't caught up with the others after all. This whole trip was for the purpose of hunting down his companions, but he suddenly wasn't sure that he wanted to catch up with them. It wasn't necessarily like he hated them or anything, really. Coach was annoying, Rochelle was a pain, and Ellis was just obnoxious, but he didn't hate them, per say. It was more that he'd rather not be around the kind of people who had never had any trouble in their little tiny lives, and therefore couldn't possibly begin to or try to understand him or his reasons.

Dal, at least, seemed to 'get' him, on a certain level. Or at least, Dal didn't think that the way Nick behaved was horrible or strange. Dal seemed to view much of Nick's behavior as relatively normal, if not understandable. He couldn't really tell, since the kid was so hard to read with his odd facial expressions (or lack thereof).

He saw an infected running towards him and swung his fist into the thing's face, hearing a satisfying crunch as its nose broke. The infected woman fell back, twisting around to catch herself on her hands. Before she could get back up, he was upon her, grabbing her hand and fluidly snapping her neck.

He wanted to avoid using his guns as much as possible - ammo was limited and the noise would only attract more infected. Certainly, using his fists was going to damage his hands, but it wasn't that bad if he watched his aim. He really wished he had stopped at that Spencer's back in the Savannah mall and pick up some brass knuckles. They would've been very useful.

He walked over to a set of four corpses, kicking them over to make sure they weren't Dal. They weren't, and he couldn't help but let out a brief sigh of relief. He was going to make himself sick with worry at this rate.

He wanted to call out for Dal, but he didn't want to risk attracting a horde. He scowled. This really was all Dal's fault. If that stupid brat hadn't decided to go and attempt accidental suicide, Nick wouldn't have to be out looking for him. He was sure the kid thought he was being noble and brave or something - he probably thought Nick was still going to kick him off the island when he found the rest of his group. That thought alone infuriated him.

"Really, what part of 'you can stay' is difficult to understand?" He grumbled to himself, plodding into knee-deep water. "I'm gonna slap him."

He paused in his sloshing, straining his ears and listening carefully. He thought he had heard... something. A voice, or three. He frowned, and continued forward, making as much racket as he could in the water. The infected would stay away from him if he was in it, but perhaps the others would hear him splashing about. He saw a body floating in the water and stepped over to it so that he could flip it over. Not Dal.

He really wasn't looking forward to seeing them again.

The energy he was putting into getting through the water quickly was making his head pound again. He ignored it skillfully, stepping up onto dry land and starting a brisk but quiet pace. Another infected - this time a man - came charging at him, and he sidestepped the guy and pulled out his gun, firing once to get him in the back of the head. There weren't any other infected nearby enough to be startled by the noise, thankfully.

Finally, he actually heard it. A brief round of gunfire. He followed the source of the sound, his stride lengthening. He was still pretty furious at Dal, and that anger suddenly resurfaced as he practically jogged towards the sound.

He slowed down briefly to listen to the sound of gunfire again, and instead heard voices coming closer. He definitely recognized Ellis telling a story, and that was enough to tell Nick that they were right in front of him.

He shoved his way through some thick shrubbery and emerged on the other side, right in front of Coach, Rochelle, Ellis, and - lo and behold - Dal.

Dal's eyes were wide with probably-surprise, but Nick was too furious to question the startled gaze. Suddenly, it hit Nick how worried he'd been, how angry he'd been... but mainly how worried he'd been. The pit of nausea that had made itself permanent in his stomach for the past half hour or so he'd been searching through the swamp, turning over every body he came across to make sure it wasn't Dal.

You little shit.

Before anyone else could really react to Nick appearing in front of them, he smacked Dal upside the head as hard as he could bring himself to.

Ellis' hat, which he had been wearing for some reason, flew right off his head and landed nearby. Dal's head swung to the side from the force of Nick's hand. The conman had had a whole array of things he had been intending to say to Dal, but he couldn't remember any of them.

"You little shit !" He snarled, "Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was! ? "

"N-Nick, calm down," Rochelle managed to speak first, breaking past her surprise and unable to control her smile of relief, "He just wanted to bring us to you..."

Nick looked up at Rochelle, and then realized something very important - she hadn't been able to see Dal's face yet. Not if he had been wearing Ellis' hand tipped down the whole time, his hair all over his face. She didn't know, yet. Neither did Coach. Ellis probably didn't even know. He'd simply been so happy to hear that Nick was alive that he'd permitted the kid to keep his hat.

"What if they'd shot you?" Nick asked, his voice low, strained, "I get that you're swimming in denial, but if they'd seen you and not realized you were, well, sane , you could be dead . And-... God, you're such a fucking idiot !"

Dal's head was lowered, and Nick couldn't see his face at all.

"Are you even listening to me? Do you get what I'm saying, at all ?"

The other three were uncharacteristically quiet, and Nick had no idea why. But, he decided, he didn't especially care. They seemed to be able to tell that he was standing on his last nerve and they at least had the sense to not try and but in again.

Finally, Dal lifted his head just enough to nod slightly. Nick grunted in affirmation of the gesture and pulled the hoodie off his waist, holding it up for Dal to put his arms into. He could imagine it would be painful to watch the kid do it himself. Once he was in the hoodie, he turned back around and Nick zipped it shut for him. Immediately, the hood came up and one hand lingered to rub at his eyes.

Nick remedied his guilt by reminding himself of how worried he'd been. The brat had that coming from a hundred miles away.

"Wait," Coach suddenly said, staring at Dal with a look in his eyes that Nick didn't like, "Is that..."

"No, he's not. We can talk later, in a safe room," He looked down at Dal briefly, "My head is killing me."

Dal looked up at him again, and Nick immediately saw the smeared tears on his face. He pushed down his guilt swiftly and turned to Ellis, "Which way were you going? We've been sort of lost."

Ellis just grinned, and Nick thought the kid might cry. Or hug him. Nevertheless, Ellis gestured in the direction they'd come from, "That way. There's a safe room up by a road that I thought I saw."

Nick sighed, deciding not to comment, and grabbed Dal by the shoulder, bodily turning him, "Come on, I'm sure I attracted something by yelling at you for ten minutes."

"Are you bringing th- ... him?" Rochelle had cottoned on as well, it seemed, and she sounded wary. Whether of Dal or Nick, he couldn't tell and he didn't care.

"No, I plan to leave him at the first church I see," He retorted sarcastically, " Yes , I'm bringing him."

"O-oh..." Rochelle replied, sounding nervous and looking a bit embarrassed. She swallowed hard and turned with Ellis, starting off in the direction they'd been walking. Dal and Nick picked up the rear, the latter glaring daggers into the backs of the two dark-skinned adults standing at the front of the ground. Ellis seemed to be inclined to drop back to walk with Nick and Dal, but the unpleasant vibe coming off the the conman was enough to stop even a mosquito.

Dal didn't seem bothered by the exchange, and Nick couldn't tell if it was because he didn't quite understand the meaning behind those words or if he hadn't been paying much attention. Nick kept a hand on his shoulder for several minutes before he let it drop after realizing he'd had it there in the first place. Dal shifted his path so he was walking just a little closer to the conman. Perhaps he was anxious, or perhaps he just wanted the contact. Nick didn't understand the kid at all, but he obviously wanted contact and attention much more than the average teenager. Dal seemed to crave attention like Nick sometimes craved alcohol.

He sighed softly, and resumed his grip on Dal's shoulder, just for a little while.

Chapter Text

The uncomfortable silence that he had spent nearly twenty minutes trying to break was shattered the second Nick locked the safe room door. He couldn't even try to laugh off the tension anymore. Coach place his combat shotgun on the table heavily, Rochelle following his lead. Nick dumped his gun on the floor as he walked over to a different table and eyed an AK-47. The kid, Dal, found himself a seat on a wooden box near the door, glancing around the room with a neutral expression on his face. He was probably the only one who's calm expression wasn't a total lie.

Ellis stayed close to the door as well, his sniper leaning up against the wall by his legs. He didn't want them to fight, and he didn't even actually see why there needed to be fighting. Nick, Rochelle, and Coach often seemed to view him as sort of an idiot, but he knew exactly what they were on the verge of arguing about. Dal supposedly being a Hunter was apparently a problem, though Ellis didn't see how. The kid wasn't violent, he wasn't dangerous, and he was most certainly nothing like the other infected.

"Nick," Coach started, pausing as soon as he had spoken to consider his words. The man in question's eyes fell on Coach like highly caustic acid, hands already clenching into dangerous fists. Really, if anyone was dangerous and violent, it was Nick, not Dal.

"Before you start patronizing me," Nick cut in agitatedly, "I'd like to remind you that I'm old enough to make my own decisions, gramps. Hell, I even have a driver's license."

"I'm not going to spend the next several minutes trying to piss you off, Nick," Coach replied coolly.

"You've already pissed me off," was the heated answer, "You pissed me off thirty minutes ago when you found out that Dal's not like the other kids. You pissed me off when you decided that there needed to be a conversation about something that doesn't need to be discussed."

"Doesn't need to be-...! Nick, he's a Hunter, for Christ's sake!" Rochelle suddenly spoke, her voice an octave higher with indignation, "Did you hit your head hard enough to forget how dangerous those things are?"

Part of Ellis wanted to cover his ears and duck out of the room. Another part of him wanted to get into the argument and defend Nick and Dal. Then there was another part that didn't want there to be fighting at all. He looked over at Dal, who was staring at Rochelle with wide eyes, though the rest of his face was blank. Ellis couldn't tell if he was surprised or furious. Then he saw the shaking fists sitting in the boy's lap.

"I'm not a Hunter!" He could picture the kid standing up suddenly and saying that, but he knew just as well as the others that Dal couldn't talk. Still, that didn't make it okay for them to be so obviously excluding him from the "discussion."

"He's not a Hunter!" Nick snarled, his voice rising in volume, "You think I don't fucking know what a Hunter is, you stupid bitch? I don't care who the hell you are, you call him that again and I will fucking shoot you!"

"Don't you be talkin' to her like that!" Coach exploded, his booming voice overwhelming the others, "Learn some manners! I'm just tryna to do what's best for all of us, and you should damn well know that! There's no need to be threatenin' violence, Nick!"

"The best for all of us? You haven't asked anyone's opinion but your own!"

"Nick, please, you're not even listening-..."

"Shut the fuck up, Rochelle!" Nick shouted, his fists shaking at his sides, "I've fucking heard you! You want him gone because you think he's dangerous, when he's obviously not! If you hadn't found out he was maybe-infected, you would never have had a fucking problem with him!"

"It's not a 'maybe,' Nick, he's obviously infected, and up until now we've dealt with the infected one way, and only one way!"

"I swear to God, Coach, if you or anyone else even fucking tries to kill him, I will gun you down!!"

Very suddenly, Dal stood up. Ellis saw Rochelle flinch out of the corner of his eye, but didn't take his gaze off Dal as the kid stalked over to the safe room door and jimmied the lock until it opened. Without so much as a sound, he wrenched the door open and stormed outside, not even bothering to pull it shut behind him.

"Still think he's dangerous, you fucking cunts? He's scary strong, but he hasn't once tried to kill any of us, even though I'm sure he was as tempted as I am to just fucking beat you senseless-..."

Ellis didn't want to hear any more, so he followed after Dal and ducked out of the safe room. He yanked it shut behind him, fully aware that the others were too busy screaming at each other to be bothered with it. He looked around only briefly before he spotted Dal, who was in the process of climbing up a tree. Ellis walked over to the trunk, looking up at the escaping kid.

"Permission to enter th' tree!" He called up. Dal looked down at him, and Ellis wondered if the look on his face was withering or suspicious. Nevertheless, there was a curt nod before the kid continued climbing further. Ellis grinned - it'd been a few weeks since he'd last climbed up a tree, but he'd be damned if he'd let Dal make him look bad.

He started up, wishing briefly that he'd thought to wear sneakers when the apocalypse hit. At least they'd be lighter - his steel-toes added about two to four pounds per foot. Once he had his feet on the branches, though, lifting himself wasn't a problem. Dal had picked a tree with smaller spacing between the branches, making it easier to climb.

It only took him a couple of minutes to find a comfortable spot a branch below the kid. The simple act of moving away from the safe room and climbing a tree seemed to have calmed Dal significantly. He still seemed tense, but that might've been because he didn't know his tree-climbing companion yet. Perhaps he thought that Ellis was just keeping an eye on him. Ellis would have to find some way to dash that thought.

Or maybe not. Maybe they could just sit in companionable silence and separately marvel at the idea that Coach, Rochelle, and Nick could possibly think of fighting when the world had ended around them. He blew out a sigh, leaning against the bark behind him.

"I don' see what the dang problem is," he grumbled, mainly to himself. He tilted his head back so he could see the young man better. Dal was watching him carefully, and Ellis couldn't tell if he was scowling or just concentrating very hard.

"So, I guess ya' like Nick lots, huh?" He started talking, as he tended to do when there was nothing else happening, "I always thought he was kind'a jerk but maybe he's jus' been hidin' his better qualities. Savin' 'em for someone special."

Dal snorted, shaking his head in what looked to be disbelief, "Wha-at? You got a better theory?" Ellis teased, "Maybe he jus' really likes you."

The look on the kid's face was enough to make Ellis burst out laughing, though he covered his mouth to avoid attracting unwanted attention, "Y'don't make much expressions, but when ya' do... Aw, man, you're great. You jus' tell it all with one look, ya' do."

They fell into silence once again, and all at once the voices in the safe room escalated to a shrieking crescendo. Ellis couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but they were loud. They'd attract a horde at this rate.

"Man, maybe I oughta go down there n' shut 'em up before-..." Ellis trailed off into silence, a familiar sort of rumbling sound reaching his senses. "Ya' feel that?" He looked over at Dal, who's wide eyes and still body told the tale all by itself.

There was a Tank coming.

"Shi-it..." He muttered, "I gotta... I gotta go and shut 'em up..." He moved to start down the tree but a hand grabbed him, stopping him completely as he turned to look at Dal. The Hunter was staring down at the field below them as the shaking in the branches became more evident. He noted suddenly that the others in the safe room had already fallen silent. They were probably hunched up against the wall by now, waiting for the Tank to go away.

But, it seemed, it was a little late for the Tank to get distracted. Ellis watched in horror as it thumped across the field, in search of the noisemakers. There weren't any infected around to catch its attention either - they tended to steer clear of Tanks just as much as non-infected persons, it seemed. The huge beast walked right up to the walls of the safe room, pacing back and forth in front of it, snorting and grunting quietly.

It stopped in front of the safe room door, rocking back and forth on its fists. Then, with a rumbling snarl, it lifted its fists and smashed them through the walls around the door. The heavy red down fell with a crash and the Tank continued smashing through the wood.

"W-we gotta do-... Dal?!" The kid was already halfway down the tree, and Ellis wanted to follow him but he could tell that he just wasn't as fast. He started down anyway, though, his pace slower as he waited. If Dal was going to catch that thing's attention and then run, Ellis was going to have to be fast about getting the others to chase after him.

.

Dal grabbed the first object his saw when he hit the ground - a heavy rock. He ran around behind the Beast, the open field behind him, and threw it. Then he grabbed another rock by his feet and threw that, letting out a yell as he did so. The Beast turned suddenly, letting out a mighty roar as it faced him, and Dal took off to his right, a light jog at first to make sure he would be followed, and once he was certain of it, he took off. He leaped over the fence separating what appeared to be someone's grazing pasture, and headed into the trees.

He didn't want to lose the Beast just yet - if he did, it might go back to what it had originally been doing. So, he didn't work very hard to put distance between them, instead opting for the easier paths and choosing to find a path around obstacles rather than doing the easy thing and going over them.

Dal ran for five minutes straight, the Beast's closing the distance between them slowly, even as he started trying to put space between them. If he didn't get space between them, it was going to be hard to disappear from the Beast's sight and loop around back to the others. He was going to have to find some other way to do this.

The sound of rushing water reached him two seconds before he almost ran off a short cliff into huge river. Shit! He didn't have time to muster the courage he would need to jump into this water, and he'd probably get swept away by it anyway. He didn't have time to plot out a different route, either, so he would have to go up, instead.

He grabbed the nearest tree branch and hauled himself up, and he knew the Beast had seen him start up the tree because it didn't run into the river. He was halfway to the height he wanted to be at when the tree suddenly jerked, nearly throwing him off the branches. He looked down at the Tank just in time to see it punch the trunk again. Another jarring tremor lost him his footing for a second, but he didn't let it slow him down. He gripped every branch with increasing strength, pausing when he felt the shaking start again.

Finally, he reached the height he was comfortable with. He didn't want to be in a tree this close to the edge of the creek, though. He looked around, searching for some branches that he might be able to reach when another heavy shake wracked the tree. This one, however, was closely followed by a horrible cracking sound. Dal's eyes widened as he turned back to the trunk of the tree and wrapped his arms around it tightly.

He held on for dear life as the tree pitched to the side, falling over the creek. If it wasn't for the wetness of the swamps that enabled for a more malleable wood, he would likely have been lost to the waters. But, lucky for him, the tree didn't go into the river. Instead, it stopped, hovering dangerously over the waters, barely attached to the remaining stump. Dal slowly loosened his grip on the tree, turning to look over his shoulder at the Beast. It was pacing back and forth at the water's edge, uncertain about flailing into the water to chase after him.

Dal swallowed - this river would definitely be deep enough and the current strong enough to take the thing away, but he needed to get it into the water first. Grabbing one of the branches beside him, he straightened up, watching the Beast carefully. He hollered at it to get it's attention away from the water, and the thing roared back at him, but didn't move.

He reached for the machete that Nick had holstered to his waist earlier, before they'd reached the safe room.

"You should have something besides your fists to kill with."

"You're giving i-... him a weapon?"

"Go fuck yourself."

He ignored the swell of anger in his chest and pulled the huge knife out of his holster, rearing back and throwing it. It embedded itself in the Beast's shoulder, and the thing let out a mighty yell of pain before smashing its fists into the ground and plunging into the water. It probably made it two steps before the current took hold, and Dal watched, his heart hammering in his throat, as the Beast was washed away by the waters.

The tree he was standing on shuddered and twisted, and then suddenly started losing its grip with the stump. He made it only a few steps before the tree separated completely from the stump and started to sink into the water. He would have to jump, and even then he might not make it. It had to be a twenty foot distance, but he had to try.

Cursing his luck with all his might, Dal jumped. Correction: Dal jumped.

His eyes widened when he realized that, not only was he going to make it, he was going to make it with change. He tried to brace himself for landing, but there was no real way that he could. He would have to duck into a roll, but on this terrain, that was going to be dangerous.

He cursed his luck further as the balls of his feet hit the ground, his center of gravity continuing forward as he pushed into a roll. Pain ricocheted through his arm and back as he landed on his bad shoulder, rolling several times on his side before coming to a stop. The pain was immobilizing, but he couldn't stay here. He had to get up and go back to the others - they would have a hard time finding him.

Dal took in a great, shuddering breath and rolled onto his good shoulder, using his elbow to push himself up. His other arm was wrapped around his midsection as he stood up, stumbling slightly. His legs were shaking from a mixture of fatigue and adrenaline.

He started walking back the way he had come, surprised at the obviousness of his trail. The Beast had left a real wreckage behind him. Maybe it wouldn't be hard for the others to find him, after all.

There were crazies wandering out of the wood works, looking at him with what almost seemed like wariness. They were sniffing the air, growling and chuffing and shuffling their feet, looking for the noisemakers and not finding any. They didn't seem inclined to bother Dal when he was quiet and alone.

"He obviously infected!"

He took a shuddering breath and exhaled on a quiet sob. His shoulder really hurt. He wanted to grab at it and potentially rip it off, it hurt so bad. He hadn't realized how bad it was evidently injured until now.

His vision was blurring with tears. The pain was shooting down his arm and through his back. He had no idea why this was so painful, but he wished it would stop. He stumbled over to a tree and leaned up against it, his head bowed and his entire body stiff with tension. He couldn’t stop. He needed to get back.

"Dal?" He heard Nick's voice call to him, and he lifted his head to see the four people headed towards him. Nick and Ellis were leading the ground, and both looked like they'd been run over by a steamroller of stress. Dal couldn't even bring himself to smile, but he managed to reply weakly.

"Da-al." Nick was upon him as soon as he knew that Dal was well enough to speak, his eyes blazing.

"Fuck Christ, Dal, stop running off like that! I'm gonna die of a heart attack because of you!"

His heart swelled painfully, and the tears were flowing. He bowed his head, taking in a shuddering breath as he absorbed what Nick had said. Nick had been worried about him. Normally, he was sure, people would feel bad about making others worry, but Dal couldn't. He couldn't summon those emotions because he was just so happy that Nick had been worried. That Nick had thought of him. That Nick had come looking for him.

He choked on a sob, his arm flaring up again, but it wasn't as bad. Maybe it was because he wasn't moving it, or maybe his joy was drowning out the pain. He had no idea.

"Y-..." Nick stopped in his tirade, "Are you okay?"

He wanted to burst into hysterics and hug Nick and sob about how much it meant to him that someone cared, but right then he didn't have either the energy or the vocal prowess for it. In response to Nick's question, he shook his head 'no,' pulling himself away from the tree and reaching over to grab tightly to his bicep. His shoulder hurt.

Nick seemed to be briefly at a loss for words, but it didn't last more than a second. He felt that calloused, heavy hand fall on his good shoulder and steer him around, "C'mon, I left like everything back in the not-so-safe room." They started walking, Nick carefully guiding Dal along. The distance back to the not-so-safe room wasn't far, only a couple of minutes of strenuous walking.

They reached the edge of the small fields, and Nick was all business, "Go with Ellis over to that house," he pointed to a building with blue walls and a tired looking porch, "I'll be right over with the rest of the supplies."

Coach and Rochelle were quiet, but looked unhappy about Dal surviving his first encounter with one of those things. He had a feeling he understood - sort of - why Nick had gotten so angry at them. Dal had gotten upset too, but not nearly furious enough to warrant threats of violence. His anger was directed at them referring to him as a Hunter. He wasn't one of those Grudge-things. He wasn't, and he didn't understand why they couldn't see that. The rest of it was... hurtful, but not infuriating.

Ellis led the way into the the relatively well-preserved house, finding a moth eaten couch and settling Dal on it. The kid didn't want to take off his hoodie - that was going to require arm movement, but he knew he would have to. He could wait until Nick came back.

"Ellis?" The man in question turned at the sound of Rochelle's voice, stepping over to the window she was posted by.

"Yea?" He responded in his good-natured tone, "What's up?"

"What do you think about..." She probably gestured towards him at that point, but Dal didn't have the wherewithal to glare at her.

Ellis replied good-naturedly, "I like 'im."

.

Once Nick had finished treating the very infected wound in Dal's shoulder, they started off. The kid had a mild fever, but with an anti-pyretic and the allowance of a thirty minute nap for everyone, Dal looked and probably felt much better. He and the kid were currently leading the expedition through the small village. They were scavenging through each building, looking for supplies, of which they found plenty. Ellis was charged with carrying with second backpack they came across and stuffed with supplies.

Nick wasn't sure what to make of his new feelings towards Ellis. The hick was, at the very least, to be considered a "good guy" because of his alliance with Team Dal. But that didn't change the fact that he was annoying. Still, though... Team Dal.

Ellis seemed to genuinely like Dal, even though it was obvious that the guy didn't understand him as easily as Nick (sometimes) did. But it was good that Ellis wasn't afraid of him or anything. Well, Ellis didn't appear to be afraid of anything so that wasn't really saying very much.

They crossed through a plantation house, peering around in the dilapidated structure. It had obviously been in the process of being fixed up, but the project had evidently been left unfinished. Nick led the way through the house, flashlight off. The others always seemed inclined to use as much light as possible, but Nick, fresh leader of the group (apparently), had demanded that flashlights be left off and guns be used sparingly. Coach probably thought it was to avoid an "accidental kill shot," and Nick knew that nothing he said would change the old bastard's mind. So he let it be. As long as Coach didn't start actively trying to go against "the rules," Nick didn't care what he thought.

It still sort of pissed him off, though.

They walked out to the other side of the plantation house. A couple of infected rushed towards them. Nick and Dal instinctively stepped forward. Dal punched the first infected hard enough to break its nose, and Nick came up behind it as soon as it was on the ground and fluidly broke its neck. Another was upon him as he was committing his hourly act of murder, but Dal swiftly smashed the woman's skull with a solid punch to the side of the head. The third and fourth were slashed open cleanly by Dal's newly acquired hunting knife - a replacement for the machete he lost. All in all, the four infected fell without any hitches and without any loud as hell gunfire.

Nick straightened up, tugging on the hem of his jacket to re-situate it on his person. He glanced back at the rest of his party - Rochelle looked mortified, Coach looked startled, Ellis...

"Shit, man!" The young man exclaimed, "That was awesome! Gosh, Nick, since when're you so cool?"

The glare on Nick's face withered to nothing at the sight of Ellis' genuine excitement, "Where'd you learn t'fight like that? Were you in that mafia're somethin'?"

"No, I'm not mafia, you moron." Nick retorted with a weak scowl. He wanted to smile or laugh at the compliment, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to be really nice to any of them. Which was ridiculous, by the way. "I'm a con-artist, Ellis. Shit happens, people die."

"Wow, so you've killed people before the apocalypse hit?" Ellis' amazement was somewhere between disturbing and elating. Nick suddenly felt like a popular movie star or something. Like Samuel L. Jackson or Nicholas Cage.

Nick paused, his brow furrowed as something kicked him in the stomach. Something like nausea. He turned his gaze away from Ellis' face - Ellis' stupid, excitable puppy face that he wanted punch.

His reply was quiet, "I killed a few people before... this, yeah." He clenched his fists, anger suddenly boiling up past the nausea. He turned back to Ellis, who looked a little deflated at Nick's reply. He had probably been kidding, "And I'm gonna kill you in a minute if you don't stop talking." He snapped.

Ellis' smile vanished, and he nodded mutely, sinking into his shoulders apologetically. He wanted to apologize (almost), but Nick chose not to. It was best if people understood when they were standing on nerves and sore spots. And Ellis was so dense, he need all the instruction he could get.

Something was tugging on his sleeve and he looked down at Dal, who met his gaze evenly.

"Yes?"

The kid pointed to a sort of exit from the property that led out to the river. It was mostly destroyed now, but he could see that there had probably been boats and such there at one point. He glanced back at Dal, confused at the gesturing. The kid sighed heavily and started walking towards the opened gates, Nick following him and the others followed Nick.

"What's it doing?" Rochelle asked unabashedly, "Do you think it's seeing something?"

"What, like hallucinatin'?" Ellis asked in confusion, "Naw, I don't think so. I think 'e heard somethin'."

"I dunno, El," Rochelle replied, her voice quiet, "I thought those things hallucinate, and that's why they're violent and stuff..."

Nick was decidedly ignoring them, but there was a boiling rage in the pit of his stomach that was telling him to shoot her. He shoved a hand into his pocket, running his fingers over the package of cigarettes he'd picked up. Now, if only he had a lighter. He looked up at where Dal had stopped, and blinked, before a smirk grew on his face.

Hallucinating? No, Dal had heard a damn radio.

"'Eeelloooo? Thi'is Virgil! Issere anyone at that there plantation, cause I'mma think I sees you!"

Nick stared at the ancient machinery for a moment before he found himself gently poking and prodding to get a feel for how it worked. Ellis stepped over to him, picking up what was probably some kind of receiver and handed it to him.

"Jus' press that button and he'll hear you," the young man instructed, "It's already all set up, actually."

Nick gave him a look before taking the receiver, "Hello?" he greeted uncertainly, "Any chance you're headed west?"

"Well ay-looo there! Yessir, I'mma shufflin' folks down stream to New Orleans from 'ere. You want me ta' come over n' pick yous up?"

"If you could, yeah."

"Alrighty, folks, gimme just a few minutes, me n' m'girl'll be right over!"

"Uh, thanks. We'll be waiting."

Nick handed the receiver to Ellis, who put it back on its holder for him. A few minutes, huh? He blew out a sigh. He didn't really want to be standing around aimlessly with Rochelle and Coach. He was sure it was only a matter of time before he had to punch one of them.

"D'you think Virgil will let us on with a Hunter?" Coach asked suddenly, and Nick had to actually refrain from turning on his heel and socking the man in the face.

"Probably not, so it's a good thing we don't have a Hunter with us," Nick spat venomously, "He might not let us bring your corpse on board though, so you ought to watch you damn tongue."

"Guys..." Ellis spoke up, his voice half-pleading. Nick huffed angrily, turning his attention back to the waters. Dal stepped over to stand close to him and tugged gently on his sleeve. The conman looked down at him, unable to mask or push away his anger enough to not scowl at the kid.

But Dal didn't look upset by the scowling, or anything like that. He didn't look surprised or hurt or anything by the conversation that had just taken place. He just looked at Nick, his face blank and his gaze quiet and still. But still, there was a light that was shining in his eyes, like a beam of happiness and joy that didn't fit with the situation. Nick couldn't place it, he didn't understand it at all. This wasn't the first time Dal had looked at him like that, either.

He sighed heavily, "I wish you could talk," he muttered softly. Dal nodded in agreement, and then they broke eye contact, both looking back to the water.

"They're sort of right though," He continued, a little louder, "Here, come here." Dal turned to him, and Nick took his hoodie off, tying it around his waist. Then, with Ellis' permission, he put the hick's hat on Dal's head to block out the sunlight. He allowed Dal to keep his hair in his face, though.

"If anyone asks, he was mauled by an infected." Nick announced, tightening the hoodie around Dal's waist.

Ellis nodded in agreement, "I'll back you up, Nick, don' worry."

"You're not the one I'm worried about," Nick grumbled, straightening up, "You look a lot smaller without that hoodie on."

Dal punched him lightly in the arm, and Nick couldn't help but chuckle, "Like a deflated balloon, really." That earned him an expressionless glare, and Nick smirked in reply to it.

When Ellis glanced back at Rochelle and Coach, hopeful that they were at least a little in on the fun, the grin on his face disappeared. Part of Nick was infuriated by that, but there was another part of him that just wasn't surprised. It was, apparently, just how things were going to be. It was unfair and stupid and infuriating, but there wasn't anything Nick could do to change their minds.

The fact that the two of them were so hung-up on his appearance was infuriating. Part of Nick understood where they were coming from with their bias against Dal, but that same part of him didn't understand why they couldn't get over that and see that Dal wasn't a Hunter. He was an abnormal case. He wasn't dangerous. He wasn't violent. He wasn't a risk factor. He was just a kid.

It was ironic, but Rochelle and Coach just couldn't see past the hoodie.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

He wasn't trying to be the "bad guy."

As they all settled on the boat, Virgil not even bothering to come out of his little cabin in the center of the floating vehicle, Coach let out a low sigh. He knew, at that point, that Nick probably hated him. And, given Nick's particular circumstances, he could sort of see why. Nick was putting an awful lot of stock in his "relationship" with his Hunter, so Coach threatening that "relationship" was, essentially, a threat towards Nick.

Rochelle could see that keeping the Hunter around was akin to carrying a time bomb through a mine field. It was just dangerous . Certainly, it might have been all docile and even helpful at the moment, but who knew what kind of hair trigger would set the thing off? Infected were infected, and even if some of them were like this particular Hunter, that didn't change the fact that they were infected with some strange mutation of the rabies virus. There was a reason they had been shooting them on sight instead of trying to make nice with them. Why had that changed for this one Hunter?

Coach looked over at Nick and his little friend. They were sitting farther away from the others, both silently watching the passing trees with half-lidded eyes. Nick was visibly tired, but his body was still stiff. He was on guard. Before the Hunter had come into the picture, Nick had started to relax around them. Now, because of all the fighting, he was on guard at all times again, like how he'd been when they'd first met in Savannah.

The older man didn't understand for the life of him what Nick was seeing in that Hunter that he couldn't. What was it about the little beast-to-be that was so appealing, over the rest of the uninfected party? Nick had commented earlier during their fight that the Hunter was worth his time because "Dal" understood him. Nick hadn't exactly specified what it was that the Hunter understood, or why none of them had it in them to understand, or anything really. He had just stated that "Dal understood him." Coach wanted to understand. He was a good Christian man, and it had always been in his nature to be good to others, to try to understand others, and to use his wisdom and strength to protect those weaker than him. He had been like that before he had found God with his parent's guidance. When he'd been truly little, he hadn't believed, he hadn't understood, and he hadn't tried. So he'd spent the rest of his life making up for that misdemeanor.

And yet, even with prayers to God for guidance, he couldn't understand. He couldn't always be good. He couldn't seem to be able to protect those weaker than him, though at times he wasn't sure who it was that was weak and in need of protecting. The younger people he'd been surrounded with during this horrible apocalypse were all strong. They didn't need his protection, but he still felt inclined to want to keep them safe from harm in any way that he could. The fact that Nick was so keen to undermine his efforts was cause for anger, but he had tried, he had really tried to get Nick to see his points. But the man wouldn't.

And now they were walking around with a time bomb. Because that was what "Dal" was. That was what any tiger in a zoo was. Eventually, something would happen. And rather than pointing fingers and saying "I told you so," Coach would be mourning lives lost to a triggered Hunter with brutal killing capabilities.

At this point, all he could do was pray for guidance and hope that his decades of faith would be enough to keep them safe.

.

"Ooooh, dearie," Virgil's voice came over the small PA system on his boat. It was a terrible system, but they could understand him relatively well, "Folks, I am very much sorry t'say, but its'a lookin' like I might hafta git ya'll to find me some gasoline!"

Nick looked up at the speaker the older fellow was talking through, "What? Out of gas?"

Virgil hummed over the PA system, "Yessir. This here ain't enough t'git us to New Orl'ns. I'm re-al sorry, folks. Could I git yous to go up on shore here in Ducatel? Shouldn't be tha' far, I don' think, jus' a couple blocks."

Nick heaved a sigh, "Well if we don't have a choice, I guess..." He trailed off, muttering condemnations under his breath. He glanced over at the others, who looked about as resigned as he felt. "Take us to shore, then, I suppose."

The boat shifted slightly as Virgil started turning it, "Alrighty then, folks, I really 'ppreciate it. I's is real sorry 'bout this, I gotta make it up t'yous, I'm thinkin'."

"Just don't leave us in Ducatel," Rochelle replied half-heartedly, "We'll be fine, Virgil. We'll try not to take long, too."

"Take all the time yous need - there's a storm brewin', so you'd best be careful."

"We will, Virgil. Thank you,"

Nick settled back against the wood framing. Dal was sitting almost uncomfortably close to him, but he had steeled his nerves against his impulse to want to move away. He wasn't exactly comfortable with physical contact, but Dal wasn't exactly touching him. He was just almost touching him. He glanced over at the kid, who's eyes were closed, his expression blank as usual. Nick couldn't tell if he was sleeping or just resting his eyes. Evidently, bright light really bothered the kid's eyes.

Virgil brought the boat to a complete stop at a poorly constructed deck that had pretty much fallen apart.

"Ya'll can turn on that there Burger Tank sign from that roof! I'll see it fer certain n' come gitcha."

Coach called back to him this time, "Alright, Virgil, we'll do that. We'll be right back."

Nick led the way into the Burger Tank, where they found a mess of ammo and guns. They were already pretty well stocked thanks to the backpacks and the convenience of just not shooting things, so they left most of it, instead opting to grab two pipe bombs to attach to Rochelle.

"Let's go?" Nick called from the front of the store, "Virgil wasn't kidding about the weather." He looked over at his shoulder as Ellis, Rochelle, and Coach came up behind him to and saw the sky. It was extremely dark in the distance, but it was moving towards them fast.

"Let's make this snappy, guys," Rochelle agreed, starting forward, "We should avoid stopping at all costs, if we can help it. I don't like the look of that storm."

"Well, we are in the Gulf," Ellis offered unhelpfully, "Maybe it's a hurri-..."

"Don't even say it, overalls," Nick interrupted, throwing him a nasty look. Ellis closed his mouth immediately, his lips pulling into a frown. Nick didn't say anything further, even as they walked down the street. Dal was walking next to him, his movements stiff. The kid was probably looking forward to the rain even less than the others were.

Because they were in a hurry, Nick decided that it would be alright for them to shoot infected, but only if those infected came towards them. Don't waste ammo. Be quiet. Flashlights off, for God's sake. They moved quickly but relatively quietly, only bothering a few infected as they hurried along.

"Are we gonna stop at the first safe room, or skip to the next?" Ellis asked suddenly, "D'you think we should just go until someone get's hurt?"

Nick frowned, but nodded, "I'm pretty sure we have enough ammo to last us until someone get's hurt."

"I feel like you shouldn't be assuming someone's going to get injured," Rochelle piped up, sounding wary of conversation. She was probably afraid that talking would piss him off, after their fight earlier. The thought infuriated Nick all by itself, whether it was accurate or not, "I mean, it's kind of bad karma, right?"

"Naw, I think we'll be fine," Ellis replied optimistically

"I bet one of us will be hurt before we get to the second safe room we see," Nick stated bluntly, "Ellis is the Great Attractor of Danger, after all."

"I am not."

"You definitely are."

He felt a hand enclosed around his elbow, bringing him to a stop. The others paused in their steps as well, looking at Nick for direction as he looked at Dal in confusion. The kid was concentrating very hard on something, but Nick couldn't tell what. Dal had done this a few times when they'd been traveling with just the two of them - he'd stop Nick in his tracks and listen very carefully to something before pulling him out of danger's path.

Slowly, Dal started walking, pulling Nick along by the elbow. They all continued forward at a significantly slower pace. Dal was moving very slowly, concentrating hard on whatever he was picking up on.

"What's uh... he seeing now?" Rochelle hissed, her voice skeptical and sounding slightly irritated.

"He's not seeing anything," Nick retorted venomously, glaring at her briefly, "I think he hears something."

"I don't hear anythin', Nick," Coach chimed in, his voice heavy. Nick didn't respond for a moment, deciding whether it'd be worth it to snarl. It wouldn't be.

"He has a better sense of hearing than we do," He replied quietly, "He's done this before." Dal suddenly stopped him in his tracks again and Nick looked over at him, seeing alarm on his face, "What?" The kid jerked to the right, elbowing Nick in the side gently to get him to shift his course. Whatever he was hearing was mildly frightening him, obviously. It was probably-...

There was a loud shriek, and Nick jerked away from Dal, reaching for the pistol at his hip before he knew what he was reacting to. Another Hunter was in the area, and it had just spotted them in its territory. His eyes were ghosting over the entire area in front of him, from whence the noise had come. Abruptly, a weight crashed into his side, sending him stumbling to his right, shortly followed by an enraged snarling. He twisted back around in time to see the Hunter turn faster than lightning and spring after Dal, this time. The kid's arms came up in a reflexive guard, one of his knees lifting before his back hit the ground. In a beat, he was able to kick the Hunter back off, sitting up into a crouch and diving on top of it, fists swinging. The Hunter beneath him shrieked loudly, reaching up to grab Dal's injured shoulder and digging his fingers in. Dal's movement halted jerkily as he yelped in pain, throwing himself back to remove the source of pain.

It was then that Nick saw an ideal opening - that was the trouble with fighting with Dal. The kid was so up in his opponent's face, Nick didn't want to risk opening fire at all. But at that moment, he moved forward swiftly, hitting the Hunter in the face with the butt of his gun to stop him from getting back and then stomping hard on his throat, crushing his windpipe with ease. The Hunter was dead instantly, and Dal fell back off it, gasping for breath in a frantic way that Nick didn't recognize as a Dal-trait.

Ellis hurried over, looking a little shaken, "Shit, you okay, Dal? Man, next time, you just point an' I'll take it out 'fore it even gets to us."

Dal looked over at Ellis, his eyes wide and... angry? Disbelieving? Nick couldn't quite tell if it was one or the other, and he wondered then if it was a maelstrom of both. He stepped between Ellis and Dal then, crouching down, "You alright?"

"Has it-... Has he done that before?" Rochelle suddenly asked, sounding breathless and quite a lot frightened, "Y'know, like... lost it like that?"

Right then, the look that Dal directed at Rochelle was one that Nick was glad she couldn't see from her angle. It was that same blank-faced rage he'd expressed at Nick when they'd first met.

"She's askin' a good question, Nick," Coach bringing himself into the conversation made everything worse, as usual, "Has it done that before?"

Rochelle whispered something low enough that Nick couldn't hear, but Dal did and the kid wasted no more time getting to his feet. Nick could tell that his shoulder was bothering him again - that dirty move from that Hunter had probably caused his wound to start bleeding again. Dal then threw Coach and Rochelle the nastiest glare Nick had ever seen on a kid his age. His expression was mostly blank, as usual, but his eyes were more expressive then than Nick had ever seen them.

" He didn't 'lose it,'" Nick finally replied coldly, "One would think you two would understand why he'd be so furious at Hunters, but I guess not everyone can have a trying adolescence."

Rochelle and Coach were noticeably offended by that, but they didn't say anything further, instead pursing their lips and holding their tongues. They were obviously trying hard to avoid fighting with Nick, and he was a little tiny bit grateful for that. Fighting in the middle of the streets would do them no good. Dal tapped Nick's elbow, and the man looked over at the kid. He was tilting his head in the direction they had been walking - "Let's go." Nick nodded, and started walking again, glancing over at Ellis to make sure the hick hadn't wandered off like some lost puppy or something.

.

He was tired of being the bad guy.

They had stopped at a safe room at Nick's command, because he wanted to make sure that Dal's shoulder was alright. He always forgot how smart the Special Infected could be. Especially the Hunters, Jockeys, and Smokers... they were scary smart for rabid animals. He helped Dal shrug off his hoodie and pulled the collar of his shirt to the side so he could see the bandages. It didn't look like he'd started bleeding any more, so Nick decidedly left the bandages be, handing the kid a couple of pills to relieve his pain.

Coach and Rochelle didn't understand why he was so... attached to Dal. He had tried to explain, but there was no real way to do so. How could he possibly be able to explain the wretched loneliness that came from having a past that no one else could begin to relate to? To Dal, his bitterness, his pessimism, and even his mild abusiveness was, on some level, understandable. Dal understood his anger, Dal understood why he never felt that there was anything good to look forward to, Dal understood why he was always so mean. Dal understood his loneliness. They didn't understand each other on very basic levels, but on a deeper, emotional level that Nick didn't quite understand, Dal was the only one he understood, and vice versa.

Coach and Rochelle, who had lived their perfect, happy little lives free of the horrors of reality, couldn't possibly begin to understand the depths of Nick's character. He wasn't just a shallow conman with a bad attitude. There was more to it than that. There was so much more to him than just his chosen profession.

Coach was the worst of the two of them. The older man seemed to think he was doing the right thing, protecting them or whatever, but what he was really doing - at least in his and Dal's eyes - was pushing judgment down Nick's throat. He wanted, on some level, to place Nick into some pre-made character box so that he could act according to his beliefs about people and "fix," or at least "deal with," Nick. But Nick didn't fit into those boxes. Nick didn't fit because Coach had grown up in small town Savannah, where the world had seen no worse tragedy than beer deficits. Coach believed himself to be a "good Christian man," but all Nick saw was judgment and narrow-mindedness and a terrible inability to really understand. Coach wouldn't listen, and even if he did, he wouldn't understand.

And Rochelle... she was just terrified of Dal. She was deathly afraid that he would snap and kill all four of them at the push of a button. And she stubbornly refused to change her mind, no matter how many time she infuriated both Nick and Dal. Neither of them had tore out her throat yet, so he couldn't understand why she wouldn't see past her irrational fear. Dal wasn't dangerous. Out of the two of them, Nick was the one who was more like to commit homicide within their group - and he'd do a better, faster job of it too. He'd almost committed violence against Rochelle already - Coach had had to physically put himself between the two of them, and Nick had, for a moment, been full prepared to go through the large man so he could throttle her.

"He's not even human anymore! Why are you so attached to a monster?!"

Probably , Nick thought, glancing down at Dal, because I'm a monster. Takes on to like one.

He hated that they called Dal "it" or "thing." He hated that they treated Dal like a time bomb. He hated that they seemed to think, on some level, that Dal didn't really understand what they said about him. He hated that Rochelle flinched when Dal moved with suddenness. He hated that Coach always had one eye on Dal. He hated the knowledge that, if they were surrounded on all sides by infected, Coach would kill Dal and claim that it was an accident. He hated that they couldn't see past the ashen skin, the scars and the hoodie. He hated the comments, the questions that didn't need to be asked but were asked anyway.

He hated Coach and Rochelle. He hated them for being unable to understand. He hated them for judging him based on "facts" that they had decided about him. He hated them for making those presumptions about him and never asking for the truth.

Nick was tired of being the bad guy. He was always the enemy, the antagonist, the pessimist, the abuser, the tiger in the zoo. He spent his life surrounded by the kind of people who couldn't understand his cruel streak, the kind of people who smiled at his dark humor only to hide their revulsion.

He had been surrounded by the kind of people who would never be able to read and understand him because they were easier to con. Even the two ranking members of the mafia that he'd managed to snag hadn't been able to get him. They'd lived sad, even tragic lives, sure, but they'd lived those lives with a sense of togetherness. Nick had always been alone.

And that was why he was so attached to Dal. He could tell that the kid had also always been alone. Dal, who seemed to cry whenever Nick came looking for him out of worry. He was sure those weren't tears of guilt. He was sure, from the shine in the boy's eyes, that those were tears of joy. That Dal was just so happy that Nick had worried about him that he'd been reduced to tears.

The idea that the emotional energy he put into this one relationship had such a profound affect on the other party was a source of happiness for him as well. It was bittersweet joy, but it was joy nonetheless. His positive emotions would probably always be like unsweetened baking chocolate, but they were there. He had them, and they were as real as the apocalypse around him. The timing was crap, but at least he wasn't going to be quite so alone anymore.

At one point, he had decided that his relationship with Dal would be false and based around a con. He could have laughed. He had really lost his touch, hadn't he?

Chapter Text

The pouring rain was putting a serious damper on Dal's mood. Every muscle in his body was stiff as bone, his shoulders were hunched up pointlessly and his was head bowed against the wind. The tension in his body was exhausting him. He felt extremely high-strung, like he could go off on the slightest trigger. He wouldn't try not to, obviously, but he hadn't felt quite like this since he'd had his little fight with Nick when they'd first met.

He was sure that it was the rain that was making him feel like a time bomb. But he wouldn't be surprised if Rochelle's paranoia was also adding to his hair-trigger temper. Even more than Coach's constant questioning of Dal's state of mind, Rochelle's fear of him was cause for both anger and incredulity and hurt. As the rain started pouring down harder, Dal wondered what he would have to do to convince them that he wasn't dangerous. He felt a hand grab his arm, pulling him back slightly, and turned to find the source of the pressure. It was Nick.

"Slow down!" He called over the sound of the torrential downpour, "I don't want to lose track of you!"

Dal nodded as obviously as he could with the tension in his neck, hoping that Nick could see the movement. He dropped back, taking one of his hands out of his pocket and wrapping his fingers around Nick's forearm as lightly as he could. The man didn't reject the contact, and Dal's stomach flipped slightly with a mixture of happiness and anxiety. Now the the rain was getting direct contact with his skin, and it only made his tension worse. But he fought it, ignored it as best he could, and plodded on with Nick by his side.

Nick was a conman. He hadn't known that until the man had mentioned it more or less in passing to Ellis. Nick was, in essence, a criminal at heart. Dal wondered what kind of life he'd lived - obviously, it had been at least a partly violent lifestyle, just considering that he had "killed people before the Infection hit."

The wind was howling loudly in his ears. This storm was probably the edge of a small hurricane, like Ellis had suggested. Or maybe it was just a really bad typhoon or something. Either way, he wished it would stop. He couldn't pickup on the scent of gunpowder from the occasional shots fired, he couldn't hear the approaching crazies, and he couldn't see much of anything.

He glanced back behind him to do a check on the group, just to make sure everyone was still present. Coach was scowling through the rain, Ellis' face was screwed up against the wind, and Rochelle had a hand up to shield her face against the harsh downpour. Nick eyes were forward, his movements stiff - he looked very tense, and Dal could guess why. Nick seemed like the kind of person who had probably lived the kind of life that produced a danger-sensitive foresight. Assuming that he hadn't been exaggerating earlier about his comfortable relationship with violence, that is.

He heard Nick holler something, but he didn't quite hear it. He lifted his head in time to see a horde of crazies running towards them - their had to be at least two dozen, maybe more, headed for them. What trap wire had they tripped? !

He took a step back, fully understanding that, as the one person without a gun, he ought to try and stay out of the way mostly to avoid getting shot.

Gunfire filled the air, and Dal pulled his hunting knife out of its holster at his hip and waited patiently for his turn. He scanned the area even as he slashed a few crazies and socked some others in the skull. He wanted to make sure that none of the Super Crazies came along and blitzed them. Nick and the others called them "Specials" but, in Dal's opinion, Super Crazies was more fitting.

As he was turning to jam his blade into a nearby throat, he heard a sharp cry that lasted about a second before it was cut off. He recognized it immediately as Rochelle and the start made him pause long enough to get socked in the face by some asshole. He shoved the guy away, his eyes darting about for Rochelle's distinct pink shirt, blocking out Nick's calls to seek out her voice.

He spotted her and, forgetting about the horde (which seemed to be getting larger), he took off after her, pushing and shoving through the crazies. She was being dragged off by that one with the long tongue - Nick called them Smokers, which seemed like an apt enough title for the musty-smelling things. He could faintly hear Nick (or maybe Ellis) calling for him and Rochelle over the roar of the rain and the howling wind, but he blocked them out entirely, his attention focused on rescuing the one survivor who was most afraid of him.

The Smoker had pulled her up to his feet and was kicking at her chest as she lay there, eyes bugging out and breaths coming out in wheezy, choking gasps that he could barely hear. He launched himself into the Smoker, his knife coming up with the intent to lop off the thick, slimy tongue. With his knee digging into the swollen, tumor-covered throat, he grabbed the tongue, but couldn't get a good enough grip to hold it while he cut it. The rain was making it even wetter and slimier than normal. The last time he'd had to deal with one of these...

Last time, you were the one all wrapped up and you were able to rip out its tongue.

Without thinking about it, he lifted the knife and plunged it into the open mouth, twisting it and jerking it back and forth until he felt the tension in the tongue he held with his other hand suddenly give. The Smoker was dead and the tongue was severed. Easy enough. He clambered off the bloody corpse and moved over to Rochelle as he fumbled with his knife to get it back into it's holster. She wasn't moving much, and his heart stumbled a bit in fear for her life. He crouched down beside her and, moving as carefully as he could, started unraveling her from the thick tongue. Then, noting that her breathing was still extremely shallow, he grabbed her shoulder firmly and shook her just a bit. She jerked, taking in a huge breath and choking on it and she regained consciousness. They didn't have time to wait for her, though - the others could start looking for the two of them and end up heading the completely wrong direction.

When Rochelle saw him, she stilled, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. He didn't exactly have the time or patience to be docile and quiet and kind and all that nonsense. He grabbed her by her bicep and hauled her to her feet, at which point she immediately moved to pull away. Dal, however, did not let go. He tugged her along, indicating with mild force that he had no intention of letting go of her and that they needed to get a move on.

"I can-... let go...! " She requested rather loudly, trying to pull her arm away. Dal turned to look at her, his expression - he hoped - as sour as his mood had turned. She halted her ministrations and clenched her fists, "Let of me, y... Just, let go!" She had almost called him something nasty, he was sure. He wondered only briefly why she had changed me mind.

He clenched his jaw briefly, loosened his grip just a little, and then started walking, nearly dragging her along because she was so keen to not be dragged that she was willing to slow them down and be dragged . Along the way, he stooped to grab her gun, deciding not to give it to her until they had found the others.

"Give me that," She requested, "You-... You shouldn't have it."

He looked at her again, this time a properly infuriated glare. She clamped her mouth shut and flinched away all in the same breath. He huffed out a breath and went back to dragging her.

Dal kept his ears peeled, looking around, trying to spot Coach's familiar purple or Ellis' pale yellow. He hoped that they hadn't decided to head off to the nearest safe room to wait for the two of them. Dal was not interested in traveling with Rochelle.

Finally, they tripped over a couple of bodies, and then a dozen or two. He let go of Rochelle, looking around numbly to make sure none of the corpses belonged to Ellis, Nick, or Coach. They had gone ahead to the next safe room. He cursed his luck at the sky, turning to Rochelle again. She was looking around, her arms wrapped around herself. She was probably freezing. He'd be damned if he was going to give her his hoodie, though. She probably wouldn't even take it.

He swallowed, walking over to her. She startled and looked over at him, eyes widening slightly. He slowly held out her gun, offering it back to her. He wasn't going to travel with her if she was unarmed. That'd complicate everything, especially if he was carrying her weapon. He doubted she could fight.

He looked around, peering through the rain as it started to let up, found the familiar set of houses they had been walking towards, and glanced at her again. He tilted his head in the direction they needed to be walking in and started moving.

She didn't say anything, wisely, because he was sure that another word out of her mouth would have him mauling her.

No, don't think like that. He scolded himself severely, s he doesn't need any actual reason to be afraid of you.

It'd be nice if she stopped treating me like a highly dangerous psychopath, though.

Rochelle, he was sure, wasn't a bad person. In fact, he could bet on many things that she was probably a good person. A zombie apocalypse was something that could wipe out many forms of prejudice while simultaneously producing a bunch of new prejudices. It would ruin a society but it would bring individuals together. Really, it was like any horror film about the end of the world.

The woman had obviously had bad experiences with the Grudges. Or maybe they just frightened her on a visceral level, developing those kinds of phobias that weren't necessarily illogical but still ought to be reasoned with and overcome. Like hydrophobia or arachnophobia. Too bad this particular group didn't have a resident psychotherapist. They could all probably use one.

That didn't excuse her habit of thinking of him as a dangerous " Hunter " (Grudge), though.

The rain had let up significantly since they'd starting this expedition, thankfully. It was still a decently heavy rain, but it wasn't the torrential downpour from five minutes ago. Basically, he could see now. He raised his head, looking around for signs to the nearest safe room. It was more than likely that the others had headed in that direction, and even if they hadn't gotten that far, they would probably see Rochelle and Dal walking by and call out to them. Hopefully. Assuming they were paying any attention. The two of them had been walking for a while now with no signs of the rest of their party. He hoped that they wouldn't have to turn back.

The sound of anguished crying reached his keen ears and he slowed his pace considerably. Someone was hurt? He looked around curiously, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. Obviously, someone was either injured or frightened and needed some assistance. He wouldn't mind being the kind individual to provide it.

Just kidding, Rochelle would have to be the provider of kindness, since obviously no one would trust him.

His sarcasm flared up alongside the part of him that was bitter and angry at the world. He smothered it, wondering where the hell the emotional roller coaster had come from. Rochelle came to a sudden stop beside him and he turned to her, confused. Why had she stopped?

She looked at him, eyes distrusting, "That's a Witch," she whispered, more to herself. She glanced over at him nervously, "Ju- uh... Follow me." She probably just didn't want to be murdered by Nick, and so would be so kind as to spare his life. He nodded mutely. She diverted her gaze to the ground and then to the world in front of her and started moving, her eyes darting about as she searched for the Witch. He and Nick had encountered one of those before, but he didn't recall the sound of her crying before they'd fallen on top of her. Either way, he decided he would trust Rochelle's judgment. He didn't like those things.

They moved away from the sound of crying, only to encounter the sound of more crying. Rochelle looked somewhere between horrified and bewildered at the revelation that there were several Witches hanging around the area. Dal was beginning to think that they had gone too far - they'd been walking for probably fifteen minutes now with no sign of the others. It hadn't taken him that long to track down Rochelle, save her, and bring her back to the location of the others.

So they were going to have to backtrack, obviously. The problem was going to be adequately portraying those thoughts to Rochelle and being understood.

He reached out and tapped her shoulder, deciding that it wasn't a big huge deal that she jumped visibly. She turned to him, looking like she was about to ream him out, but she stopped herself. He could practically see the moment she thought "he might kill me if I yell at him," and he could've screamed. Actually, he might've been pretty pleased with her progress if she had screamed at him.

She stared at him, looking wary. He sighed slightly. He held up three fingers - something that required both hands - and indicated the direction they had been coming from. She stared at him for a long, long time, and he could see that she had no idea what he was trying to say to her. He looked skyward, letting out a loud, annoyed sigh before turning back to her. He turned around, facing the direction they had been coming from, and started walking.

"Where is i-... are... what are you doing...?"

Dal decided not to comment on her obvious backtracking. He beckoned her to follow him, but she seemed dead set on not doing what he wanted her to do. He was tempted to pick her up and carry her, but he decided against it. He turned around again and walked back over to her, gesturing broadly in the direction they'd been coming from. That way. It's that way. You stupid woman.

"That... that's not the right way." She said, and he could tell she didn't want to be interacting with him like this. It seemed to be putting a huge strain on her. This was impossible. He shook his head, shrugged, and gestured in what he hoped was clear terms - " lead the way! " Rochelle pursed her lips against something she would probably have directed towards Nick or Coach, and turned away from him, taking a detour through a house - evidently to avoid the Witches that were converging on the area before them.

She ransacked the house, but didn't find much of anything that wasn't soaked or otherwise useless. She swore loudly throughout the house and the noise made Dal want to cringe - she obviously didn't quite understand why Nick had insisted that they remain as quiet as possible. She wasn't an idiot, she was just one of those thoughtless types. Probably. Or maybe the frustration was just getting to her. She'd been pretty quiet up to this point.

"I'm freezing," she muttered more to herself than to Dal. He frowned. She had been shivering a lot since he'd saved her from that Chainsmoking bastard. They walked into a house a few doors down - this one with two stories, and Dal did the honors of heading upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, and ransacking the master bedroom. He found a Northface jacket that looked to be waterproof. Perfect.

He leaped back down the stairs, finding Rochelle trying to shove ammo into her pockets. He held the jacket out to her. It was a soft blue, and he thought it was quiet nice. If memory served, Northface was one of those stupidly expensive brands that made the same stuff as everyone else, just for a ridiculous price. Like Nike and Abercrombie & Fitch.

She stared at it, looking uncertain - if not downright anxious - about the offering. She took it from him anyway, looking it over. In the end, she put it on wordlessly. He scowled slightly, but she didn't see.

You're welcome. Bitch.

It was another block before they actually found the safe room. Rochelle opened the door and stepped in, Dal right behind her. As he had suspected, the others were nowhere in sight. He kicked the door shut behind him, stepping aside in case she decided she wanted to lock it.

"Where are they?" Rochelle asked the walls. They didn't reply. He glanced down the flight of stairs to see if maybe there was any sign of them, but no, nothing. They probably hadn't even gotten there yet.

"Maybe I out-walked them," she suggested to the small pile of ammo on a counter top, and Dal looked over at her, that's what I was saying earlier, you- ... "They might not have gotten this far yet. I'll just have to wait."

Dal frowned at her, then shrugged with his good shoulder. It'd be best to just wait, he supposed. He wasn't particularly interested in spending boatloads of time with Rochelle, bu he'd rather be stuck with her for another twenty minutes than be lost in Ducatel.

Rochelle got up on the counter, drawing one of her knees up to her chest, one hand resting gingerly on her gun. He did his best to not think about the way it was angled towards him, or the way her fingers seemed to twitch towards the trigger every time he shivered or moved suddenly, or the way her eyes were trained on him like he was some wild animal that needed a cage. He turned wordlessly, pulling the door open and stepping outside, making sure to pull it back shut behind him.

Dal sat down in front of the door, knees against his chest, and stared out at the road, waiting. He wasn't getting poured on by the rain. He wasn't all that uncomfortable. He wasn't even all that cold, despite how soaked he was. Dal had spend a fair amount of days and nights in almost exactly the position he had found himself in now. He couldn't even count the number of times his parents had forgotten he wasn't in the house and simply locked him out when they went to bed. He'd slept outside in similar conditions, actually.

" Just get rid of him! "

Dal had no idea why he hadn't run away from home sooner. It had been obvious since, since... since he was five that he didn't belong with his parents. They didn't seem to believe that he loved them, and clearly his presence had done nothing but make them miserable. They had given him the hints. He'd just been too afraid to take them.

He buried his face in his arms. He had hoped, early on, that he would look in the paper one day and see his picture in the "Missing Children" sections. That maybe his parents would notice his absence. That they might worry just enough to want to make sure he was alright. He had checked every Wal-Mart bulletin, every newspaper that came out, but nothing.

"I didn't want children in the first place!"

"If he doesn't want to be with us, then just get rid of him !"

He had tried so hard to prove that he loved his parents, even with all their flaws. He had tried, he had really tried to be a good son and then a bad son, but he had never stopped trying to prove himself to them. What was so reprehensible about him, that it drowned out his affections for his parents so they couldn't tell he cared for them? What would he have had to do to get them to understand that he did love them? What would he have had to do to get them to see him and love him? He would've taken every physical manifestation of their frustration over the constant feeling of being ignored and unwanted.

"I'm just tryna to do what's best for all of us, and you should damn well know that!"

It wasn't just his parents who hadn't wanted him around, either. This new setting he had found himself was almost the same but in many ways still different. The ignorance had been replaced with hatred. The forgetting had been replaced with a hyper-awareness that was both insulting and uncomfortable. He didn't belong here, either. He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever belong anywhere.

A shivered rolled through his body, but it wasn't from the chill in the air. He coughed slightly around his tense throat, swallowing down his misery. He hated this feeling the most - since turning, controlling his thoughts and emotions had becoming akin to a war against himself. He commandeered his thoughts away from where they were headed as strongly as he could and with the best of all distractions: Nick.

Nick did care about him. His actions showed that he cared more than his words ever would, that was for sure. The man worried about him, thought about him when he wasn't around, stuck up for him... Those were traits of someone who cared about the other person in any relationship. And Dal wasn't going to take Nick for granted, not in a million years. No one had ever treated him "well" (by the textbook definition), and the conman certainly didn't seem like the type to be the first, but it was really the little things that showed Dal how much Nick did care.

Nick had indicated that he wasn't a nice person more than one. He had proven in his own wordless ways that he was, in fact, a pretty terrible person, at least in his own eyes. And honestly, Dal didn't really doubt him for a second. The guy was an asshole. But, at the same time, he was thoughtful and cared about Dal to whatever extent he was capable. So, even if Nick had never done a respectable thing in his life, even if Nick didn't have a nice bone in his body, for him to show Dal the level of care that he did...

"Dal? Dal!"

To call it kindness was an injustice, at least in Dal's head.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

9.

There was a stiff tension that followed them after they had found Rochelle and Dal. Things had already been painfully awkward and tensions had already been running high, but everything just seemed to get worse the moment they found the other two. Ellis was genuinely concerned about the likelihood that he might have to put himself between Coach and Nick again. That had almost been real violence - someone would've gotten seriously hurt. If he hadn't been stupid enough to forcibly plant himself between them, Nick and Coach wouldn't killed each other. Literally.

He didn't know why Coach couldn't keep his mouth shut about Dal. It was common sense; don't piss off Nick. Nick, with or without the use of a gun, was the most likely candidate to kill his own teammates. Nick was the most likely to go at someone’s throat with a hunting knife, whether they were infected or not. Nick was most likely to lose his temper and shoot someone - whether in the foot or the chest was debatable. The conman was more dangerous than Rochelle or Coach gave him credit for. They assumed that Dal was the ticking time bomb when, in reality, Nick was the one who was going to snap and kill them all. And when (if) he did that, Coach would be eating his words and regretting everything he'd said about Dal from day one. Nick was fiercely protective of the kid, and Ellis wasn't sure he could see exactly why.

What it meant, however, was that Rochelle and especially Coach were walking a thin line between getting shouted at and getting shot at. And Ellis was sure his heart was going to give out before that happened. He hadn't realized how close Nick was to literally killing Coach until half an hour ago, and the knowledge sank into his chest and stomach like a ton of bricks. He was, on some level, genuinely frightened for the lives of his teammates. And it was specifically because they wouldn't quit.

This whole thing had been a great, huge adventure for his stupider side, and now it had all gone to pieces, and he was about to follow suit. He didn't do well under emotional stress, it seemed. Living a carefree life had put inhibitors in places he wouldn't have expected.

Ellis felt like he was watching his parents get divorced violently. The kind of divorce where both parents are in the kitchen, with the husband throwing bowls and the wife throwing plates.

It infuriated him that, for some reason, it had been decided that his opinion didn't matter much. Nick wouldn't let him take his side. Nick wouldn't even let him get a word in edgewise. Ellis may have been the naive one, but he was 23 years old. Even if his ideas and opinions were ridiculous or made up on the spot, he was permitted to have them and he ought to have the right to voice and act upon them. But, for some reason, Nick seemed to want to wage his war against Rochelle and Coach by himself.

Ellis just didn't want them to all to split up. Losing Nick for even those few hours had been a horrible, jarring experience that had woken him to the possibility to dying by way of tragic accident or, well, zombies. He felt like all his youth had been drained out of him.

At this rate, he thought with a jagged edge of emotion that didn't suit him, I'm gonna lose it.

...

As usual, he heard it before anyone else did.

Dal's hand shot out and grabbed Nick's arm, stopping him dead. With eyes wide at the ridiculously loud sound of sobbing from a location that couldn't have been much farther form right in front of them, Dal looked over at Nick only briefly before his eyes started trying to pick out the source(s) of the sound. The man he was holding on to stared at him questioningly, and Dal couldn't think of a way to enhance Nick's ears enough so he could hear. Dal also had no idea how they were supposed to get around what sounded like about a dozen of those talon-wielding, angst-ridden teenagers.

He was going to have to figure out a way to lead them around the Witches. That was going to be a challenge - leading Nick was easy, because Dal could just hang on to him and direct him exactly where he needed to go. Four people was going to be harder. Four people might end up being a problem. Especially if two of the four resisted his direction.

He was up to the challenge, though, he supposed. Dal started forward, pulling Nick along. The man didn't resist, and in fact Dal was sure he heard the sound of him waving the others forward, indicating that they should follow closely. Rochelle and Coach were probably scowling fiercely, but they would feel differently if they could hear all the damn Witches.

On the other side of the mill that Nick had led them through, there was a crop field and it was only then that Nick stiffened in his grasp and gasped at the sound of the small group of Witches hiding in the plants.

"Holy shit." Nick voiced for all present parties, "That's fucking great."

"What d'we do?" Ellis asked, looking strangely nervous, "We don't really have a way o' goin' around them at this point..."

Dal mostly ignored their conversing, his eyes scanning the field carefully as he made a mental index on where each of the Witches were. There were seven in the field, and one pacing around the road beyond the field that he could just make out past the pouring rain. That was eight Witches they had to carefully avoid. He stepped closer to the fenced ledge of the building they were in and looked down. There was a huge metal pipe running across the length of the field. There were planks along the top of it, and they looked to be pretty secure. If they ran along the pipe, they could probably get past the Witches without losing track of where they were going and without startling any of them. As long as no one fell off, they'd be fine. And they'd have to be real klutzes to fall off.

He stepped back over to Nick, who was conversing with Ellis and Rochelle in milder manners than usual. Coach had one stink-eye on him, as usual, but Dal had somehow learned to tune that out. He grabbed Nick's arm again, tugging gently. The man stopped mid-sentence to look down at him. Dal jerked his head towards the ledge and led him over, pointing at the pipe.

"Think we could run across that?" Nick asked for clarity, and Dal nodded. It wouldn't even be hard, really. He leaned over the edge further, looking down - the elevator to their right landed less than five feet from the pipe, and he could see what looked like a small ladder bolted to it. It'd be easy. No jinxing intended.

Nick was nodding thoughtfully as Ellis, Rochelle, and Coach walked over to join the two of them.

"Oh, I didn' even see that," Ellis commented, "Great thinkin', Dal."

He shrugged slightly - it wasn't really all that great. It was simply being aware of his surroundings. Rochelle was staring at the pipe distastefully.

"Are you sure that's safe?"

Nick stared at her, "It's safer than running through the Witches. At least this way, even if we get one after us - which won't happen if we move quickly - it'll be harder for her to snag us because we'll be above their heads."

"It is better than running through the Witches. We'll just have to be quick and careful," Coach agreed, never once looking towards Nick. They seemed to have decided that they truly loathed each other in the time that Dal and Rochelle had been separated from them. He wondered what had happened. He looked over at Ellis, wondering if there was a connection between Ellis' quietness and Nick and Coach's less than subtle contempt for one another. They had been fighting a lot but somewhere prior to actual hate earlier. Dal wondered what had happened to bring forth such a tense atmosphere. There was no way Rochelle hadn't noticed it - she had been quieter too, since the other three had caught up. Everyone seemed to feel like they were a part of an active nuclear explosive.

They piled into the elevator. Nick looked around at them all and said, "So, when this thing opens, we're all gonna make a made dash for that ladder. Last one there's a rotten egg."

"Cute," Rochelle commented wryly.

"Wait only for the person behind you - once they're up, just run," Nick said, "I think it'll be best for those planks if we don't all go at the same time."

Ellis nodded in agreement, "Yea, they might be a lil' weak 'cause of all this rain."

"Alright, we've got a plan," Coach spoke, his voice cool, "Let's do this, then."

The elevator doors opened and they all hurried over to the ladder. Coach went first, taking a little longer than Dal was comfortable with. But, then, he was older so it would be expected for him to take longer. After Coach, Ellis clambered up, pausing to wait for Rochelle as Coach started moving.

"They're just a little wobbly, so be careful!" Coach called back as the rain started to pick up. Once Rochelle was up, Ellis took off. Nick sent Dal up after Rochelle, who barely waited for him to be on the ladder before she started moving. Dal didn't care how long she waited - he wasn't worried about himself getting stuck or falling off. In fact, if anyone was going to slip, it'd probably be Rochelle - her shoes were made for dressing up a bit, not running through water and muck and across fields and etcetera. He started moving as soon as Nick was up the ladder, jogging across the planks. It wasn't a very long pipe, so he didn't expect the walk to take very long. There was a growling noise ahead - one of the Witches who was closer to the pipe was getting a little irritated.

He saw Rochelle's right foot slip off the plank, he saw her go down with a yelp, and he heard the moment her boot connected with the side of a Witch's head. He could've run right past her without a care in the world. He could've shoved her off the planks, in fact. But, when he saw those talons come up and the shriek sounded through the field, he didn't hesitate. He slowed down just long enough to stoop down and scoop Rochelle into his arms. Nick didn't pause, running right past him, and Dal was grateful for the trust.

Rochelle didn't seem inclined to persuade him to set her down, and he didn't really have time anyway. Nick leaped off the pipe, hollering for everyone to get into the safe room. He saw them disappear into the gas station as he was jumping off the pipe, leaping right over the head of the Witch who had been pacing in the road. She growled, but didn't startle, thankfully. He sprinted into the open door of the gas station, jumping over the counter with Rochelle instinctively clutching onto his shoulders for support, and stumbled into the safe room. Nick slammed the door behind him, locking it seconds before the Witch's talons came swinging at the door. They fell back away from the door, Dal carefully putting Rochelle down as he panted to catch his breath. His heart was hammering. God, he hated Witches.

Rochelle was rubbing her bicep, stepping away from him and looking pale. He had probably bruised her arm and thigh with his grip. He almost felt bad, but decided that it wasn't worth feeling sorry for. Adrenaline would strengthen anyone's grip. Probably not to the point of bruising, but Dal was pretty strong now. That was something he wasn't sure whether to call a blessing or a curse. It meant he could kill someone with a single blow to the head, but it also meant that he had to take care to control how tightly he held things and people.

Rochelle was giving him a strange a look. He stared at her for a moment, before looking back outside at the Witch. She was staring into the door, huffing and snarling and crying all in the same breaths.

They were still people, all of them. They were beyond reasoning and help and probably incurable, but they were people. All of them. Coach and Rochelle... didn't see it that way. They didn't see people. They saw beasts, monsters, things. They saw only dangerous, rabid animals that needed to be put down. And for almost all of them that Dal could see, that was true. But a dangerous, rabid animal was still a living creature. It could still be your dog or cat. Or, in this case, your family, your friends, your neighbors. Coach and Rochelle were thinking of the infected as nothing more than monsters, because they didn't want to see the fact that they were mass murdering hundreds of people every few hours.

They were justifying their actions, because "survival"wasn't enough for either of them. That had to be it. There was no other real reason for the way they treated him. Dal was as sane as they were, but they saw him as a monster because if they allowed themselves to see him as "human," they would have to see all the infected as "human," and evidently their little tiny brains couldn't handle the horror of it all.

Dal's mood turned sour with a suddenness that surprised even him. Coach and Rochelle were so pathetically shallow that they literally could not comprehend the events that were going on around them to the extent that they had to delude themselves into thinking that the people they were killing weren't "people."

It disgusted him.

The Witch suddenly let out a loud, anguished wail and took off, her hands carefully covering her face. Dal stared after her. He could have turned into a "monster" like that, but he didn't. He wondered if there were any others who had been half-infected like him. Or was it just he who had some kind of genetic mutation that allowed his body to fight off this brand new virus that seemed to infect just about everybody?

"Are you okay, Rochelle?" Coach was asking the young woman, "You look kind of pale."

"I'm fine, Coach, really," She replied breathlessly, "That just startled me, is all."

The man didn't looked convinced, but he didn't say anything further about it. Dal watched him silently, his face set in a frown. On some level, he despised that person. But on another level, he longed for the recognition that he wasn't some mindless beast on a timer to explode. He wanted to be seen - that was always the case. He wanted to be seen for who he really was. He didn't want to be seen as the moron who climbed the bleachers to get a sweater for a girl in his class, and wound up falling and breaking his arm. He didn't want to be seen as a punk who broke the law and bought himself a motorcycle, only to get into a horrible accident six hours after purchasing it off Craigslist. He didn't want to be seen as a nuisance who should never be heard and preferably never seen.

He just wanted to be recognized as a person. And Dal had no idea why that was so much to ask for. At school, he was just a number among two to three dozen students in a single classroom. At home, he was just taking up space and ought to be gotten rid of. And now, here, he was just a monster.

"Just get rid of him!"

"I'm just tryna to do what's best for all of us, and you should damn well know that!"

He despised them both. Rochelle and Coach disgusted him. Dal reminded himself of all the abusive things they had both said and done around him, towards him, and about him, and summoned up all the emotions that went with anger, carefully covering his hurt with hatred. There was no need for him to feel pain like this. There was no need to let the words of someone he hated get to him. It didn't matter.

"Dal," Nick's voice broke into his thoughts, and he looked over at him expectantly. The man was frowning, but it looked more like his natural frown rather than his "I'm pissed about nothing and everything" frown.

"Is your shoulder alright to carry one of these cans?" That was when Dal noticed the green gas cans sitting against the wall near where Nick had wandered to, "They're gonna be pretty heavy."

Dal rolled his shoulder as best he could manage, reaching up a hand and pressing his fingers against it. It didn't hurt much. He nodded at Nick, and the conman sighed heavily.

"Now that the bitch is gone, do we wanna start heading back?" Nick offered to the rest of the group, looking a bit more agitated than usual. Dal hoped he wasn't in a mood to start a fight. It was also possible that his head was bothering him again. There was no way his concussion was completely healed after only twelve hours or so. "I'm ready for round two on that stupid fucking pipe."

Ellis laughed a bit, "I 'unno, I thought it was kinda fun 'til Rochelle fell."

"Sorry for ruining your fun," Rochelle muttered, "But Nick's right - I don't want to have to deal with flooding and I think that's exactly what's gonna happen here. My feet are wet enough, thank you."

"Yea, let's get movin', folks," Coach agreed, "The faster we get out of here, the better."

Dal watched Nick pull a bottle of pills out of his pocket, counting out four and swallowing them dry. His head was definitely starting to bother him again, worse than the usual headaches he got. They would probably want to stop for a rest somewhere between their current location and the Burger Tank they had initially been dropped off at. He hoped that he'd be able to persuade Nick to do so before his headache reached debilitating levels again.

He let out a soft sigh, following Nick as the group stepped out of the safe room.

Chapter Text

On the one hand, he felt bad for frightening Ellis, since the guy didn't really deserve to be stuck between the rock and hard place he had found himself in. On the other hand, Nick had a headache, so screw everyone and all their thoughts and feelings. His fight with Coach had been the start of the the headache. Nick was somewhere between surprised and not surprised at the level of violence he wanted to inflict upon the older man. He was also somewhat surprised that he had stopped himself when Ellis stepped in. Well, Team Dal.

Now, it was looking like the pain was going to continue to get worse until he couldn't see and inevitably collapsed, much like the incident in the swamps. The pain medication was helping, but only minimally. The powerful pulsing behind his eyes and especially in the back of his head was still pretty horrible. Being in pain soured his mood. Not that it hadn't been soured already.

The pouring rain was not helping his condition. In fact, the heavy droplets that came down on his head like small pebbles were making his headache worse. That and the cold. He looked over at Dal briefly, suddenly wishing the kid could talk. Idle but intelligent conversation might make him forget his headache. He wondered if Coach and Rochelle would feel differently if the kid could talk. He wondered if Dal would stick up for himself if he could talk, or if he would just sit there and take it. He wondered if Dal would react violently in the same way that Nick had.

Dal seemed to feel eyes on him, and turned to look at Nick. Their eyes met, and it was one of those brief, almost comforting moments when he felt like they didn't really need words. He was sure that there were things that Dal wanted to say to him, and there were questions that Nick wanted to ask, but it was nice feeling like he could get by with Dal with such a strong language barrier. Nick wondered if Dal felt the same way. He was sure that being mute was awful, and there were times that he could tell Dal wanted to say something. He could sometimes see the frustration in the kid's eyes, though it wasn't nearly as noticeable if Nick himself wasn't in the midst of snarling or hollering at Coach and Rochelle.

Those two... he wanted desperately to beat them both to within inches of their separate lives. He could not understand for the life of him why Dal's presence was such an issue. He wasn't a Hunter, and as far as Nick was concerned, he could barely be considered infected at all. He wasn't dangerous and he did not understand for a second why Coach didn't trust Nick's self-preservation enough to trust his judgment of Dal. The older man had to know that Nick had given up his preferred life of solitude in favor of staying alive with a bunch of people he had voiced his distaste for pretty early on.

His head pulsed, and he reached up a hand to rub the back of his head. It didn't help, but as far as he was concerned, the thought counted. Part of him almost wished that Coach would take the opportunity to say something starkly cruel just so Nick would have the excuse to turn and swing.

He had a feeling that his brain was starting to recycle thoughts. He pulled out the bottle of pills again and swallowed two more - ibuprofen had a six-pills-per-day limit, and he had now taken five and six. He scowled, wishing they had come across something stronger. Perhaps not Vicodin, but maybe Aleve or something that had a track record of actually working on him. He didn't have a long history with self-medicating (not counting his love for alcohol and cigarettes), but ibuprofen and acetaminophen had never worked on him. He used to take seven or eight at once for mild aches and they would work just enough to keep his pain from being worthy of complaint. Of course, now that he had taken so many of them, he'd have to give it some time before he tried taking anything else. It'd just be utterly lame if he died during a zombie apocalypse because he took too many drugs for a headache.

He thought back to the earliest hours of the time he’d spent with Dal, remembering how worried the kid had looked the entire time. He wondered if Dal knew something about migraines that he didn't. Probably not. He was probably just worried because occasionally Nick looked like he was about to be sick or pass out.

Though, he didn't used to get headaches like this. Then again, a zombie apocalypse would change a person.

The streets were flooded as they wound their way back through the neighborhood, occasionally pausing to ransack houses for supplies. It was practically the swamps all over again - just water and mud and ransacking while soaked to the bone.

"I'm getting tired of all this water," Nick complained, "I'm going to Arizona."

Ellis chuckled, "Ain't it kinda hot out there?"

"I'd rather live in a volcano than deal with any more rain at this point," Rochelle chimed in, and Nick noticed the wariness in her voice. It was present like the cautiousness in Ellis' every word. Rochelle could tell that something was wrong with the vibe between Coach and Nick. She could tell that Ellis was quieter than usual, and she had probably even figured that Coach and Nick had been fighting again.

Sorry for not inviting you, Rochelle. He was still angry with her. Dal had been outside the safe room when he'd finally found him, and she had denied kicking him out of the room, but something about the way Dal had looked at her said otherwise. He doubted that she had actually told him to get out, but she'd probably done some other thing to imply that she wanted him out. Rochelle wouldn't have outright thrown him out because she was terrified of him, but that kind of fear would chase anyone out of a room.

It infuriated him that she just didn't have enough life experience to recognize that the way she treated Dal was almost a direct parallel to how Nick's first wife had behaved around blacks in Boston. She had been one of those types who would want to cross the street if a couple of black kids were walking towards them on the sidewalk. Nick hadn't let her get away with things like that very often, not necessarily because he was disgusted with it, but because the fact of the matter was that he would take his chances with the hoodlums over the speeding cars any day. And half the time, they weren't even hoodlums - just regular teenaged boys heading to the arcade to enjoy themselves, laughing and chatting it up. But because they were black and it was the eighties (though it probably hadn't gotten much better by the time the infection hit), she was afraid.

And that was exactly the way Rochelle behaved towards Dal. She had no business being frightened of him. He was a regular teenaged boy who could easily have been heading to the arcade to enjoy himself with a couple of friends, but because of the hoodie and the scars, Rochelle was the wife who wanted to cross the street, and Coach was the mayor who believed that schools should be segregated to keep those poor uninfected folk away from the "zombies."

There was no reason for ninety percent of the presumptions that Coach brought up regarding Dal, and all of them brought forth the comparison between Dal and the other infected. It was the same as comparing a scholar to a thug, just based on things like race, religion, age, class, or any other number of things. It was stupid. Nick had never been the type to hate on another set of people for anything - as far as he was concerned, everyone was an idiot just waiting to be screwed over in the gamble or scam of their choice.

He hoped, in that moment, that Coach would find something to mention, some menial little thing about Dal that wasn't even true, so that he could turn and swing and down the two hundred and fifty pound man like it was nothing. He wanted, on a deep, carnal level, to give Rochelle something tangible to be afraid of. He wanted to give Coach something to really worry about. Because neither of them knew who it was that they were pissing off at any and every given opportunity.

At this point, he would give anything to show them.

...

Nick's headache was getting worse. Dal could tell. His sarcastic jibes had become less about teasing and more about being mean. His neutral frown shifted into a scowl filled with loathing. The tension in his shoulders became more noticeable and he kept running a hand through his wet hair. All those things basically summed up to one major fact; Nick's mood was going downhill. If Dal's observations of Nick were correct thus far, Nick's downhill change of mood indicated that his headache was probably getting worse.

Which, in turn, meant that he would have to be ready to get between Nick and just about everyone.

He hadn't had to do that yet. He couldn't imagine it would be too hard, considering how strong he had gotten, but he didn't want to hurt anyone by accident in the process. He was getting enough nonsense from Coach and Rochelle as it was. He didn't especially want to encourage their stupidity.

Nick couldn't be allowed to exchange blows with anyone because he was concussed and didn't know it. If Coach knocked him upside the head with enough force, he could kill Nick. And sure, it'd be great to see the bastard lose his mind over accidentally killing a non-infected person, but Dal wouldn't stake Nick's life on it. Dal wouldn't stake anyone's life on it. Probably. There were a couple of names that came to mind.

Dal looked over at Nick, frowning at the well-dressed man's deteriorating condition. He looked pale at that point, his eyes half closed as if he were shielding them from the light. If it was bad enough that the meager amount of light was making the ache worse, Dal was pretty sure the headache qualified as a migraine. They really needed to stop somewhere and let him rest. Dal wouldn't have been surprised if the stress from all the fighting and anger was messing with Nick's blood pressure and giving him the headache in the first place.

He wished he could talk at times like these. Much more so than Nick probably did. Being completely mute was a handicap that he hated. Dal had always been a quiet person - his parents had taught him to be that way. But the difference between choosing to stay silent and being unable to talk was astronomical. If he could still use his sign language, it might not have been so bad - he could've taken the time to teach Nick the symbols, and they would've had a way to communicate. Instead, he was relatively trapped within his own mind, unable to give anyone his thoughts or explain his feelings or even chat idly.

He hated being mute.

Nick blew out a sigh next to him, one of his hands coming off his holstered gun to rub at his eyes. The rain had started to let up a little, which noticeably improved their ability to see. They plodded on, water splashing around their ankles from the flooded streets and lawns. A tall infected was... galloping (if that word could even be used to describe this particular movement) towards them, something radioactive-looking and green spilling out of her mouth.

"Spitter!" Rochelle identified, the group spreading out some as Nick raised his pistol, fired....

And completely missed. The man looked horrified for the second it took for the car he'd hit to start blaring its alarm.

"Fuck!!" Nick hollered as they regrouped. Ellis had done the honors of actually killing the Spitter for them as they were running to get back together.

"Run! Run!!" Rochelle shrieked, grabbing Coach by the sleeve and pulling him to the left, away from the alarm. Nick, Ellis, and Dal immediately cottoned on, and it wasn't long before all of them were racing to get as far away from that alarm as possible, before the infected came out of the wood works.

They made it to the other side of the row of houses they'd been walking along before they ran into a group of a dozen or two infected. Dal immediately set to work taking out the ones that came in from the back with Ellis' help, as Nick, Rochelle, and Coach fought to keep moving forward.

It felt like his whole head was ringing with that awful sound. He could still hear it as if it were within spitting distance, and he wouldn't have been surprised if the infected around them could hear it just as strongly. No wonder they were attacking with such ferocity. The car alarm itself died off in the distance, but the infected didn't stop coming. Dal twisted around to get an index on the rest of the party amongst all the infected. He saw Coach, Rochelle, and Ellis...

Coach, Rochelle, Ellis...

His eyes widened a fraction when he realized that he couldn't spot Nick, and he was sure that the man had probably collapsed, judging by the small conglomerate of infected that seemed to be kicking at the ground. In that moment, his mind blanked out and his movements became a whirlwind that he couldn't quite follow. All he knew was that he had to get those infected away from Nick and he had to do it fast. His blade tore through flesh and cut into bone, his fist crushing skulls and busting noses as he fought through the thinning horde.

He spotted Nick once he had powered through about twelve infected like a Sherman tank, immediately going to one knee and grabbing Nick's arm. The man didn't resist much, and Dal wasn't entirely sure if he was even conscious. He could see that he was breathing, so he wasn't dead, but that wasn't the most reassuring thing in the world at that point. He hauled him up, supporting his weight, and looking around frantically for Ellis, who was upon him in a second.

"Oh my God, wha's wrong wit' him?!" Dal shook his head, adjusting his hold on Nick slightly and ignoring the groan that came out of the man's throat.

"Oh God," Rochelle was saying, "Okay, okay, we gotta get inside somewhere, uh..." She looked around only briefly before settling on a house nearby that looked to have escaped the flooding. Dal did a quick head count, simply wanting to be sure that Nick was the only one incapacitated. Ellis was sporting new bruises and was scared out of his mind for Nick. Rochelle looked worried, but more collected than he would've expected as she pointed out the house and started leading the way to it. The look on Coach's face was mostly unreadable, but Dal could see that he was angry. About what, he didn't know, but the man was pissed about something. Probably because Nick had accidentally shot that car.

Please, he thought scathingly, if anyone has the right to be pissed, it'd be me and my blown ear drums.

He mostly dragged Nick into the one house that hadn't been flooded. The man had found the energy to lift a hand and press it against his forehead with surprising strength, though he was still unable to coordinate his legs. Dal didn't like being so careless, just considering how much pain Nick was in, but they couldn't have spent long out there before they were attacked again so there hadn't been many options aside from hauling and dragging.

Dal carried Nick into a bedroom on the first floor and carefully laid him down on the bed. Nick didn't move once Dal had put him down, instead opting to be so still it looked rather like he wasn't breathing. Ellis, he knew, had followed him, looking extremely worried. His face looked a little ashen from his distress. Dal looked over at him, holding out a hand and gesturing as best he could for Ellis to settle down. The man nodded, taking in several stabilizing breaths as Dal turned back to Nick.

Wanting to make sure that Nick wasn't actually in the process of dying, he took the man's hand and squeezed gently, waiting for a response. Nick squeezed back and made a soft sound in the back of his throat. Satisfied, Dal pulled away, silently shooing Ellis out of the room and taking the time to pull the door mostly shut behind him, as he didn't have the finesse to close it all the way as quietly as he would've wanted to. He could tell that Ellis wanted to ask him questions but wasn't sure how the teen could possibly respond. Dal just wanted the conversation to be away from the room Nick was in.

Rochelle asked Ellis when he came out, "What's wrong with him? Do you know?" Ellis shook his head, looking miserable.

"I think 'is head was botherin' 'im." Ellis replied uncertainly, glancing at Dal, "D'you know what's wrong wit' him?"

Dal nodded, reaching up a hand and knocking on his own head. Ellis stared, and then his eyes widened in understanding and what looked like recollection.

"I thought..." Ellis started, stopped, and then started again, "I mean, 'e hit his head on the way outta tha' chopper, before, when 'e... when 'e fell. I didn't think it'd still be botherin' him."

Dal shook his head, wishing there was a way to indicate "concussion" to them. They probably didn't even know what that meant, he'd bet.

"So, he's concussed then," Coach stated, and Dal nodded, even though the man wasn't even looking at him. At least Ellis would know that it was the correct conclusion, "And I bet he doesn't even know what that means."

Yea, tell me about it, Dal thought sourly, recalling all the time he'd spent keeping a keen eye out for Nick because the guy didn't get that he was severely injured.

"Wha... well, I mean, I know what a concussion is, but they're really a big deal?"

Coach shrugged, "Not usually," the look Dal gave him was one of incredulity. He called himself Coach, which implied that he was probably some kinds of sports coach, and he didn't know how serious a concussion was?

You've got to be kidding me.

"I mean, the headache'll be bad if the concussion's bad," Coach's voice was taking on a tone that Dal didn't like, all of a sudden. The man seemed inclined to get angry about everything that Nick did, whether he intended it to have a poor outcome or not. Great. Because one pissed off, unreasonable guy wasn't enough in this group. "But other'n slowin' us down, Nick should be fine."

Ellis seemed to be cottoning on to Coach's tone as well. The hick scowled slightly, looking unhappy, "It ain't his fault if he's hurt, Coach."

"I never said it was anyone's fault, Ellis," Coach replied patronizingly, "I wouldn't blame my athletes if they got hurt, why would I blame Nick?"

Ellis rolled his eyes and turned away, walking over to take a seat on the couch. Dal trailed after him, standing by the window and staring outside. He hoped it wouldn't be long before Nick was up and about. He didn't think that Virgil would leave them (Virgil couldn't leave them; he didn't have enough gas), but he didn't think that they should be taking their sweet time, either. At the same time, of course, he wanted Nick to take as much time as he needed, even though he was sure the guy wouldn't.

Rochelle and Coach made themselves comfortable around the living area while Ellis continued to sulk on the couch. Outside, the storm continued to rage on, the rain and wind picking up to the torrential downpour that they'd been trekking through earlier. Infected milled under the trees, some having the sense to move under the protection of the roofs on porches and others choosing to step into open doors. Dal watched them hide from the water that came from the skies.

One of them laid down on a porch and became painfully still. It was a few minutes before Dal realized that the man had died. His stomach twisted. The infected didn't seem to eat, or sleep, or take care of themselves at all. They didn't know that they had to. The fate of the infected, unless a cure was found soon, was death. They would all eventually lay down, like that man, and die. Alone, beaten, sick, starving...

So many people would die like that. Would he die, too? Would the illness he carried with him take a sudden turn for the worse and burn him out with a fever? Or would his body just give out from exhaustion after fighting against it for a while? Or would it win over his mind and turn him into another one of those rabid animals? He turned away from the window, glancing over at the cracked door to the room where Nick was sleeping.

The silence in the room was stifling, but Dal didn't try to escape from it.

...

Waking up to a couple of arguing adults as they reached critical volume was not something that Ellis had signed up for when he first applied for the position of zombie apocalypse survivor. In fact, he hadn't signed up for many of the things that had come to be a huge problem - such as mortality, stress, insomnia, and people fighting like married couples on the verge of a divorce.

"Do you think I'm some kind of moron, that I'd do that on purpose?" Nick's voice had risen exponentially since the beginning of the argument. Ellis jerked as he regained consciousness messily, not entirely sure he remembered the part about falling asleep in the first place. How long had he been waiting for Nick to get up, anyway?

"Hell if I know, what wit' you draggin' around a damn Hunter like it's some kinda acceptable pet!" Coach hollered in return, eyes bulging out, face flushed with anger. "I ain't gonna call that genius!"

Dal was noticeably offended, but Ellis wasn't sure that anyone else saw the look on the kid's face, which was both murderous and indignant, however sparingly. Rochelle was sitting in a chair by the dining room table, her hands clamped over her ears as she slouched over her knees, trying to block out the fighting. She looked almost like she was in hysterics at their arguing, and Ellis wished she at least had the fortitude to stand up and tell them both to stop.

Ellis stood up carefully, "Guys, stop-..."

Nick didn't even acknowledge hearing his voice, "What the fuck is wrong with you!? He's not a Hunter, he's hardly what I would call an infected and, just like every other infected we've encountered thus far, he's a fucking human being!"

Coach flinched as if he'd been smacked, but didn't back down, "He's hardly what could be called a human at this point, Nick! He's jus' as much a monster as the rest of 'em!!"

Nick froze for a moment and Ellis knew what was about to happen long before he could've thought to stop it. Nick's fists clenched tightly as he reared back and punched Coach so hard, the man stumbled back and put out a hand to catch himself on the wall. As Coach lurched towards Nick, Dal and Ellis sprang into action in almost perfect unison. Nick was ready to lunge at Coach again, but Dal grabbed him around the waist and hauled him back, ignoring his indignant hollering. At the same time, Ellis threw himself at Coach, grabbing his arm and his shoulder and bracing his weight against him.

"STOP! THAT'S ENOUGH!" Ellis barked as loudly as he could, shoving Coach back, "Fucking Christ, what's the matter wit' you two? It’s the gosh darn end o' the world and yer fighting over a kid!" He turned back to Dal and Nick - the kid had turned and shoved Nick away from Coach, standing firmly between the two of them and staring Nick down. Ellis couldn't see his face, but judging by how angry Nick looked, Dal was probably glaring at him in some kind of way.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with him?! Dal, you're really gonna let him get away with that?" Nick snapped, and Dal shook his head, his hands coming up as he shook his fists, trying to find a way to communicate, "What is it? Do you really think he has the right to treat you like subhuman trash?"

Dal was looking up at the ceiling, as if he were trying to formulate something, but couldn't. Dal couldn't talk, and everyone knew that. It wasn't fair for Nick to get as worked up as he had and then demand explanations from the one person in their group who was mute. Just like it wasn't fair for them to ignore Dal when they were fighting, and it wasn't fair for Coach to make assumptions and Nick to never look to Dal for confirmation in his arguments. Nick just wanted to fight and Coach was ready to appease him. It seemed like it was starting to have less and less to do with Dal and more to do with the simple fact that Coach and Nick kind of hated each other.

Ellis swung out an arm when Coach made to walk past him, stopping the man in his tracks.

Coach was about to say something when Dal suddenly let out a loud wail of frustration, startling Rochelle out of her reverie of ignoring everything. Nick flinched back, looking startled as the kid drove his fist into the nearest wall, going right through the sheet rock. He snarled something incoherent, punching the wall several more times.

"Dal, stop!" Ellis commanded, "Yer gonna break your hand!"

Dal looked at him then, eyes wild and shining with tears of frustration and bottled-up anger. Ellis didn't move, didn't avert his eyes, just stared at Dal until the boy slammed the side of his hand into the wall and ran up the stairs like a bat out of hell. Ellis stared after him, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding before he rounded on Nick, anger that he hadn't allowed himself to feel finally getting the better of him.

"What the hell is wrong wit' you!? If I didn't know better, I'd'a said you were just lookin' fer a reason to hit somethin'!" He shouted, fists clenched at his side. Nick stared at him as if he hadn't really seen him before, and Ellis was so angry about the whole situation. It made him furious to think that Coach and Nick could forget about things like surviving in favor of fighting with one another.

"I'm tellin' you, stop fightin'! If you can't talk to each other without fightin', then don't friggen talk to each other!" His voice was steadier than it had been over the course of the past day and a half, "How many times are ya' gonna nearly get us all killed by some Tank that you attracted with yer damn yelling before you git it?! We gotta do this as a team or we ain't gonna do it at all! If you can't get that through yer damn skulls, we're all gonna end up dead!!"

He took several heaving breaths, his heart thumping in his ears, and finally, he let out a low sigh, "I'm gonna go deal with some damage control, I s'pose," he told Nick, and then turned to Coach, "Maybe you oughta talk to Ro - she's seems pretty upset."

Coach looked somewhere between confused and rather worked up still, but he turned to Rochelle, who was quietly crying in her seat, hands pressed tightly over her ears still. Nick grabbed Ellis' arm before he had a chance to start up the stairs.

"Maybe I should handle it..." He offered, looking serious. Ellis paused, then scowled.

"You're the reason he's upset in th' first place. I'll talk to him."

Nick let go of him, looking like he'd been slapped, and Ellis made his way up the stairs. He stopped at the top, taking several deep breaths and calming his temper. As soon as the anger had settled, his concern for Dal rose to the forefront of his mind. He looked in all three bedrooms for the kid, but he wasn't in any of them.

Ellis paused with one hand on the door to what he figured must have been the boy's room. The walls were a light sky blue, with ocean waves painted in a rich green along the white trim. It had obviously once belonged to a little boy, likely someone who had moved out. A lot of their things were still in the room, though...

His stomach twisted as the sound of a small hiccup reached his ears. He stepped further into the room, spotting another door. It was cracked open just barely, and he immediately knew.

Ellis pulled open the door to the closet, where Dal sat with his knees pulled up to the chest and his hands firmly pressed against his mouth, as if he were trying to muffle the sound of his sobs. Ellis didn't know where or why he would have picked up a habit like that, and he decided he didn't really want to know. Not yet, anyway.

He crouched down in front of Dal, reached up with a careful hand and gingerly taking Dal's wrist. The young teen immediately relaxed his hands, allowing Ellis to pull his hands away from his face. The kid didn't want to look up or straighten his knees, and Ellis didn't both asking him to. If Dal felt safer curled up in a closet, let him do so.

Dal sniffled a little, and Ellis sighed, "You okay?"

Dal shrugged. Didn't offer any more of a reply, "It was Nick, right? He's kinda a jerk, huh?"

The kid leaned heavily against the wall of the closet, nodding slightly. Ellis paused, remembering something he'd seen in the master bedroom, "Gimme just a sec, okay? I'll be right back." He stood up and hurried across the hall, throwing open the master bedroom and spotting the speech board he'd seen earlier. It had all the letters of the alphabet on it in large, easy to press buttons. It was too large for them to stick in a backpack, but it'd be good to use this once.

He walked into the boy's room again, stepping over to the closet and crouching down. He held up the speech board for Dal to see. He flipped the on switch, watching it light up for a brief moment before the lights went out again.

"Do you know how to work-..."

Dal straightened up, looking at the board with wide eyes. Bright green eyes lifted to meet Ellis' blue ones, and the hick smiled. Dal nodded, leaning forward and pressing buttons immediately. The board spoke the word he spelled in a monotonous electronic voice every time he hit the space bar, and Ellis listened carefully, making sure he got the message right.

"Nick has a concussion." He nodded, remembering what Coach had said, "Coach doesn't know what he's talking about. If Nick gets hit on the head hard enough, he will die."

Ellis froze at that, looking at Dal with wide eyes, "Are ya' serious?"

The kid nodded silently, and then started pressing buttons again, "It'll take at least a week for it to heal, probably more because he isn't resting like he needs to be."

"How d'ya know all this?" Ellis pressed, wanting to make sure that Dal was one hundred percent probably right.

"I've been concussed three times. I did my research."

Ellis blew out a long sigh, "Damn. We'd better go tell him, huh?"

The look he received was tired and raw with emotion. It made Ellis pause, frowning slightly as he took in the pained expression on Dal's face. It sucked that they couldn't bring the speech board with them. It sucked that the thing just didn't fold up.

"S'okay, Dal," He said, setting down the board, "C'mere."

He held out a hand, which Dal hesitantly took, and then yanked the kid forward, hugging him fiercely, "S'okay. I'll find ya' another board, one that folds so we can take it wit' us. Or maybe we'll settle down somewhere's and we won't have to worry about carryin' it."

Dal slowly wrapped his arms around Ellis, and then tightened his grip just a bit, and started to cry. Ellis held back his own emotional response as Dal fought to contain himself, rubbing the kid's back to soothe him. Like this, Dal seemed... younger. Much younger. Everyone seemed to assume that Dal was seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. Somewhere around there. But like this, Dal didn't seem that old.

When the kid finally regained mastery over himself and they pulled away from each other, Ellis asked the burning question, "Dal, how old are you?"

Dal watched him for a long time, and then lowered his head. He reached for the board pressing two of the number keys.

"Fifteen."

Ellis heart dropped into his stomach, "Why were you in Louisiana all by yourself? Nick said you had a hut 'n everything."

Dal hiccuped slightly, and there was a long, stiff pause before he responded, "I ran away from home before the infection hit. I don't want to talk about it."

Ellis nodded, wanting to know more but understanding that he wasn't welcome to ask yet. He stood up with Dal, picking up the speech board as he went. Dal stood up with him, rubbing at his eyes. He put a hand on the kids shoulder and pulled him in for another, briefer hug. Dal immediately leaned into the contact, and Ellis would've let him hang on for longer but they really needed to get going. It'd been an hour since they'd arrived in this house, maybe longer.

They walked downstairs together. Coach was talking to Rochelle still, who looked just as upset as she'd been when Ellis had gone upstairs in the first place. Nick was sitting on the couch, looking sullen.

"Nick," Ellis immediately said, walking over to him with Dal trailing behind him, "Dal has been wanting to tell you something."

Nick stared at him, brow furrowed in confused. Ellis handed Dal the speech board, and Dal started pressing keys, much faster now that he was used to it.

"You're concussed, Nick. If you get hit on the head hard enough, you will die. That's why I had to pull you away from Coach. I'm not happy with his or Rochelle's behavior towards me, but your life is more important than getting even. Please try to stop fighting with them. Please."

Nick was shocked, his lips slightly parted, his eyes wide. When Ellis glanced over at Rochelle, he saw that both of them looked like they were about to be sick.

"H-how do you know that for sure?" Nick seemed to be realizing slowly how close he'd been to being killed by Coach less than fifteen minutes ago, and by infected about an hour ago.

"I was concussed a few times. I did my research."

"But Coach said-..."

"Coach doesn't know what he's talking about. If he had hit you earlier, you would be dead right now."

Coach shifted in his seat, the sound making Ellis look over at him again. His head was in his hands and he looked to be extremely stressed out. Ellis sort of wanted to go over and make sure he was okay. He made eye contact with Rochelle, but she just shook her head, touching Coach's arm carefully. They both looked pale and extremely upset, though they seemed to be working to hold themselves together.

"We should probably get to Virgil before he's swept away by this hurricane."

Nick snorted, "We can't take that board with us, can we?"

Ellis shook his head, "It's too big," he replied regretfully, "We'll have to find one o' the ones that folds up."

The conman nodded, looking forlorn, "Y... uh... I'm... the one who upset you, aren't I?"

Dal stared at him for a long time, before he nodded slowly. Nick forced a smile, looking truly upset about the news, "I... I'm really bad at this... Sorry... for that."

Dal laughed, though it sounded closer to a bark than anything, and he covered his mouth immediately to muffle the sound. He patted Nick on the head gently, drawing a withering glare from the man, which only exacerbated the laughing.

"You're a shit, you know that?"

Dal smiled his strange smile at him, working his jaw, "Nngh-nhnn." Mmhmm, Ellis mentally translated into English.

They packed themselves up and set out within ten minutes. Coach was still painfully quiet. He was acting as if someone had just diagnosed him with stage four lung cancer. It looked like the older man was resisting the urge to vomit. And it had started when Dal had been "talking" to Nick. Ellis wondered then, if Coach's strange behavior was directly linked to that. To Coach, at least, Dal had been nothing more than a wild, rabid animal that needed to be put down. But by showing intelligent thought, Dal had dashed that theory. Perhaps Coach would come around after all, and decide that Dal wasn't so bad.

His spirits sufficiently lifted, Ellis walked alongside Nick, Coach, Rochelle, and Dal as they headed towards the Burger Tank to call for their ride.

Chapter Text

11.

New Orleans was the complete opposite of Ducatel. It was a perfect day out, with the sun shining and a cool breeze keeping the humidity from being unbearable. The streets were relatively still and quiet, the infected evidently deciding that it was too hot out and choosing to find themselves comfort in the shade.

Dal hated it.

Nick had assisted him in taking off his hoodie and Ellis had lent him his hat. The latter effort had done little for him. The sun reflected off approximately everything, blinding flares of white light getting into his eyes no matter how far he lowered his head. The heat beat down on him, and he was sure that his arms were going to be terribly sunburned before the day was out. The breezes were nice, but the fact of the matter was that it was just too hot and too bright.

Dal figured he probably wouldn't even mind the heat so much if it wasn't for the sun itself. With a cloud cover, at least the heat wouldn't be so direct and it wouldn't be so bright out. As it was, he wasn't feeling well. His body felt even hotter than what seemed normal, and it was making him feel both nauseous and a touch dizzy. It wasn't like they'd just finished running for three blocks or anything.

He lifted a hand and started gnawing away at his nails. They'd started to gain rather significant length again - they grew remarkably fast, and he never seemed to be able to keep up with them. Especially lately, considering how much time he'd spent not thinking about his nails in favor of thinking about how much he hated the rain. He'd only discovered how long they'd gotten a few minutes ago, when he'd clocked some woman in the head and nearly broken the skin on his palms. He managed to power through all the nails on both hands before his jaw tired out on him, and shoved his hands back into his pockets. He wished he still had that speech board.

He hadn't thought Ellis was as thoughtful as he'd turned out to be. The man was worlds more compassionate and considerate than Nick, and he was kinder and obviously more attuned to other human beings on a positive level. Ellis didn't see Coach and Rochelle as "attacking him," he saw them as "not understanding Dal."

Nick, it seemed, took Coach and Rochelle's distrust as a personal insult and behaved accordingly. He didn't seem to be fighting for Dal's basic human rights so much as he was fighting to get revenge for those slights. Ellis wasn't interested in fighting with anyone; he just wanted everyone to get along and for Coach and Rochelle to get over themselves and see Dal as the human being that he was.

In all honesty, Dal had discovered that he quite liked Ellis. Perhaps even more than he liked Nick, on the more basic level. Nick was self-centered, but Nick was also just as lonely as Dal was, even though he seemed unwilling to accept anyone's companionship. He was a jerk, but he was also bitter and it showed in the ways he spoke of Rochelle, Coach, and Ellis having an "easy life." In general, Nick was on the darker side of the spectrum of human personality, and that made him harder to like, but it also made Dal want to be closer to him.

He couldn't say why, for sure. Perhaps Nick fundamentally reminded him of his father, who was just as angry and hateful towards pretty much everyone. Nick, however, was willing to have some weird, unhealthy semblance of a relationship with him. The conman made an exception for Dal because, as he'd told Rochelle and Coach back in the swamps, Dal understood him.

Or, at least, Nick believed that Dal understood him.

There was no way either of them could understand one another without some form of language. Sometimes, Nick would look at him like he was the only thing in the world that Nick could relate to, and that was a source of joy for Dal - to be that important to someone was something he'd never had before. But at the same time, that was the same look Dal had reserved for a cat he'd sort of adopted off the streets. He could recall looking at Chamomile and finding something in those amber eyes that he couldn't have found anywhere else.

Dal didn't mind it, really, but it meant that on some level, Nick wasn't really identifying with a person. He was identifying with a cat or a dog that he had projected himself onto. That was... not quite irritating, but it did bother him. For all his yelling and hollering about how Dal wasn't a Hunter, Nick didn't seem to see him quite as a person either.

Nick saw his reflection, even where it wasn't. They didn't understand each other at all.

He slowed his steps when a soft sound reached his ears. Dal looked to the right, peering down an alleyway, and then another. He wasn't sure what it was, but it sounded... weird. Almost like a high-pitched whistle. He wondered if it was a dog whistle - could he hear those? He could hear pretty much everything else. If it was a dog whistle, someone might be over there looking for their dog.

He stopped completely when he heard it again, looking back at an alley they had just passed. The rest of his party was continuing forward. It wouldn't take him more than a moment to check it out. If someone was in trouble and looking for their dog, he figured it would be neighborly of him to offer them a hand. Dal frowned, turning back to walk through the alleyway, looking around curiously. The sound he had heard was beginning to sound less like a whistle and more like a violin or a flute. He walked further, finding the entrance to a parking garage, but no people.

Dal was beginning to think that he was just losing his mind when he heard something scrape against the ground. He looked down, finding the toe of his boot against a portable CD player. He crouched down, picking up the attached headphones and listening. Definitely a flute. But why was it just sitting there? He pressed 'stop,' looking around in confusion from his position on the ground. Weird.

Just as he was deciding to go and catch up with the others, something hard swung into his bicep with enough force to knock him over. Pain ricocheted up his shoulder and he grabbed at it, eyes watering - was it broken? He didn't think it was broken. He hadn't heard a crack. He didn't think he had heard a crack. Had there been a crack? He caught himself on his elbows, injured arm raising up to defend himself as he made to sit up.

Something - no someone grabbed the front of his shirt, a terrible weight slammed into the side of his face. His back hit the ground again, his hands instinctively coming up to try and fight back. One of his arms was suddenly immobilized, and the other was hurting too much to be of much help. His vision started to clear, but what he suddenly recognized as a fist was suddenly crashing into his head again, twice in a row this time. His head bounced off the pavement, his eyes crossing as the world splitting into doubles.

He made a thin, weak sound, trying to find his bearings as a curious prodding pulled his mouth open. He grunted, trying unsuccessfully to turn his head while still trying to gather himself.

Something was in his mouth, and he made another sound that he wasn't sure he heard properly, realizing belatedly that his eyes had closed. He cracked them open, finding the blinding sun above his head and recognizing the object that had been shoved into his mouth as a pair of... of...

No! He started thrashing as best he could, noting that whoever was sitting on his chest had pinned his forearms beneath their knees. He bucked, but it wasn't useful since whoever the hell this was wasn't sitting on his hips. He couldn't breath right, and he gagged, turning his head back and forth in an effort to dislodge the pliers in his mouth. A second hand wrapped around a fistful of his hair and held his head against the pavement. He tried to cry out, but he couldn't get in enough air.

The pliers clamped around a tooth in the back of his mouth and the weight of his chest lifted slightly, directing weight - and therefore pain - to his arms instead. He felt it when they started pulling, and pain pierced through his skull, his eyes widening and tears streaming out of them as he let out a long scream.

.

Nick glanced back to do a quick headcount and paused in his footsteps.

"Where's Dal?" He asked, hoping he sounded less worried than he immediately was. They'd been off that boat less than twenty minutes and already the kid had disappeared. Ellis looked over his shoulder as well, blinking in confusion.

"'E was 'ere a minute ago," the hick stated dumbly. Nick's heart dropped into his stomach, very much against his will. Dal had a penchant for wandering off to take care of things and then somehow being unable to return immediately.

"Maybe it just wandered off," Coach stated, his voice heavy and still holding much of the hostility from a couple hours ago.

"Dal wouldn't just wander off." Nick replied halfheartedly. The hostility itself wasn't lost on Nick, but at that moment he wasn't concerned with it. He looked around, searching for some sign of movement, when a piercing scream cut through the air. It was long and agonized and Nick's heart stopped dead, his mouth going dry and his eyes widening in horror at the same time his lips parted in shock.

"Oh my God," was all he said before he took off running, forgetting that there were other people with him. He knew that Ellis was hot on his heels, probably even paler than he was. The scream had cut off suddenly and he didn't know why but it didn't help. He slowed down slightly, looking at every storefront, down every side street, everywhere, when the screams started up again.

"W-what the hell's-...?" Ellis didn't finish his sentence and Nick didn't want him to. He rounded a corner and froze, taking in what little he could see. Someone pinning down Dal efficiently, looked like the person was holding his head in place, something metal glinting in the sunlight.

Nick didn't even hesitate. He sprinted forward, clasping his hands together and smashing them into the side of the bastard's head. The guy hit the ground, pushing himself away from the assault with his hands as he rolled over to face his attacker. Behind him, Nick could hear Ellis dropping to the ground beside Dal. He stared at the person before him, his chest heaving and a familiar hate and rage boiling from the depths of his memories.

His older brother, Scott, blinked several times as he stood up, and grinned, "Nikki!"

His fist came up before he knew what was happening. It solidly connected with Scott's jaw, sending his head swinging to the side, and Nick was suddenly upon him, hitting him over and over and over, his mind moving to a chilling place, his gaze steady. It wasn't more than two hits in before Scott was fighting back, and in the back of his head Nick remembered Dal telling him how dangerous it was for him to be engaging in a fist fight, but at that moment he didn't care. This worthless piece of trash... of course his brother was immune. Of course his brother would take full advantage of the lack of law enforcement during the zombie apocalypse. Of course Nick would run into him like this.

Of course, now he had no reason to not kill him.

"STOP! That's enough!!" He paused, turning to look over at Rochelle, who was pointing her pistols at both of them. But he knew her well enough - she wouldn't actually shoot him. Not in a hundred years.

"Ellis," He said, his voice calmer than a placid lake, "There's a store front across the street that looks safe enough. Take Dal over there."

He didn't want to look over at the kid and see the damage. No, that would send him into a frenzy of emotion and he needed to stay right where he was, in the frozen landscape that his mind had wandered to. Nick could hear Ellis coaxing Dal off the ground, heard their footsteps as they made their way back out of the alley.

"What? That yours?" Scott asked, his eyes wilder than his smile, "I woulda never pegged you for a pet-owner, Nikki."

"He's not a pet," Nick stated calmly. His breathing was already evening out, and somewhere in the back of his head, he knew that he was headed to a dangerous place. Everything within him was frosted over, though. He didn't care if this was a dangerous place to be in. It was perfect for the scenario.

"Wha-at?" His brother sounded disbelieving, "That's not a pet? Bro, that's one o' them zombies. I know 'em when I see 'em. Why d'you think I was pullin' his teeth? I'd'a taken his fingernails too, if you hadn't interrupted me. Properly declaw the bitch, y'know?"

Nick didn't move, just stared at Scott as he picked through the few ideas his imagination had presented to him.

I guess I'm gonna snap again.

"Ha, you're pretty pissed, ain'tcha? You sure you wouldn't call that 'yours?' I've never seen you so mad for someone else's sake, Nikki." Scott mocked, rolling his eyes dramatically. "You gone all soft on me'r somethin'?"

"You talk too much, Scott." He finally said, voice calm, hollowed out, dead.

A gunshot split the air, closely followed by two separate shrieks - one of horror, the other of pain. Scott hit the ground, a bullet through his kneecap, eyes watering and face twisted up in pain and anger. Somewhere in the farther reaches of the universe, he could vaguely heard Coach yelling something. But Nick didn't care at that moment, about much of anything.

He stepped over to his brother, crouching down and staring intently at his brother's face, the barrel of his pistol pressing against Scott's uninjured knee. His brother stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief and streaming tears of pain.

Nick pulled the trigger, and he wished on some deep, carnal level that he could've listened to the sound of the bullet tearing through flesh and bone. He didn't take his eyes off Scott's face as the older man let out a cry of agony, closely followed by a slew of colorful swear words. Nick stood back up, staring down at what would hopefully be a corpse in a good amount of time. He didn't want Scott to be dead quickly - he wanted him to suffer. It was just too bad he wouldn't be able to watch.

"Nick, what the hell are you doin'?!" Coach grabbed the lapels of Nick's jacket, yanking the conman around to face him. The man was yelling something - probably morals-related - but Nick couldn't really hear him over the sound of his own heart thudding in his ears. The blood rushing through his veins was noisy and drowned out the rest of the world, leaving room only for Scott spluttering on the ground by his feet.

Coach froze, eyes wide, when the tip of the pistol pressed threateningly into a spot just below his ribcage. Nick stared at him dully, unhesitating, unrelenting. He knew that even this idiot would be able to tell that his "teammate" wouldn't hesitate to shoot him dead.

"Let go of me," he said quietly. Coach slowly released his jacket, taking several steps back, eyes wide in disbelief and horror. Nick lowered the pistol back to his side, looking down at his brother once again. Scott had rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows. His face was pale and drawn with pain.

"I'm going to call a horde here," Nick stated coldly, "And they're going to do the honors of tearing you to pieces, so I don't have to get my hands dirty."

Scott threw his head back and laughed and laughed, "I rubbed off you, didn't I?"

"Not really, no." Nick replied, taking aim at one of the cars in the nearby lot, "But you didn't help."

He fired twice, hitting his mark both times and setting off the alarm in one of the cars. Rochelle and Coach both made some very interesting noises, but Nick wasn't listening. He didn't care about them or what they thought of his actions. He couldn't have expected a couple of idiots like them to understand anyway. They didn't know what it meant to get your hands dirty. They didn't know Scott. They didn't know anything.

They wouldn't kill Scott because of their stupid morals, but they couldn't carry him either, especially not if they expected to escape the horde. New Orleans had a high population density. It wouldn't be long before a couple hundred infected were swarming the area. He turned and started walking away, heading for the storefront he'd sent Ellis and Dal to.

"NIKKI! Nikki, you're not just gonna leave me here! NIKKI! NIKKI!!" Scott screamed after him. The guy didn't know anything about his younger brother. He didn't know what Nick was actually capable of when he let himself go to that place. He didn't really think that Nick would leave him behind like that.

Nick genuinely hoped that he wouldn't die too quickly.

.

Ellis heard the car alarm go off, but he didn't try to find out what had happened. Dal and he were in the storage room in the back, Dal leaning against the wall, mouth closed, cheek stuffed with gauze, and a hand pressed against his face. There was already noticeable swelling, and Ellis wasn't sure what to do.

So, he sat next to Dal, arm around his shoulder, allowing the fifteen year-old to lean against him. He heard the front door of the store opening with a small chime from the bell, and glanced over at Dal.

"I gotta go see what's up. Are ya' gonna be okay by yourself?" Dal nodded mutely, shifting out of the way as Ellis pulled away, "I'll send Nick back n' stuff."

Dal nodded again, and Ellis walked out to the main part of the store. Rochelle and Coach were breathing heavily over at a table towards the front of the bar, while Nick had taken a seat at the counter. The conman's eyes looked dulled, his entire expression still and indifferent. Ellis' heart dropped - Nick had snapped, evidently. That meant the car alarm...

"What happened?" Ellis gently asked, leaning over the counter in the hopes that he could pull Nick's attention out of wherever it had gone.

The man slowly lifted his gaze to look at Ellis, who stared back at him unwaveringly, "Scott's getting trampled to death outside." Even his voice sounded empty. Like someone had taken Nick and emptied out all the contents onto the floor.

Ellis was on the verge of getting lost in thought when Nick suddenly asked, "Where's Dal?"

The hick frowned, wondering if Nick was in any shape to see the damage. That guy had ripped out three teeth and left Dal in some kind of emotional shock. Ellis had gotten him cleaned up and had him pack his bleeding gums with gauze, but not a single tear had been shed once Nick had arrived on the scene and saved the day.

"He's in th' back," Ellis replied. Nick nodded, but didn't move. Ellis' brow furrowed, confused - hadn't Nick asked because he wanted to see the kid? It would've made sense if Nick had been in a normal state, but as he was, he probably hadn't even thought of it yet. Rochelle and Coach looked like they were about ready to lose it on him, too. They needed to be separated.

"Nick," he said, waiting for the man to look at him. When he did, Ellis continued, "You should go sit wit' Dal. 'E needs it."

Nick stared at him mutely for a long moment before he nodded jerkily, standing up and walking around the counter to head into the back. Ellis let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He wondered if it made him a bad person to think that the guy who'd attacked Dal was getting what he deserved. Rochelle and Coach would probably think so.

He was sure that they were going to ask him questions any moment now. Ask him if he was alright with what Nick had done. Describe in terrible detail what had happened. And they were going to be disgusted with Ellis' reaction.

"Do you even know what he did, out there?" Rochelle suddenly said, her voice wrecked, "He shot that guy in the knees and left him for dead."

Ellis nodded, unwavering, "Yea, I figured it was somethin' like that."

Coach stared at him like he'd grown another head, "Are you seriously alright with him doin' somethin' like that, Ellis? To another human being?"

"Are ya' seriously alright with that guy doin' what he did?" Ellis asked in return, "He tore out three o' Dal's teeth. With pliers. Are you okay with that?"

Rochelle wrung her hands helplessly, "No, Ellis, that's not even... that's..."

A pit of anger started in his gut, "That's not what, Ro?" He questioned, "A big deal? Somethin' we should worry 'bout?"

"No!" She replied quickly, "God, Ellis, two wrong's don't make a right!"

"No, they don't, but there's also no use tryin' ta' change the past." He retorted, "You ain't gonna make me change my opinion about Nick, just because we got t' witness him doin' somethin' terrible. He told us that he'd done terrible things before this mess even started and we weren't gonna judge him for it then."

"Ellis, that man just killed someone." Coach said, his voice low and angry, "You're tellin' me you're okay with that? How could you be okay with somethin' that barbaric?"

The hick stared at Coach for a long time, "Are ya' okay with what happened to Dal, Coach? Rochelle? Does that bother you at all?"

They both paused for a moment too long, "Ellis, we're not-..."

"Naw, see, that's all I needed from either of ya'. Ya' don't give two shit's 'bout Dal, and now that he's given you proof o' what he can turn into when 'e needs to, ya' don't give a shit 'bout Nick either. Ya'll think I'm some kinda moron, but I ain't. I'm smart enough t' be able to choose the right side, at least." He snapped, fists clenched angrily, rage coloring his words and disbelief aching in his chest. He couldn't believe this. Coach and Rochelle both, throwing Nick under the bus like this, over something so... trivial, considering the circumstances of the rest of their world. They were all horrified by what Nick had done, calling it barbaric, but thatbastard was getting off easy, because he was dead now. He was dead by Nick's gruesome choice of murder, and therefore he could be considered a victim. They didn't care about Dal or Nick, and now that the latter had shown his darkest possible side, they didn't want anything to do with him.

"Ellis, sweetie," Rochelle finally said, sounding hopeful and defeated at the same time. He bristled at the tone she took, suddenly irritated with the patronizing way she and Coach always seemed to talk to him. "I'm not going to stick around with Nick anymore. He's... he's dangerous. Him and that kid he's been dragging around."

Coach nodded in agreement, and she continued, "And I don't think you should stick with him, either. He'll only drag you down. He'll probably get you killed, and for what? A Hunter?"

Ellis stopped then, eyes wide as he stared at the duo standing before him. Even after the deal with the speech board, even after all that had happened, they were still calling Dal a Hunter. And now they wanted to ditch Nick and Dal, all because Nick had decided that he wasn't going to let anyone hurt the kid. Just like how Coach had said he wouldn't let anyone or anything hurt or kill Rochelle. The only difference being that Nick actually meant what he said.

"You two..." He began, his voice catching his throat, "You two are awful. I don't care what ya' decide t' do, or where you decide t' go" He said, his voice raw and angry, his eyes showing his feelings of betrayal, "I'm stayin' wit' Nick and Dal. At least I'll be able t' sleep at night."

Rochelle and Coach were dumbstruck. They obviously hadn't expected him to be so stubborn. Either that or they hadn't realized how fed up he was with them. He couldn't believe how awful they were about Nick and Dal. He couldn't believe how awful they had become. Rochelle and Coach had been great until Dal had come along, and then their group had been split clean down the middle. It had been a real "us against them" scenario, and Ellis couldn't believe that neither of those two had it in them to just accept that Dal was a human being and Nick was willing to do whatever it took to protect the people he cared about.

"I sure hope ya'll are gone by the time I come back out 'ere," Ellis said lowly, glaring at them with a cocktail of emotions he wasn't accustomed to. "Who knows how much angrier I'll be if I see ya' again."

.

Neither of them had said a word to the other. Which was fine, really, because Nick didn't have anything to say and Dal's entire jaw was probably too sore to move. Not that Dal could talk, but whatever.

He knew that the kid was in a world of pain, probably in some kind of emotional shock, and definitely needed any affectionate contact Nick could offer him. So, he had an arm around Dal's shoulders, careful to keep his hand clear of the swollen side of his face. Dal was, in turn, leaning heavily against him, occasionally making quiet sounds of pain when the ache in his jaw flared up. Nick did his part by praying to God in his sweetest mental voice to send Scott to the deepest pit of Hell.

When he'd first walked in, he hadn't known what to do. His brain had still been frozen solid, unwilling to thaw long enough to allow coherent thought. Dal had looked up at him, face mostly hidden by his mop of dark hair. Nick had just stood there, staring at him, able to see the way Dal was holding his cheek with one hand, seeing the bruises on his face, noticing the blood that stained the corner of his lips, and he hadn't known what to say or think or feel or do.

So, after a moment of silence, he had sat down next to the boy and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and waited for the others to come in and tell them it was time to go.

He thought he had heard them talking, but it still seemed like everything was a bit farther away than it should have been. He wished he could see Dal's face from his current angle, but at the same time he figured the kid probably wasn't too keen on being stared at in his current condition. He wondered briefly if Rochelle and Coach were arguing with Ellis. They had seemed pretty upset with his choice of justice. He wouldn't be surprised if they started calling for his execution. Neither of them probably realized that he would've done much the same thing if it had been another member of their party. They also didn't realize that Scott was a genuine psychopath and had been one more or less since birth.

Well, there was nothing he could do to change their opinions anyway.

The door to the storeroom creaked open, and Nick looked up from the spot on the floor near his feet. Ellis walked into the room, hands shoved in his pockets, looking agitated. Had there been fighting? Must've been. It was a surprise, since Ellis had been adamant about not fighting anymore, but Nick supposed he must have been a bad influence on the poor guy.

He took a moment to recall how words worked, and asked, "What happened?"

Ellis looked up from the ground at him, and frowned deeply. After a beat, he replied, "Coach and Rochelle left. Well, they better've left." He added under his breath, but Nick didn't miss it.

"Why?" He asked, and the look Ellis gave him made feel like a moron for asking.

Nevertheless, the guy replied, "They didn' wanna be hangin' around you dangerous folk."

Nick snorted at the sarcasm - Ellis in a bad mood was an Ellis he could probably get along with, actually. The revelation alone was hilarious to him. Ellis sat down on Dal's other side, hands in his lap, knees crossed.

"What're we gonna do, anyway? You got any destination in mind?" Ellis asked, never looking at him, "I mean, we can't jus' take Dal into a safe zone anyways, right? They'd rush 'im to the labs."

Nick nodded in agreement, "I was thinking about that, too. I dunno, El," He concluded, using the nickname that Ellis didn't like. "I guess we'll just have to find some place to hole up until the infected all die off. Shouldn't take too long, I think."

Ellis didn't reply. "Probably find some town with a Walmart that's got a pretty low population." Nick continued, "That should serve us until this mess is done and over with."

"Do you think Dal'll recover from it?" The hick asked, and Nick looked over at him, "I mean, do you think he'll jus' get better eventually? Like a reg'lar flu?"

It was actually a very thought-provoking question, and Nick didn't have an answer for it. Dal shifted against him, adjusting himself until he was lying on his side, head resting on Nick's thigh. He seemed inclined to want to sleep at that point, and the conman couldn't blame him. He stared down at the kid's head, hand now resting on his arm instead of his shoulder, and sighed heavily.

"I don't know," he replied quietly, leaning back and closing his eyes. "I hope so."

If Ellis replied, Nick didn't hear him. He fell asleep, uncomfortable and exhausted, finding room in his cluttered head to hope that Coach and Rochelle made it to safety in the end. They deserved to have that, just so long as they got it as far away from Nick as possible.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

Nick flipped the page of the atlas he'd picked up on his very brief trip to the traveling agency located two doors down. Ellis and Dal were still sleeping in the back of the bar, likely to eventually wake with all kinds of kinks in all their major muscle groups. Nick hadn't been able to sleep very long - perhaps ten minutes. Which was fine, really, because he needed to figure out their next move. They needed a place to go for the time being. He wanted to get away from the coast. It was hurricane season and, as evidenced by Ducatel, the Gulf was in for it. He wanted to get as far away from that as possible. Heading eastward made sense - getting out of the way of Tornado Alley was simply common sense, and he didn't want to drive all the way to Arizona or something. On the other hand, the east had a larger, more concentrated population. Not exactly ideal.

He wanted a smaller city with a large shopping center and a rather low population. The problem he was having was that atlases wouldn't tell him where there were Wal-Marts, Targets, Costcos and such. So, his best bet was to scour his memory for places he had been to and go with those. That didn't leave him with many options - he'd been to so many places, he didn't remember half of them. He also didn't want to travel far to get where he was going, so as to avoid another scenario like the one that had lost Ellis' dream car.

He flipped the page again. For now, they'd probably end up going to the nearest large shopping center to find a car he could hotwire and stock up on supplies for their move. Also, he needed to find a speech board. Speech boards probably weren't sold in large shopping centers, but he supposed it'd be worth a look. If they weren't sold at large shopping centers, he had no idea where to look.

He looked up at the clock that probably didn't have the correct time, finding that he had been seated at the bar for over an hour. It was time to wake up Ellis and Dal and get a move on. They could nap in whatever car they wound up with.

He spun around in his seat, stepping off the stool and heading into the back. The duo in the back were still sleeping soundly on what was probably the most uncomfortable floor in the history of floors. He kicked Ellis' foot hard enough to jolt the man awake before crouching down to gently shake Dal's shoulder. The kid cracked an eye open to stare up at him for a moment before pushing himself upright, groaning in pain.

Nick chuckled, "Now you see why I didn't stick around for very long," he mused. Dal shrugged, putting a hand to the wall behind him as he stood up. Ellis was too busy yawning to have bothered listening.

"Man, I feel more tired than I did when I fell asleep," Ellis blearily muttered, "What's up?"

"We're leaving," Nick explained, "We're gonna go find a shopping center, grab some shit, hotwire a car, and then go find a more suitable place to stay. This bar has a great supply of alcohol but it's lacking in beds."

"That's fer sure," Ellis agree. Then, with some surprise, "You can hotwire cars too? Damn, Nick, is there anythin' ya' can't do?"

"I can't fly." Nick replied. He glanced over at Dal, noting that he hadn't gone back to holding his face like he had been before he fell asleep. The pain was subsiding, then. He was sure the kid was probably still in pain, though he was glad to see it wasn't as bad. He didn't want to enforce a brisk pace while Dal was in a state of agony. They walked back out to the front of the bar, pausing to grab their gear before stepping outside. It was still gorgeous outside, though Nick could see that dusk was fast approaching. They would have to hunker down for the night in New Orleans, most likely. That genuinely sucked, but it wasn't a big deal. Nick didn't want to be driving through the night - his head lights would attract unwanted attention.

It was habit that drove him to glance briefly down the alley where Scott's corpse probably was. He could see the vague outline of a body lying on the ground, but he didn't want to go and investigate. He knew whose body it was. His stomach flipped and he turned his gaze back to the streets ahead of him.

He didn't like doing that kind of thing. Killing at all wasn't usually a big deal to him. If it would ensure his own safety, he would do pretty much anything necessary. But killing cruelly was something he genuinely did not like to do. He found no joy in ending the lives of others. He found it necessary when it was, and that was it.

So, why did you kill him like that, then, Nick?

He steered himself viciously away from those thoughts even as they started to surface, and focused instead on counting the abandoned cars, trying to identify which cars belonged to families, which ones belonged to students, which ones belonged to single parents, and etcetera. If there was ever a good time for Ellis to start talking, now was that time. Naturally, the hick was as silent as they came. Of course.

They strolled along for several blocks, Nick wishing there was a way for him to see over the tall buildings around them and spot the nearest shopping center. He had been to New Orleans in the past - Mardi Gras was the perfect time for swindling, what with all the drunk idiots roaming the streets and every one deciding that they wanted to try their hand at gambling. He'd purposefully lose for several games in a row, and then, when the kids would put in everything they had, he'd get a "lucky break" and win. And then he'd conveniently find some reason to leave, and advise his opponents to leave the first game they won, in the future.

Ellis had said he could do anything, but that wasn't at all true. There were encyclopedias full of things he didn't know and couldn't do. It was just that he had been required to learn a lot of unusual skills in order to make it in his life. He could handle a gun, even though he wasn't legally allowed to own one. He could probably make a living just snapping necks for anyone who paid him enough. He could hotwire cars easily, having taught himself after he'd been forced to run approximately the width of New York City to escape a gang who had cottoned on to his tricks early enough to avoid the scam.

The fact of the matter was that he couldn't "do anything," he was just very good at living the life of a criminal. Doing something for a long time would eventually make a person good at it. He had been swindling and conning and gambling and cheating and stealing since he was about seventeen, and he'd been on his own since about the same moment. It wasn't like he had family he could rely on, and he'd been better off taking care of himself anyway. Sure, he'd been in lots of trouble on more than one occasion, but nothing a new fake ID and a scenery change hadn't been able to fix. If he stayed out of an area for long enough, people would quickly forget his face, and if he was really worried, he could just give a different name.

It wasn't necessarily that he had ever enjoyed the life he had gotten himself into. The adrenaline rush was always amazing and he loved being able to get whatever he wanted out of people (whether they realized it or not), but he'd had his fair share of miserable nights on the streets for various reasons, looking over his shoulder and wishing he could've ended up anywhere else in life. Marriage hadn't done much to domesticate him, either. He hadn't harbored any emotional connection to the women involved, sure, but it had all been so boring. He needed some kind of thrill in his life, and while criminal activity wasn't the healthiest way to find a thrill, it had gotten the job done long enough that he had gotten sort of comfortable with it.

Marriage had been so foreign and, in the end, horrible, he'd decided after the second bout to just never let a woman get emotionally involved with him. It wasn't like they'd actually cared for him, they'd just been helplessly attracted to the fact that he lived a dangerous life. Of course, after experiencing Nick for a while, they had changed their minds.

Well, the first one had. The second had tried to repair him like he was some wounded, broken animal. He hadn't wanted to end that one because the woman had money and he happened to be very fond of money, but he respected himself at least enough to walk away from something as ridiculous as someone trying to fix him.

He didn't even remember their names.

Nick was still wrapped up in thinking about the various ways he hated his life when Ellis suddenly spoke up, "I'm glad ya' knew where you were goin', Nick. I was worried we were gonna get lost forever in this city."

Nick blinked and looked up, noting that they were walking across a parking lot. Apparently, his subconscious had remembered the way, even though Nick was beginning to think he'd never been to this place. It was a Wal-Mart, as he'd been partially expecting. He could always rely on there being a Wal-Mart, no matter where he was.

The windows and doors on the front of the store were covered with what looked like a series of tarps. He wondered if they were going to walk in to that place and find the remains of the continent in that one shopping center. Certainly seemed like a smart place to hole up. It had bathrooms and all the supplies anyone would need. Definitely convenient. Maybe they'd do that. Find a store, find some mattresses, hole up in the store. It'd certainly make things simpler.

The sliding doors on the "Home and Garden" side of the store slid open, making the tarps rustle. Nick wasted no time finding the break between them and holing it open for Ellis and Dal. The interior was still lit, and it was quiet. If anyone had once been there, they certainly hadn't left much sign of themselves in their wake.

"Should we grab a cart?" Ellis asked. Nick nodded in reply, pausing in his steps as Ellis did the honors of tearing one cart away from the rest. He glanced over at Dal briefly, instinctively wanting to make sure he was still present. He was officially paranoid about the kid wandering off. And none could blame him - whenever Dal disappeared somewhere, something bad came out of it. Not counting the time he had gone off and found the others for Nick. Although, that had actually turned out poorly in the end too.

They walked through the aisles in silence, aside from the occasional creaking and squeaking from the cart Ellis had chosen. It figured that the cart they wound up with was the one with the bum wheel.

"I don't even know what aisle they'd sell speech boards in." The look Dal gave him at that looked sort of like incredulity. Nick stared back at him, "What?" The kid shrugged, shaking his head. Dal either didn't believe that Nick didn't know what aisle the speech boards were in, or he didn't believe that Nick thought they might find one in this store.

"Hello?" All three of them stopped dead, looking around for the source of the voice on high.

"May I ask who's calling?" Nick replied loudly, wanting to make sure he was heard. There was a silence that followed that, and he was beginning to wonder if they had been collectively hallucinated when the voice (now identified as female) finally replied.

"Where the heck are you?" That certainly hadn't answered his question. Nevertheless, he didn't think she sounded particularly malicious.

So, he called back, "Aisle six."

A moment later, a pair of women appeared around the end of the aisle. They didn't approach, and Nick didn't move either, sizing them up perfectly well from the distance he was at. Neither of them was armed, save for what looked like a machete held in the hand of the brunette. The look in her eyes was distrusting and actually rather hostile. The other one, a redhead, was watching them with interest and seemed to be in the process of decision making.

"Uh, hi?" The red-head finally said, waving in greeting. "I'm Megan. This is Kris."

"Nick," He replied, jabbing a thumb towards Ellis and Dal. "My right to left, Dal and Ellis."

Megan nodded, glancing over at Kris. Kris shook her head, but Megan seemed to ignore the gesture entirely, "What are you doing here?"

"We're moving out of town soon and wanted to get some supplies before we went," Nick said nonchalantly, "Does Wal-Mart sell speech boards?"

Megan gave him a strange look, "Why would Wal-Mart sell speech boards? Why do you need one?"

Nick paused then, noting the way Kris was openly staring at Dal. Megan had watched the boy carefully for a moment, more curious than anything else, but she had diverted her attention back to Nick after a while. Kris was probably about to do a Rochelle-Coach.

He indicated Dal, "He's mute and can't work his hands for sign language." He explained, his voice taking on a cooler tone that he did not at all intend. All at once, Megan was approaching them, Kris reaching out to grab her arm and missing entirely.

Megan suddenly looked very interested in the conversation, "He can't work his hands? Why not? And why can't he talk?"

Nick bristled, noting the way Dal stiffened at the attention. Ellis stood there, looking sort of dumb as he observed the situation as it unfolded. Kris was rolling her eyes, and moving over to them as well. He hoped she could see the assault rifle on his back.

Nick tapped Dal's shoulder, persuading the kid to look up at him, "Should I tell her?"

Dal shrugged, "God, you are so noncommittal, it's actually not funny." Nick grumbled, looked back at Megan, who was eying Dal like he was... what, a slab of meat or a very interesting test subject? He couldn't tell. It was weird.

"Why are you asking?" He decided to ask before telling her. If she was CEDA or something, he'd just punch her and thank her for her time. Her eyes slid back up to Nick's, and she looked a little offended.

"I'm a physical, speech, and cognitive therapist." She said a little coolly, looking annoyed, "I'm one of those doctors who gets interested in a new case."

"I didn't know therapist denoted a medical degree," he challenged, already tiring of the strong personality standing before him.

"Semantics." She cited, giving him a withering look.

Kris let out a long-suffering sigh, "Enough, Megan. Let them get what they're getting and get out."

Megan rolled her eyes, "Shut up, Kris." She turned back to Nick, "You said you were looking for a speech board, right? They have them at the office where I worked, probably two hours away. Maybe. Something like that."

"That's... vague. Where is this office of yours?" Nick asked, glancing over at Dal. He'd been extremely stiff and quiet and still the whole time. He wondered if the kid's jaw was acting up again. He hoped not.

"Brookhaven," Megan said, "In Mississippi."

Nick searched his memories for that location and didn't find it. "Small place, I guess. I've never heard of it."

"Well, it's not New Orleans but it isn't Smithdale either." The redhead stated, looking over her shoulder at her companion. Kris shook her head again, but Megan seemed to disagree with her. "You should stay here tonight and I'll take you there tomorrow."

Nick stared at her, "You're coming too?"

Ellis chose that moment to speak up, and Nick wished he hadn't, "Well, we're gonna have an awful hard time findin' her office otherwise, Nick. We ain't got Google Maps on our side."

It was his turn to let out a long suffering sigh, wondering at that moment how he'd been railroaded into spending the night in a Wal-Mart and acquiring new traveling companions. Or maybe just companion. He wasn't entirely sure if Kris wanted to go.

"You're friend doesn't seem excited about it," Nick offered, hoping Kris might have an easier time changing Megan's mind than he would.

"We're not really friends," was the reply he got. Kris glared at her companion's back, and the redhead continued, "She can stay here if she wants. I don't like having to hole up in a Wal-Mart. My sister lived in Brookhaven too, and she had a large family. I'll bet the house is still standing. There'll be room for all of us to wait out the infection. Shouldn't be much longer, I don't think."

"You just want a chance to try rehabbing that kid," Kris said matter-of-factly.

Nick turned back to Megan, who shrugged, "She's right. I do want to try rehabbing him. I might be able to get him talking again, you know."

Dal didn't even react to the offer. He was stiff as a board and looked... almost frightened. He'd been watching Kris carefully for the entire duration of the conversation. He looked even paler than usual, as well. He turned his attention back to Megan, suspicious.

"You never told me why he can't talk or use his hands," Megan said, looking at Dal again, "Does it have something to do with the scars?"

Nick scowled, but answered truthfully, "He's sort of infected. Kind of."

That surprised Megan, which he thought was a little amusing. She hadn't come to that conclusion. He looked over at Kris, but her expression hadn't changed. She looked wholly unsurprised, in fact.

"He's infected? But he's not at all violent or anything?" Nick shook his head in response to her question. Megan's eyes lit up with the same interest he'd seen when she'd been first looking at them, "Cool! I wonder why that is? Maybe he's got some kind of antibody that fights it off or something. I wonder if it has something to do with his own history of illness or if his mother's immune system has something to do with it. Babies inherit a lot of their immune system from their parents, y'know."

"Meg, be quiet." Kris said, "Keep your dirty thoughts to yourself."

Megan laughed despite Kris' tone of voice, which wasn't particularly friendly. It wasn't hostile, either, but it had definitely not been a kind tone of voice. The redhead turned, "Follow me and I'll lead you to our little campsite."

Nick nodded, following after her. Ellis abandoned their empty cart, and Nick felt Dal move over to walk closer to him. Something was upsetting the kid. He didn't know if it was something to do with Kris' bad mood or if it was because Megan seemed so attentive towards him. He didn't know what it could possibly be, but something was bothering the kid and making him anxious.

The part of him that had a tendency towards jealousy was a little happy that Dal was relying on him to feel safe. He had smothered most of the thoughts and feelings because they were stupid, but the fact of the matter was that he'd found himself feeling a little (just a little!) put off when Dal had discovered that Ellis was pretty cool, too.

He didn't have any real reason to feel that way, he had just had attacks (that appeared to be never ending) of feeling alone in the world. It was stupid and childish, but he couldn't seem to make it stop. It sort of pissed him off, actually. He hadn't felt like this before, and he didn't quite understand why he felt the way he did now. Dal was going to prefer people who weren't horrible. That was how everyone worked. If there was something better that was also available, they would go for that instead.

Nick was... scraping the bottom of the barrel. He wasn't the kind of person that people chose as a friend, or a lover, or anything. He wouldn't choose himself for those things. He wasn't a good-natured, decent human being like Ellis. He was a bastard, with all kinds of personality defects that made him both an enigma to society and a stain on creation. He belonged in a prison, away from the eyes of the public.

Nick, in all honesty, sort of hated himself. For all that he was and wasn't.

They walked up to the "campsite," which Nick noted looked significantly more comfortable than any of the campsites he'd been to thus far. The girls had gotten camping air-mattresses blown up and set up around a large, heavy-duty lantern. They had blankets and pajamas, it seemed, and it all looked amazing to Nick.

"Where'd you find the mattresses?" He asked, wanting one already.

"They're in the camping section," Megan said, "I'll go with you and we can get you three set up for the night before it's actually night."

Ellis grinned, looking grateful, "Man, I 'aven't slept on a bed in days."

"What've you been doing up 'til now?" Megan asked curiously, leading the way to the camping section as promised, walking backwards so she could see them as she spoke. "Lots of walking? You all look like shit."

Dal was walking extremely close to him. Something was definitely bothering the kid. He gingerly put a hand on the boy's shoulders, wanted to offer comfort even though he wasn't entirely comfortable with the contact. Dal leaned into it just a little, but Nick was sure that Megan noticed. She looked at them, a curious light in her eyes, before smiling and resuming her forward pace.

"We started in Savannah, Georgia," Ellis explained, getting a little excited about resuming his story-telling pasttime. "We got a car t' some carnival'r amusement park'r somethin', an' then got a chopper out o' there. The pilot got infected, though, so we wound up crashin'. Nick fell outta tha' chopper n' I guess Dal caught him. And then they had to catch up to us, 'n we were assumin' that Nick was dead so we didn' go lookin' for 'im. Eventually they caught up though. N' this was in the swamps o' Lousiana by the way, which was horrible. All wet and humid and, gawd, it was 'ell. Anyway, we got through th' swamps n' took a boat up 'ere to Orleans."

Megan, who had been surprisingly attentive throughout the story, looked awed, "Wow. You've been through a lot, huh? Have you killed a ton of infected?"

Nick snorted, "A ton might not cover it." He said darkly, "We could probably handle this situation better than the military at this point."

Megan chuckled, "Probably. You certainly have more experience than any of them do, I'm sure."

Nick didn't respond, instead gazing around the store. Kris had stayed behind at the campsite, but Dal didn't seem any calmer. Did he know Megan? Did they have an unhappy history together? He didn't know. He didn't want to ask either of them if they knew each other, either. If Dal was frightened because of Megan, he didn't want to let her know it was him. She might not have realized that she knew him yet.

That was assuming it was Megan, of course. Dal had been staring at Kris like she was the Loch Ness Monster or something. Whatever or whoever it was, Dal was genuinely frightened. Frightened of being beaten, yelled at, killed... Nick didn't know. All he knew was that Dal was afraid.

And he didn't know what to do.

...

He was terrified.

The sun had set, and they were all sitting on their separate mattresses. Dal was staring at the floor past his hands, listening to the idle chatter of Nick, Megan, and Ellis. Ellis seemed to really like Megan. Dal didn't mind her. She had a weird fixation on repairing his dexterity, but he didn't really mind that. If she could fix his hands and make him talk, he would be forever in her debt.

But all of that was on the back burner at that point. Fear ricocheted through him like a blade of ice and nausea. He didn't want to look up and see her, because he was afraid she would realize it was him. He was terrified she would realize it was him. He didn't want her to know. Kristina was watching the the group chat, occasionally offering a highly sarcastic and perhaps mildly hostile quips, but the others mostly ignored her anti-social personality and generally grouchy tone of voice. They instead laughed heartily at her, which only seemed to further irritate her.

Dal was afraid she would realize who he was and take out her irritation on him in some way. She had never laid a hand on him, she had never hit him or screamed at him or anything like that. The worse she'd ever done was lock him up in his bedroom for days on end, because she would forget he was there.

He was terrified that Kristina would recognize that he was her son. His mother had rarely even looked at him growing up, so he couldn't figure whether she'd even recognize him. With his face all scarred up and his entire appearance significantly different since the last time she'd laid eyes on him (which might've been years ago), he could hope that she wouldn't notice. But he couldn't know for sure.

He was terrified.

"Are you okay?" Nick muttered, leaning closer to him so Megan and Ellis wouldn't hear over Ellis' exaggerated story of the day, "Do you need something?"

Dal could've burst into tears right then. Sometime, Nick was gentle and kind and thoughtful. It didn't show obviously, but it was there. And perhaps the guy didn't know how great he could be, or perhaps he thought that side of him was a sign of weakness. Dal didn't know for sure, but he did know that Nick was actually incredibly considerate. Nick thought of him when he was missing and worried when he was upset. Nick paid attention. Nick noticed little things that showed that Dal was afraid or angry or about to cry.

He didn't know why Nick had such a self-centered streak. It probably had something to do with his criminal background. But even so, Nick was a good person, deep down. Even if he didn't want to be.

Dal leaned against him, trying to control his emotions. He wanted to cry loudly and run away and hide. He didn't understand why he was so scared. Did he think she'd be mad that he ran away? No, she probably hadn't even noticed that he'd left. Did he think she would attack him for showing up in her life again? No, his mother didn't ever get physical with him or anyone else. That just wasn't something she did. She had never hit him or yelled at him or anything like that.

"Just get rid of him!"

He wondered if she remembered that. He wondered if she remembered telling his father that their son didn't love her anymore. It wasn't that he didn't want her to hold him or he didn't love her. He just wanted to run around and have fun on his own without being confined to his mother's arms. He didn't understand why she couldn't get that. Surely she had once felt the same?

He vividly remembered his parents hollering at each other as he watched from the stairs, remembered thinking that her words were unfair and untrue and wishing he'd had the voice to say so. Remembered feeling a pain that he hadn't understood, an ache in his heart that brought tears to his eyes.

He still didn't understand why she stopped loving him.

Chapter Text

13.

Dal was missing. Again. Nick was getting a little tired of this charade.

He walked down the last aisle in the grocery section, letting out an exasperated sigh. This seemed to be happening far too frequently. Dal would go missing, Nick would notice, and by the time he found the kid, something terrible would have happened. It infuriated him that he had to keep hunting the kid down.

It was the earliest hours of the morning. Why was the kid even up?

He was all stressed out last night. Maybe he couldn't sleep. Nick thought as he was crossing through the apparel section, carefully stepping around the campsite along the way, and heading over to check out the home and garden part of the store. That doesn't tell me where he is, though.

Why did Dal keep running off? Was it because he liked reducing Nick to an incoherent puddle of rage? Did he just not think about the ramifications of running off before he ever did so? Was he just a moron? He was probably being a little unreasonable - there were surely a different reason each time Dal wandered away. This time had to be related to the reason behind his stress from the previous night. Kris or Megan. He was leaning towards Kris, simply because of how much time Dal had spent stiffly staring at her, but he wasn't sure. He couldn't be sure until he asked.

Not that Dal could really answer him. But whatever.

He walked speedily through the home and garden half of the store, then veering right and looking down every aisle in the toys sections, and then hunted around in the electronics section. Nothing. He had scoured the store, and nothing. Either he was having a lapse in his normally incredible luck or Dal was purposefully avoiding him. The latter was unlikely, the former was possible, but neither told him where Dal was.

Did the kid leave the store? No way, right? Not with the way the weather was behaving - it was pouring rain outside, by the sounds of it. Dal wouldn't go out in the rain unless there was an extremely good reason for it, and stress wasn't a good enough reason to send anyone outside during a torrential downpour. Right?

It had to be worth a shot. He could only hope that Dal hadn't gone far - maybe he was just standing under the tarps, staring outside. Or perhaps he was just outside the door, close enough to be avoiding the water itself.

The level of stress Dal was forever providing for Nick was absurd. It would kill him long before any infected did. He was going to have to yell at the kid for an hour and make sure he understood that he needed to stop wandering off without letting anyone know where he was going. And since he currently had no way to tell anyone where he was going, his best bet was just going to be to not go anywhere for now. At all.

He stepped around the tarp by the home and garden entrance, glancing left and right, but no sign of Dal. He wasn't right outside, either. Nick cursed under his breath, heading towards the grocery section with a boiling pit of lava in his stomach. He was getting really tired of this charade.

He hated that he had to deal with problems that stemmed from others now. He hated that he had managed to put himself in a position where he had little to no choice. He hated that he felt his raw loneliness even more strongly than he had before Dal had forced his way into his life. On rare occasions, Nick wished he hadn't let the kid accompany him. He wouldn't trade the kid back at this point, but Nick felt that he had been stronger before meeting him.

He stepped around the tarps, looking to his left and then his right before peering through the glass. He didn't see Dal. He stepped outside, ignoring the loudness of the rain and searching further up the parking lot as he stood just outside the door, under the bit of roofing that would keep him dry.

Probably forty feet out, sitting cross-legged in the pouring rain, was Dal. Nick hadn't seen him because he wasn't wearing his usual dark blue - instead, he was sporting the white hoodie he had found for himself the previous night, when they'd been looking for a change of clothes. The paleness of it had blended in well with the downpour.

"Dal!" He called, not particularly wanting to get wet. The kid jerked and turned around, spotting him. Nick wondered if he looked as mad as he suddenly felt. He beckoned him over, watching Dal stand up... awkwardly. He stumbled a little, pausing in his movements after he'd steadied himself and staring at the ground for a moment before he lifted his head and started walking towards Nick. His movements seemed sluggish and tired. Nick chalked it up to the fact that Dal had been sitting in the rain after probably not sleeping.

He turned as Dal was walking past him, following the kid indoors, "You need to stop pulling disappearing acts," he said, his mood sour. "I'm getting a little tired of running around trying to find you whenever you go missing. Where are you going? You need to get dried off first, you little shit."

Dal turned from the direction he'd been going in and looked over at Nick. There was a tremor moving through the kid's entire body, and his face, which was already fairly ashen under normal circumstances, looked paler than usual. Once again, Nick reminded himself that the kid had been sitting in the rain, evidently despite the fact that he'd been freezing.

"Come on, towels are this way," he grunted, starting towards the home and garden section (yet again). Dal crossed his arms and followed, teeth chattering at that point. Nick mercilessly ignored the sound. It served him right for doing something as stupid as sitting out in the rain for god knows how long.

Nick turned to Dal once they had reached their destination, grabbing a towel and holding it out to him while he stripped out of his clothes. Nick had assisted him in changing out of his jeans the previous night, in favor of a pair of pajama pants and a new t-shirt. All three of them had happily taken off their filthy clothes in favor of something clean to sleep in. It had been a novelty. Nick had felt like he'd never been in a bed before in his life when he'd laid down on that mattress. It had been beyond comfortable. Then again, after spending a great many hours sleeping on hard floors and used sleeping bags, he was sure a cheap futon from the shopping center they were staying in would've been considered comfortable.

Once he had sufficiently toweled himself off, they headed back to the apparel section to get him yet another change of clothes. By that point, Nick noted that Dal looked even more fatigued than before. He was still shivering rather violently as well, but he wasn't dressed and under blankets yet so Nick wasn't entirely surprised to see that he was still cold. The slight sway in his step, however, could probably not be explained by fatigue, cold, or lack of blankets. His breathing also sounded a bit labored, considering they hadn't walked very far and Dal was probably the most in-shape person Nick had ever seen.

It wasn't much longer after that when they returned to the campsite, Dal dressed and looking like he was ready to pass out. Megan was up, reading a book in bed. She looked over when she heard them and sat up, frowning.

"Dal, are you feeling okay?" She asked, swinging her legs out of bed. "You look awful."

At that, he looked at Dal, who was in the process of shaking his head to indicate that, no, he did not feel okay. In fact, judging by his appearance, he probably felt like hell. He fell into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin and shivering.

"What happened?" Megan asked as she walked on her knees over to Dal's mattress, "Where were you?"

"He was gone when I woke up, so I went looking for him," Nick explained, "Genius here was sitting out in the pouring rain like a jackass."

Megan looked at Dal's glassy-eyed expression again, biting her lip thoughtfully before pressing a hand to his forehead. Nick watched her eyes widen, and he waited for her to tell him what was wrong.

"He has a fever," she said quietly, not wanting to wake the others up, "Can you get him some Tylenol and a bottle of water? I'll wait here and keep him awake."

Nick nodded, heading off. He hadn't realized that the kid was sick. All the more reason for him to be called an idiot for sitting in the rain. What kind of moron did that, anyway? He huffed to himself, irritated and a bit worried as he stalked across the store.

He retrieved the drugs and water requested and jogged back to the campsite. Dal was sitting up, leaning against Megan as she rubbed his shivering arms and shook him occasionally to keep him from falling asleep. She looked up when she saw him, looking significantly more worried than she had been a moment ago.

"It's going up," she muttered when he'd crouched down, handing Dal the water and pulling out the medication. "His fever, I mean."

"You can tell?" He questioned, dropping two pills onto his hand and handing them to Dal. The boy had a slight sway, even sitting down. He had to be beyond exhausted, from the fact that he was cold and sick. Dal obediently took the pills, drinking down half the bottle of water before handing it back to Nick and laying back down.

"Touch his forehead," she said as she was covering Dal with his thick comforter. "You could fry an egg on that."

Nick frowned, but did as told. As Megan had described, Dal's forehead was extremely warm. Warmer than it was supposed to be, at least. He'd never done the forehead test on anyone, let alone himself. If he felt like hell, he knew he was sick. His brother and father hadn't exactly been the caretaker types, what with their separate psychopathy and alcoholism.

Dal was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Megan kept pressing her hand to his forehead in five minute intervals, looking extremely concerned. Her expression of worry wasn't making Nick feel much better about Dal's predicament. He wished he knew what there was that he could do to fix it. Injuries he could deal with like it was nothing. Sickness... well, that was beyond his expertise, to say the least. He'd never had to learn.

This stupid kid. He thought, caught somewhere between anger and growing concern.

.

"So, wait, what about your mom? Did she just leave you with your alcoholic dad?"

Nick sighed heavily, wondering if Megan was ever going to notice that she was irritating him, "She left when I was really little. I don't even know what she looks like."

"Why'd she just leave you behind, though?"

"Hell if I know," he replied a little hotly. "Maybe she could just tell I was defective when I was born."

Megan halted at that for only a few seconds before she said, "I don't think you're defective."

"You don't know me very well," he retorted.

This had been going on for several minutes. It seemed like Megan was quizzing him on his life starting from now and tracking backwards to his childhood. He didn't especially care for her to be asking so many questions, but at the same time, he couldn't find it in him to care about answering them. She hadn't asked him much about Scott yet, so that was a relief. He didn't really want to start reliving that particular adventure yet.

Dal's fever hadn't broken, according to Megan, but it had gone down some. She had checked twenty minutes ago, approximately, and hadn't stopped talking to him since. Kris was already awake, but silent as the grave as she buried herself in the universe of Anne McCaffery - whoever that was. It looked like a fantasy novel, and he was sure it was very gripping, but Nick wasn't much for books. They bored him. The adventures one reads about in a book weren't enough to make his heart pound with anticipation and fear. Therefore, not worth wasting his time with.

If it wasn't fun, going to save his life, or at least interesting, he wouldn 't go for it. That was just how he was.

Unfortunately, Megan wasn't giving him much of a choice in the matter in regards to retelling his life story. She glanced over at Dal as he rolled over towards the sound of their voices, one hand appearing from under the covers and groping for something. Nick sighed heavily and reached over, giving the kid's hand a quick squeeze. Dal sighed in contentment and stilled again.

Ellis shifted around in his blankets before slowly sitting up and rubbing his tired eyes, "Mornin'," he greeted sleepily.

"Good morning, Ellis," Megan replied cheerily, handing him a box of granola bars. Ellis received it gratefully, tearing it open and pulling one of the bars open. Megan then turned back to Nick, who almost groaned but decided it wouldn't be becoming of him.

"So, your brother, what was he like?" She asked, and Nickpractically felt the nerve she was standing on. She had already been walking on thin ice, but this was pushing it. He had hoped she wouldn't ask questions about Scott, but he should've known better. She had grilled him about his older half-sister, who had committed suicide when Nick was 13. Megan had asked everything from how she had done it to what Nick's alcoholic father had done afterwards.

Ellis seemed to perk up at the mention of Nick's brother, but his expression was less curious and more surprised, if not nervous. He could probably tell better than Megan that it was a sensitive topic that she shouldn't be trying to ask questions about.

"He was a psychopath," Nick grunted. He was trying really hard to keep from snarling at her, but it was growing difficult with each passing minute. Just asking the question had drudged up a bunch of stuff that he had been cleverly not thinking about for the past twenty years, and things that he had been forcing himself to not think about for the past thirty-six hours.

"He wasn't, really, though. People exaggerate..."

"No, Megan," he suddenly snarled, his temper flaring. He was done answering her ridiculous questions. "He was a fucking psychopath and I killed him two days ago."

Megan's eyes widened comically, anger seeping into her expression alongside what looked like hurt, "You won't scare me by-..."

"Meg," Ellis suddenly said, catching her attention. "He's not tryin' t' scare you. Nick killed 'is brother 'cause 'e attacked Dal."

Megan turned back to Nick again, staring, eyes wide and a hint of fear and what looked like awe in them. Her lips were slightly parted, and he suddenly felt like she was looking at him like he was some kind wild animal. It only infuriated him more, but he bit his tongue and glowered at her until she got the hint and stopped staring. She turned her attention away, her hand finding Dal's forehead again. She had been checking his fever less and less frequently, but she seemed a little bothered by the fact that it had stopped going down.

"His fevers gone down a little," Megan said quietly, sounded dejected. Nick wanted to sighed in exasperation and roll his eyes and otherwise provide physical evidence of how annoyed he was.

The fact that Dal's fever had gone down a little made Nick feel a bit better about the overall prognosis, though, considering that his fever had been maintaining "pretty high" for about forty five minutes. He wasn't even sure why he had been so worried earlier. His brain had almost started going haywire with concern, but he had stopped those thoughts in their tracks with basic logic. It wasn't like the kid had never gotten sick before. He couldn't possibly have gotten to the age of whatever-teen without ever getting sick.

"Hey, Meg," Ellis said quietly, "Why don' I tell ya' 'bout all the adventure we've 'ad through this apocalypse?"

Megan turned to him, her expression brightening some, "Sure, I'd love to listen."

And so, Ellis started regaling Megan with tales of their adventures thus far. He started from the very beginning - explaining who Rochelle and Coach were and promising that she'd find out what happened to them later on in the story. Nick couldn't have imagined a more boring set of narratives. Then again, he had lived through those experiences, so it wasn't really a surprise that he found them to be boring.

After the end of the world was over, he was going to be very bored. All the frightening messes in the world couldn't possibly compare to the raw thrill of fighting daily for his life. No perfectly executed scam with near-lethal results could compare to the feeling of cracking a baseball bat against the skull of an infected; no game of chase with a group of conned thugs could compare to the feeling in his gut when he was running for his life from a Tank; no amount of danger could possibly sate his thrill-seeking personality at this point. It wasn't like he had been the type to look for a normal kind of thrill, anyway. He had always relied on true danger to keep himself entertained.

Dal shifted again, pulling his blankets up to his chin and shivering. Megan turned to the kid, holding up a hand to halt Ellis' storytelling for a moment, and pressed a hand to his forehead. With her hand pressed to his forehead, her brow furrowed in confusion. Obviously, something was wrong.

"What?" Ellis asked, looking curious. Megan slowly shook her head, flipping her hand over as if wanting to make sure her hand was feeling the right temperature.

"His fever’s going up again," she said, confused, "It's going up a lot, again."

Nick blinked, a small burst of anxiety finding him, "Why?" He wanted to know immediately. He was confused - they'd given the kid medication to help the fever, and it had been working, so why was he suddenly getting worse? Megan threw him a look that shut him up quickly - as if I know the answer to a question like that!

"Ellis, go and get a few bags of peas or corn from the frozen food section," she requested quickly, and Ellis was up and away faster than Nick had ever seen him move.

"Wake him up," Kris spoke suddenly, surprising Nick entirely. She had been completely silent for the entire hour that Dal had been sleeping, her concentration taken by the book she was reading. Megan turned to her, confused.

"Why? Shouldn't we let him sleep?"

Kris rolled her eyes dramatically, slamming her book down and getting up. She stalked around the campsite to Dal's side, grabbing his shoulder roughly and shaking him hard. At first, he didn't respond, but after a few seconds of the treatment he jerked awake, eyes wide and then eyelids drooping. Kris gripped his other shoulder and hauled him upright, the action waking him up more. He let out a groan of pain, one hand coming up to hold his likely aching head while the other held him up.

"Lift your head," Kris commanded, her tone icy. Dal shuddered, looking up at her, though his eyes were so glassy Nick wasn't sure if he could even see right. "Lift," she grabbed his chin and tilted his head up manually, fingers pressing to the sides of his throat.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked, bewildered.

"His glands are swollen," Kris stated.

"Yea, figured that much," Megan grunted, "Obviously his glands are swollen, he has a fever of a thousand and ten."

"Go and get him a low-dose allergy medication, Meg."

"What? Why?"

Kris threw a heated look at her younger companion. "Because I told you to. Grab a thermometer while you're over there."

Megan blinked, before glaring at her and standing up to get the requested items. Nick sat still, breath baited as he watched Kris and Dal. Occasionally, she'd shake him roughly to keep him awake, even though it was obvious he wanted nothing more than sleep. She kept one hand pressed to his forehead, his face set in a scowl, and irritation lining every bit of her body language.

"Why allergy meds?" Nick asked after a brief bout of thought, "He's not having an allergic reaction, is he?"

Kris shook her head absently, "This is what I used to do when he'd spike fevers like this... he always got them after he had the flu. And he always had..." She trailed off into silence, stiffening before Nick had even fully registered the meaning of her words.

A silence fell over them even as the sound of Ellis and Megan's footsteps approached, from different sides of the store. Nick watched Kris' shoulders relax some, a resigned look on her face. She shook Dal again, waking him up a little more soundly this time. His fatigue was still winning the battle, but he seemed like he was struggling harder to stay awake. Nick figured that was probably a good sign.

"You used to take care of him when he was sick?" Something was clicking into place that shouldn't have been clicking. Dal had been - and still was - frightened of one of the two women they had run into. He didn't seem as tense around Megan as he did around Kris, but the reason for it... Nick hadn't been able to piece that together until now.

Ellis and Megan appeared at that very moment, Ellis with a plastic bag full of packages of peas and Megan with a box of Claritin-D and a thermometer. Kris punched Dal in the shoulder particularly hard, waking him up the rest of the way. Nick stared at the woman - there was no affection for the kid in anything she did, even now. The fact that she had elected to help at all had seemed to be stemming from impatience rather than actual concern. He couldn't see any signs at all that she had been worried, or that she cared, or anything of that sort. So, there was no way she was his...

"Mother," she finally said, taking the pills from Megan and grabbing Dal's discarded bottle of water. "I'm his mother. Sit up." She ordered, and Dal didn't hesitate. Nick hadn't even realized he had been awake enough to follow directions, but apparently he was working on instinct. The kid straightened up, swaying and looking entirely unhealthy.

She gave him the pills and the water and he obediently took them, remaining upright and waiting for further instruction. Kris pushed the blankets away from Dal's legs, which the kid probably didn't appreciate judging by his increase in shivering. She then pulled his shirt over his head and shoved him back so he'd lay down. Her expression of discontent was turning into an angry glare with every passing second, and Nick didn't miss the way Dal seemed to be cringing away from her now that he was more awake.

Kris took the plastic bag from Ellis, who was openly staring at Kris, and placed one bag of peas on Dal's forehead, another two on his shoulders, and then two more by his hips. "Don't move," she commanded, and Dal let out a weak, unhappy groan. She threw him a nasty look before getting up and moving back towards her own bed.

"When his fever starts to go down, you can take off the peas." She said absently to Megan, who nodded mutely, looking bewildered.

"You're his mom?"

The look Kris directed at Megan then was murderous. The redhead's eyes widened slightly. She looked both surprised and a little indignant. Kris sat down on her bed, grabbing her book roughly and opening up to the page she had left off at.

Nick was still trying to process the information he had just received. Kris was Dal's mother? So why was he so frightened of her? His stomach twisted at the thought that perhaps Dal had been abused in some kind of way. It wasn't like abuse was terribly uncommon anywhere, let alone the United States. He'd grown up in a household that many would describe as neglectful and abusive, and people would pity him if he ever tried to describe his childhood. But the idea that perhaps Dal had suffered in some kind of way at the hands of his parents was... much more awful than Nick could've imagined.

For a brief moment, he wanted to eviscerate Kris. Then he remembered that she had probably just saved Dal's life. She was irritable and cold, but she was an asset.

He didn't like her. He hadn't liked her in the first place, but now... he sort of hated her. Even though he had no real reason to feel that way. He didn't know if Kris had beaten Dal or just yelled at him frequently. He didn't know if he was afraid because of her, or if he was afraid because he was infected and didn't want her to know what had become of her son. He couldn't be sure about the contents of Dal's history without asking Dal about it.

The minutes ticked by, accented by the sound of Dal's teeth chattering. Nick watched him, feeling a little ill. Eventually, Megan stuck the thermometer in his mouth and deemed his fever low enough to warrant taking off the frozen peas. Kris instructed them to keep the blanket off, because Dal's body temperature fluctuated - sometimes dangerously - when he was sick, so it was best to just keep him cold until his fever broke.

With the "ice packs" off, Dal was permitted to roll onto his side and curl up into fetal position. Nick felt bad for the kid - he had to be miserable. But he decided it would be best to trust Kris' better judgment, as she had dealt with him being sick before. She would know what would help Dal get better the fastest. Megan and Kris together would be able to take care of Dal in his current state. Ellis could handle it when Dal was in need of genuine comfort. His thoughts were spiraling away before he could catch them, and his pessimism was at the boiling point. He didn't need to stick around and take care of the situation. He didn't need to keep an eye on Dal.

Dal was, in a sense, beyond Nick's expertise.

He got up slowly, his knees protesting the movement with vigor. "I'm going to start stockpiling supplies," he said absently. Without waiting for Ellis to say that he would join him, he turned and headed off to where they had abandoned their cart. He hated the way Dal made him think without even trying. He hated that Dal didn't know what he did to Nick's psyche on a regular basis. He hated that he cared for the kid as much as he did, and yet, in situations like this, there was nothing he could do.

He hated that he had been made to feel useless.

Well, he thought dryly, at least I'm still better at killing than them.

Chapter Text

14.

Ellis didn't like her.

Kris was cold and harsh and came across as positively loathing Dal. And it wasn't necessarily that Ellis required someone to like Dal in order to be friends with him. He didn't like her, he didn't particularly trust her, and he had begun to like her even less since finding out who she was. Dal was afraid of this woman who claimed to be his mother. The kid definitely took after Kris, but it took more than blood for someone to call a child their own.

Megan had finished her book and gotten up to go and find something else to do. Ellis had procured a one thousand piece puzzle and he and Nick were working on it with vigor. He had gotten about sixteen pieces down when Nick had moved over to him, having spotted a piece that fit near one of the others that Ellis had put together. Once the piece was placed, Nick was suddenly very involved in the puzzle.

"You've been kind of quiet lately," Nick suddenly said, frowning deeply at the piece of sky he had picked up. "Are you as stressed as I am?"

Ellis blinked and looked up at him. He hadn't known Nick to be thoughtful towards him. Then again, it was possible that Nick was just curious. He seemed like the kind of person who could sound thoughtful when it as just that he wanted to know something. Ellis looked down at the rose petal had had been trying to fit on his already-completed rosebush.

"Are you stressed?" He asked, dodging the question. Ellis was , in fact, a little stressed. He wasn't sure why, but he was. He wasn't stressed because of Kris and Megan - their presence didn't bother him the way he was sure it probably bothered Nick. After all, it had taken two days and fighting for their lives for Nick to start warming up to Ellis, Coach, and Rochelle.

His stomach knotted just a little. Maybe that was why he was stressed. He hadn't given it much conscious thought, but he wished he could find out what had become of Rochelle and Coach. He had sent them away thoughtlessly, and hadn't allowed himself to give them much more thought since then. He shouldn't have been so quick to throw them under the bus. Certainly, they had been doing the same thing to Nick and Dal, but two wrongs didn't make a right. He should've tried harder to convince them, rather than sending them packing.

He sighed softly, glancing up at Nick, who had yet to answer his question. To his surprise, the man was openly staring at him.

"What?" Ellis asked, confused.

"You just dodged a question," Nick said, looking suspicious as he blindly reached for another piece, having given up on his little bit of sky. "I'm not going to tell you what's bothering me until you tell me what's bothering you."

Ellis smiled a little. Nick was promising, in his own words, to tell him something that he hadn't expected to be told. That was a nice change of pace. Megan returned at that moment, sitting down and opening one of the thicker Harry Potter books. He thought he saw her glance their way, but he didn't look over to her.

"I 'unno, really," he finally answered, frowning a little. "I think maybe I'm regrettin' kickin' Rochelle 'n Coach off th' island so quickly. Didn' even really give 'em a chance to be convinced."

Nick snorted, "They weren't going to be convinced, El. I would've thought you had realized that, and that was why you told them to hit the road."

Ellis felt his shoulders sink forward, finally locating the spot where his stupid rose petal was supposed to go. He set the piece carefully, sadness finding him. He had liked Rochelle and Coach, when they hadn't been being unreasonable. He was sure Nick didn't quite understand, because Nick hadn't liked them in the first place. Nick didn't seem to like anyone very much, except Dal.

"I do know that... s'just... I 'unno. What if they're dead?" He replied, his voice going quiet, "What if they're dead 'n they wouldn't be if we'd been there t' help?"

Nick looked up at him again, his face set in a scowl, "So what if they are, Ellis?" Ellis raised his head again, looking alarmed. "What if your family's dead? What if your friends are dead? What if that stupid old bat down the road is dead?" His stomach twisted at the thought and he ducked his head down again, wishing he'd been wearing his hat.

"Thinking about what might be happening out there where you're not isn't going to save anyone or fix anything," Nick said it like it was the most obvious thing in the universe, "So don't bother even thinking about it."

"S'not tha' simple," Ellis grumbled. "S'easy fer you t' cut your losses. I gather ya've done it before."

Ellis regretted what he said almost as soon as he'd said it. That had been incredibly thoughtless. He didn't know when he'd become so moody and inconsiderate. He supposed it might've been a result of being stressed. He hadn't really had to deal with it before, so he wasn't used to the crushing pressure of his thoughts and their negative leanings.

He was about ready to mutter an apology when Nick finally responded, "What you consider a loss is not the same as what I consider a loss." He said, his voice sounding only a little hostile, "For the most part, I only count it as a loss if I get seriously injured or lose out on something really big."

Ellis took a moment to digest that. He was always surprised when Nick's highly self-centered part showed itself. The conman could be incredibly thoughtful sometimes, so when that piece of him appeared in some subtle way, Ellis was never prepared for it. It wasn't necessarily that he liked to think of Nick as something that he wasn't, but rather that Nick had warmed up to him a lot since he'd met Dal and thus didn't present the uglier sides of himself as often.

Ellis wanted to know Nick better. He had overheard a great deal of Megan's interrogation, but those were just facts of Nick's life. They didn't really tell Ellis anything about the man himself. Circumstances didn't define a person. A person's history was a large part of their identity, but that didn't define a person either. "People define themselves" was what his mother always told him. Ellis firmly agreed with her.

He missed her.

"Would you count Dal, if he were injured or something? Would that be a loss?" Ellis asked, his brain already asking the rest of him why he had asked. Nick's hand froze, hovering a few inches over the puzzle where he had been about to place a piece. Ellis looked up at him, confused by his stillness. Nick looked bewildered, almost. His eyes were wider, brow furrowed, lips slightly parted. It was as if he had just realized something very important. For all Ellis knew, he had.

Nick closed his mouth and returned his attention to the puzzle, his lips pursed.

Ellis smiled. He couldn't help himself, "Guess that's a yes, huh?" The look he then received from the conman made him laugh out loud. He grabbed a piece of cloud and started searching for it's proper spot. They were making pretty good time on this puzzle.

"S'what're you stressin' 'bout, Nick?"

Nick, who seemed happy enough for the change of subject, sighed heavily. "New company."

To Ellis, that didn't make much sense. Kris and Megan had already proven themselves non-threatening. He was sure Nick had very good reasons for not trusting them, or whatever his problem was, but Ellis couldn't see the logic in it. He personally didn't like Kris very much, and he could sort of see why someone wouldn't be keen to trust her, but she had saved Dal. Even if she had shown signs of not really wanting to, and had been rather aggressive about it.

"S'hard to tell when you're stressed, Nick," Ellis remarked, "Ya' do tha' poker face real good."

Nick snorted, "I've had practice."

...

When he slowly swam back to consciousness, the first thing he noticed was how comfortable he felt. He hadn't been this comfortable in a long time. His body felt... right, somehow. His skin felt cooler than it had been, his headache was completely gone for the first time in nearly a week, and nothing hurt . He'd been dealing with a slight ache in every bone and muscle in his body for all that time, and now it was gone. He was so comfortable, he didn't want to get up. He didn't want to move. He just wanted to relish in the comfort of his own skin.

Just as he was thinking he was going to nod off, his stomach clenched tightly and growled, alerting him to the fact that he was starving . Slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking in the light. How long had he been asleep? He felt like it'd been weeks since he'd passed out. He was burrowed under what felt like several blankets, and it was so comfortable . Despite the fact that he was completely starving to death, he didn't want to get up.

But , he decided wistfully, I need to eat before I die.

Slowly, he rolled onto his back, sighing as he forced himself to sit up. His stomach clenched harder and he made a quiet sound of discontentment. He looked up and around - Megan was reading, but she had diverted her attention away from her book to study him carefully. Nick and Ellis too, had looked up from what looked like a puzzle.

"How do you feel?" Nick asked long before Megan could. Dal smiled slightly, and managed to give him a thumbs up. It took him a moment of maneuvering his hands, and it was quite frustrating. He hoped that Megan would get him started on his rehab as soon as they got to... wherever they were going. He didn't remember.

Nick smiled back at him, his eyes softening just slightly.

"You look a lot better too," Megan remarked, "Your face isn't as pale."

He nodded at her, before spotting the boxes of granola bars - some opened some not. He glanced down at his hand - the chances of him being able to open one of those was pretty slim. He grabbed a box anyway and tore it open. Before he could grab one of the bars out of the box, however, Nick appeared at his side. The older man took the box out of his hands, and pulled out one of the bars, opening it for him and then handing it over.

Dal took it gratefully, devouring it like a starving puppy. He hadn't been this hungry since he turned. In fact, he hadn't eaten much at all since he'd turned because he just hadn't been hungry. Thinking about it now, he had probably lost a lot of weight because of his poor nutrition. He hadn't given any thought to his eating habits, especially after meeting Nick.

Nick handed him another granola bar just as he was finishing his first, and he devoured that one too. It went on like that until he'd eaten the whole box, but he was still famished. He looked at Nick, hoping that his expression was giving away what he was thinking.

"Geez, you're still hungry?" Nick asked, looking a little startled. Dal nodded enthusiastically in reply. "Well, c'mon. Let's see what else we can find for you."

The two of them stood up in unison. Ellis had re-engrossed himself into his puzzle, and Megan had returned to her book. Dal glanced over at Kris briefly, pausing briefly in his steps as Nick continued forward. She was staring at him, her expression still as stone and her eyes burning a hole into his soul. His heart dropped into his stomach as anxiety stole through him. She was angry with him. He had done something wrong. What? Was it because he'd gotten himself sick? But why would that upset her? Because he had draw attention to himself? No, she didn't recognize him... right?

"Dallas," Kris said, and his heart may as well have stopped.

She recognized him. She recognized him . She recognized him .

His heart rate skyrocketed, a tremor moving through him. He knew before he felt it that he was panicking. What now? Was she going to have to punish him somehow for drawing attention to himself? For causing trouble for everyone? His stomach knotted, and he immediately started regretting sitting outside in the rain like he had. He should've just come inside when it started drizzling instead of sitting out there for hours while his bones froze to ice. Now he was in trouble with his mother again, something he had thought he'd escaped. What would she do to him? Was she actually going to get violent? Nick would step in and stop her, but the thought of it made him sick. If he'd done something wrong, he should be punished for it. That was how it was supposed to be.

That didn't make him any less afraid, though. He was aware that he was physically shaking, his eyes trained on the ground in front of him. He tried to prepare himself for the worst, but he couldn't really, because he didn't know what the worst was. Just knowing that his mother was angry with him was enough to make him want to cry out of terror.

"Don't ever do something that stupid again," her voice was quiet, low, venomous. "You should know by now how I feel about your idiotic stunts. If you get sick like that because of some stupid stunt, I'm going to just let you die."

Dal's stomach twisted again. He felt sick. He felt Nick shift beside him, and he took in a shuddering breath. She was so angry with him. He hadn't seen her this mad since the day he got into that horrific motorcycle accident. He hadn't had so much as a permit. He'd just bought himself a motorcycle and drove it around for six hours before crashing off a highway. He was sure that he'd nearly died, and his parents had been so angry, they'd locked him in his room for six days, leaving him to his squirreled away snacks and drinks. He would've died of dehydration, and they hadn't known about the food and water he kept in his room. His mother had looked more furious that he was still alive than she had when she'd seen him in the hospital.

"Am I making myself clear?" Kris asked, her scowl darkening. Dal nodded quickly, eyes widening slightly at the fury in her expression. He shuddered visibly as she turned her attention back to her book. He turned back around, spotting Nick a couple of paces away, staring at Kris like he wanted to eviscerate her. Dal could feel that he was close to tears. He clenched his fists and swallowed down his emotions, stepping up beside Nick and waiting expectantly for him to lead the way to wherever there would be good, filling food. At the very least, it would help push down his need to cry.

"You know," Nick said, his voice laced with venom, "No one's forcing you to associate with him. It might even improve your shitty attitude if you didn't."

Kris's grip on his book stiffed, and Dal froze, thinking that she was going to get up. But she didn't. She was very, very still for a long moment. Dal's throat constricted, making it hard to breathe as she slowly turned her attention to Nick.

"He's my son," she stated icily. Ellis and Megan had looked up from their respective tasks long ago, watching attentively. Megan looked worried, but curious. She didn't know how dangerous Nick could be when his temper was tested. Ellis, on the other hand, knew exactly how dangerous Nick's temper was and his paling face gave away his nervousness. Dal felt terrible - this wasn't supposed to be happening. Nick standing up for him made sense because Nick always seemed to stand up for him, but... this was his mother. If she was angry with him, clearly he had done something wrong. She didn't get angry with him otherwise.

"That means absolutely nothing to me," Nick returned stonily. "And I can tell that it doesn't mean anything to you, either."

Ellis looked like he was about ready to leap to his feet, but Nick didn't force him to. The conman turned away from Kris, one hand seeking out Dal's back to guide him into following. The youngest of their group was happy for the direction, distracting himself from his anxiety by concentrating hard on placing his feet correctly. He could hear his heart hammering in his eardrums, he could practically feel the blood pulsing through his veins.

He hadn't stopped shaking, either. Nick's brisk, angry pace slowed down significantly once they had cleared the apparel section. He let out an irritated sigh, glancing down at Dal briefly, "You alright? You're shaking."

Dal made a thin sound that he was relatively sure was an almost-sob. Nick came to an abrupt stop, turning to face him. Two strong hands fell on his shoulders, persuading Dal to raise his head and look up at Nick. He was surprised to find that tears were beginning to spill out of his eyes. That had been the scariest thing he'd ever had to deal with. His mother had never spoken to him when she was angry before. Ever. She would punish him in complete silence, dragging him upstairs and leaving him locked in his bedroom until the next time she recalled that she had a child. He'd never heard her speak to anyone like that, let alone himself. A choked sound came out of his throat before he could stop it, and he bowed his head pressing a hand to his mouth.

The tremors moving through Dal were powerful and they wracked his whole body. Tears slid down his cheeks, and Nick looked like he was at a loss. He was beginning to feel bad for starting to cry, for having a panic attack, for being such a baby. He shouldn't have been as frightened as he had been. His mother had scolded him - she hadn't beat him with a cane or slapped him or even raised her voice. He had no business being so scared. He had no reason to be crying.

He choked on another sob, digging his nails into his cheeks as he practically jack-knifed into himself. He was trying extremely hard to control himself, but it seemed like it was getting more and more difficult. He wanted to curl up in a hole and die. He wanted to lay down in a soft bed and sob for hours. He wanted his mother to hold him and tell him everything would be fine. He wanted Nick to hold him and tell him everything would be fine. He wanted to find a place he could call home. He wanted to go home. He wanted to sleep.

It was like every bit of stress that had been accumulating since he was six suddenly came spilling out like water from a burst dam.

"Dal, hey," Nick was trying to force him to straighten up - which Dal cooperated with - and then he was trying to pull Dal's hands away from his mouth. He resisted with the full sway of his nearly super-human strength, and eventually Nick gave up. The conman placed hands on his wet cheeks, tilting his head up to look at him.

"Dal," Nick spoke gently, but his voice was firm at the same time. "You don't have to be scared. I'm looking out for you. Got it?"

Dal's hands fell away from his mouth slowly, his eyes widened, tears still spilling forth. His now free hand gripped at the front of his shirt. It felt like his heart would burst. He sobbed again, quieter this time, and bowed his head again. His chest felt tight and his throat was constricting around every breath.

He nodded shakily, still trembling all over. He wondered when the shaking would stop. He wondered when his heart would settle and his mind would calm. It didn't really matter. Nick wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close, turning them both and leading him to the non-perishable aisles of the grocery section. He followed along mutely, occasionally hiccuping around almost-sobs.

He was, in a sense, in awe. Nick had never been that raw and open with him. He knew that they didn't really know each other that well, because that was impossible without communication. He knew that Nick thought he knew Dal pretty well. He knew that Nick saw Dal as a reflection of himself. He knew that Nick sometimes looked at him like he was a cat or a dog, a beloved pet, or something like that.

In a sense, he knew that their relationship wasn't... real ? Wasn't right ? He didn't know what the right word was to describe it. What he knew was that Nick didn't really know him. Nick couldn't really know him. Not with their huge language barrier. Not with his inability to communicate his emotions, his feelings, his thoughts. There was too much missing in their interactions with one another for it to be called a healthy relationship of any kind.

And yet, Nick knew him so well. It was as awe inspiring as it was agonizing. He wondered if he really was a spitting image of Nick in his mid-teens. He wondered if there was enough similarity between them to explain why Nick always knew what to do and say, even when he wasn't entirely comfortable with it. He wondered if maybe Nick was attentive enough to see him for who he was. Perhaps they knew more about each other than Dal had perceived. Perhaps Nick could see him the way he needed to be seen.

He wondered if, after all of this was over, if Nick would let him stay. If Nick would take him in. Tears prickled at the corners of his eye again, but he pushed it back down.

It felt like his stomach had ceased to exist and his muscles and bones regained their bone-deep ache. It was painful at first, but it faded into the background and he found the strength to ignore it. His body felt warm and his chest tightened again. He was tired, but at the same time wide awake.

His eyes burned and he blinked rapidly in an effort to moisturize them. It didn't work, and the dim light in the store seemed blinding for a moment. His head felt like it was full of air, and he vaguely recognized the sensation. It was similar to the experience he'd had before he'd blacked out after being bitten.

I wonder if Nick would let me stay... Everything was sort of hazy for a few moments, but then it all faded into the background and his head cleared. The pain in his joints was barely noticeable, and his chest relaxed some. He still felt a little warm, and at the same time quite chilled, but he was fine. He was fine.

Nick would let me stay .

...

Crack!

The sound was muffled by flesh and it sounded awful. Like a rolling joint, like... like bone cracking and grinding against itself. Megan's heart dropped into her stomach and a pit of nausea formed in her gut. There was as dull thud as the body hit the floor, a pale, ghost of a child. Nick stood over the child, his chest heaving only slightly, his expression set in a cold scowl. Kris' arm was still outstretched, blocking Megan from moving forward. Ellis' fingers were still wrapped around her wrist to hold her back from rushing towards Nick and the child. Dal stood beside the dark-haired murderer , his expression forlorn.

Nick raised his gaze from the corpse lying on the ground, his gray-green eyes finding Megan's brown ones. She stared at him with wide eyes, unable to process what had just happened.

The doors were locked, as expected of Megan's mildly paranoid sister. They went around to the back door, which had small glass windows all over it. Easy to break into. Megan grabbed a rock on her way around the house, using it to break the glass. Her hand slipped into the small square of space she had made, wincing slightly when a shard of glass cut into her underarm. She ignored the pain and groped around for the doorknob. It didn't take long for her to unlock it and within moments they had walked into the house.

"Y-you..." Megan could hardly speak. Her stomach was rolling and her heart was hammering in her throat. Nick expression wasn't of sorrow, or regret. It was apologetic.

"I-...." He started, but Ellis cut him off, slowly releasing Megan's elbow. Kris arm dropped as well.

"He had to, Meg," Ellis spoke quietly, as if he was afraid of disturbing some wild animal. Megan couldn't move. She couldn't speak.

"He..." She swallowed down the bile in her throat and tried again, "You killed... Jake..."

"He had to , Meg." Kris repeated after Ellis, her tone icy and calm, as it always was. "That kid was infected. He wasn't gonna recognize you."

"That's... my..." She choked on the words, on the vomit that rushed up into her mouth, and she ran out of the house, doubling over in the yard and vomiting up everything she'd eaten in the past twenty-four hours. Her throat burned from the acid. She sobbed heavily, tears suddenly flowing down her cheeks.

"Jake..." she whispered around the lump in her throat.

They walked into the house and were immediately hit with the rotten stench of death. Megan turned to her right to glance into the nearby kitchen, and spotten a body leaned up against the door. Throat ripped out, dried, rotting blood congealed all over his face, his clothes, the floor between his legs.

That was James, Megan's sister's husband. She stepped further into the house, trying hard to block out the visual of James' body. Where was her sister? Was she dead as well?

A noise startled her, and Nick stepped forward, Dal by his side. They walked past her, looking around suspiciously. Nick cleared his throat loudly, knocking on the nearest wall as hard as he dared. Megan watched, mesmerized, wondering what it was they were doing, wondering what they were thinking, noting their unanimous movements.

"J-Jake... Jake is... Oh god..." She wrapped her hands around her middle, eyes wide as she struggled to process what she'd just seen. Everything was turning into a blur of movement and colors. She could practically feel her brain blocking out the memories, covering it all up, trying to find something else to concentrate on. Her throat hurt, and her chest felt tight with nausea and contained agony.

Something stumbled from around a staircase. A young child, face gray with illness, scars lining his thin arms, a snarl on his face, his eyes wide and staring. He rushed forward, and Megan lurched towards him, feeling the moment when Ellis' hand closed around her wrist, seeing Kris throw an arm out to stop her. Nick dodged the charge, stepping around the 12 year-old and grabbing him by the chin and the top of his head, and Megan knew what he was going to do.

She let out a cry, "WAIT!"

CRACK.

"Megan?" She choked on her throat again, stumbling back from the puddle of her vomit, and turned to face whoever was talking to her. Her eyes were wild with fear and misery and horror and she saw the way Ellis' eyes widened, saw the way he flinched back. She let out a shaky sob, wanting to scream wordlessly and beat her fists against a wall. She wanted to hit Nick, but she knew that was unreasonable.

"I-I... I-... Fuck ," she sobbed, "I know, I kn-know, I j-just.... he wa-was my neph... nephew. I c-can't.... I d-don't blame him, I s-swear, I just, I... I can't..." She cried, unable to string a sentence together. She wrapped her arms a little tighter around herself, hunching forward and shaking all over. She felt like she would be sick again but she couldn't because there was nothing left to come up.

She felt arms wrap around her tentatively. Strong, comforting arms, and she thought her knees would buckle from her sudden weakness. She choked yet again, snaking her arms around him and hugging him back, crying harder than she'd cried since this whole mess had started. She didn't know if her sister was alive, if her mother was alive, or her brothers, or her neices, or anyone. She didn't know if her friends had made it out, she didn't know if any one of them were alive or dead. She didn't know anything and it was so painful because she had been steadily ignoring the idea that maybe some of them were dead, but now... now she knew. For sure. One of her closest family members was dead, killed right in front of her and there was nothing she could've done to stop it, or to help him.

She had loved Jake like he was her own child. She had babysat him so many time. She had helped care for him since he was a newborn. She had always been there for him, and now he was gone. Megan couldn't have children. Her ability to have children had been taken from her years ago. Jake was the only child in her life that she could almost call hers.

And now he was gone. She had done nothing to save him. He was gone.

He's gone.

He's gone.

Jake's neck broke so easily. It was like there had been nothing in there but paper mach é .

"God, I... I'm sorry, I..." She mumbled, "I'm sorry... I sh-shouldn't..."

"S'okay," Ellis replied softly, "I don' mind."

She sniffled, squeezing him harder. He returned the gesture, tightening his grip just a bit. She could hardly breathe past her hysterics. She knew that she had no right to be angry with Nick. She knew that she had no right to be angry at all. But the sadness, the rawness, the pain was awful . She wanted to be mad at him. She wanted to hate him for killing her nephew. She wanted to hate him for being so cold, for ignoring her plea.

But she couldn't do it. She couldn't be angry at him unjustly.

"Looks like I'm stuck wit' damage control," Ellis said heavily. He sounded... older, somehow. World-weary. Like an aged traveler. They pulled apart, Ellis allowing a hand to linger on her shoulder for just a moment.

"Are ya' okay?" He asked right away, and Megan couldn't lie. She shook her head, shrugged, and turned her attention to the ground.

"Well, d'ya' think you'll be okay in th' future?" To that, she nodded slowly. Ellis nodded, rubbing her shoulder briefly. The back door opened and Kris, Dal, and Nick walked out. Nick looked up at her, his gaze solemn, for only a moment before he directed his attention towards the gates they had come through.

"We should find another house to stay at. There's no way we can salvage this one," Nick decreed. Ellis nodded in agreement, as did Dal. Kris turned her attention towards the gates and started heading out. Nick and Dal followed her silently. It was like a funeral procession.

"Nick," Megan called before she knew what was happening. The man froze, shoulders stiffening, before he slowly turned to face her. He looked haunted, his eyes hollowed out with exhaustion and weariness.

"I'm not angry, I s-swear," she said, starting towards him. Ellis followed closely after her, "I swear it. I just..." A small sob escaped from her throat, and she swallowed hard to contain her tears, "I loved him so much. I'm... sorry."

Nick stared at her, forlorn, for a moment before he spoke. His words were quiet, carefully chosen. "You're not the one who should be apologizing, Megan."

He didn't say another word. Didn't offer the apology that she knew he ought to say. That they both knew he ought to say. She swallowed hard and followed after them, heading back to the car. They'd find another house, get situated. She would break out the box of things she had gotten for Dal's rehab and get him started on that. Then she would go and get that speech board from her office and bring it back to their new house. They would get busy gathering things to help them survive until the infection ended. Hopefully, that would be soon.

Everything would be fine.

Everything was fine.

Chapter Text

15.

After sleeping for what his internal clock was claiming to be "an hour," his headache had subsided. Dal was right; rest would make him feel better. Fancy that.

Nick rolled onto his back and yawned, sitting up slowly and rubbing his eyes. He could probably have kept sleeping, but better judgment told him he should stay awake. Just in case. Megan and Ellis had said they would probably head out to get the speech board while he was sleeping. The house was too quiet for them to be back already, so there was still the possibility of them returning bloody and battered and in need of Nick's medical expertise.

He shoved his feet into the slippers he had procured from Walmart and headed downstairs. When he'd gone upstairs, Dal had been sitting on the couch, getting started on the rehab exercises that Megan had showed him. Now, the couch was vacant. The whole living room was vacant, in fact, with the exception of Kris, who was curled up in the armchair with a blanket and another book.

Nick headed into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee, very happy that this place hadn't lost electricity yet. It'd only been about four days. They would probably be able to make it a week or more before the power went out, and by then the infected would have mostly died out. That was going to make for a great smell, he was sure.

He moved away from the counter, instead opting to lean against the doorway to the living room. Kris didn't acknowledge his presence, but he was sure she knew he was in the room. The woman didn't seem to miss much.

"Where's Dal?" He asked, yawning again.

"He went upstairs." She replied nonchalantly. Nick frowned, wondering immediately why Dal had gone upstairs. He could bet that, if Kris had said something to him, she wouldn't admit it. She didn't seem as willing to fight with him as Coach had been. Then again, she didn't seem excited about much of anything.

He hadn't bothered asking her, because he knew she wouldn't answer him truthfully, but a thought had been nagging him since a few hours after she revealed she was Dal's mother. He had been wondering, more than much of anything, why Dal had been alone in a hut in the swamps of Louisiana. Kris didn't have an accent to suggest that she lived anywhere near Louisiana. And sure, it was possible that she had moved herself and her family to Louisiana quite recently, but Nick couldn't be sure of that. He couldn't be sure of anything, except the fact that Dal had been living very much alone in the swamps of friggen Louisiana.

When Ellis and Megan returned with the speech board, he was going to grill Dal for hours.

The coffee pot ceased the bubbling noises it had been making, and he turned back into the kitchen. Before he could pull a cup out of the cabinets, however, the sound of the door opening and closing, framed by shuffling feet and mild thumping, alerted him to the fact that Megan and Ellis were back. And, by the sound of their footsteps, they were injured, too.

Injured meant they had probably failed to get the speech board. Either that or it was broken. He stepped out into the living room in time to see Ellis setting the board down on the coffee table, his shoulders torn up and his face sporting new scratches. Megan was supporting him. They both looked exhausted.

"On the couch," Nick said heavily. Megan and Ellis immediately started shuffling towards the couch. It was sort of funny to watch their clumsiness, what with Megan being so much shorter than Ellis. He walked around to the back of the couch, surveying the damage.

"Megan, what the hell did you piss off?" He asked, mildly alarmed by the deep lacerations all over her shoulder and part of her back. He leaned over the back of the couch, gingerly pulling the fabric of her shirt away from her back. She hissed in pain, which he ignored, looking closely to get a feel for which ones might need stitches. It was a damn good thing Kris had suggested they swing by a hospital for some real supplies, just in case someone needed more than gauze pads.

"Smokers have claws, apparently," she replied sheepishly.

It was also a good thing he had some experience with stitches, since Megan was going to need a lot of them. Her entire arm had had blood running down it, as evidenced by the coagulated smears that reached her forearms. He had no idea why they hadn't thought to come back. Perhaps they'd been attacked on their way back. That didn't really make sense though, because the speech board was spotless, save for a couple drops of blood where Ellis had been holding it.

"You need to shower before I can stitch you up," he stated bluntly, "You need to clean out those wounds anyway. Why didn't you guys come back after you got assaulted?"

Ellis shrugged, "We weren't bleedin' t' death so we just figured we could keep goin'."

Nick rolled his eyes, "You're both pigheaded." Megan chuckled as she stood up, walking around the coffee table to head for the stairs.

"Will it be okay to use scented body wash on these?" She asked once she was halfway up the stairs.

"Uh," Nick paused to think about that. "I mean, probably? But I would use the bar of soap instead." She nodded back at him and continued upstairs.

"Where's Dal?" Ellis asked, "I wanna show him."

"Upstairs, I gather." Nick replied, moving to inspect the damage to Ellis' shoulder. He recognized the pattern of claw marks almost immediately - Jockey. That also explained the cuts on his face. Ellis was going to need stitches, too. Thankfully, they had grabbed every single package of sutures in the entire hospital. Or at least, it sure had seemed like it when they were heading back out to car. They'd grabbed backpacks from Walmart before they left, and had stuffed them overfull in that hospital. He was once again thankful for modern medicine in the United States.

"What'd you do to your leg," Nick wanted to know. Ellis sunk into his shoulders slightly, and Nick gave him the sternest look he could muster, "What'd you do?"

"Well, uh... s'kinda the reason we're all beat up, see, we were runnin' from the Jockey and th' Smoker, and I was lookin' back to try and get a shot, but I tripped over something and I twisted it. On m'way back up, got jumped on and my ankle was hurtin' pretty bad so I end up falling on top of it and that's how I saved us both."

Nick snorted, shaking his head. "You didn't hear or feel a crack?"

"Naw. It hurts like 'ell to walk on, though." Ellis answered, grinning sheepishly under Nick's mild glare.

"Just stay off it as much as possible for a few days. Anything particularly deep on your face that I should be made aware of?" Nick asked nonchalantly, picking at Ellis' ruined shirt to get a better look at the wounds on his shoulders. They weren't as deep as Megan's, that was for sure. Obviously, Ellis had been taken for a ride. He didn't recall Jockey's doing this much damage with their feet, though.

"Uh, well, there's this one," Ellis turned his head and took off his hat, gingerly pulling off a small gauze pad to reveal a gash on his temple. It was still bleeding. He would've hit the kid if he had been a less controlled person.

"Fuck," Nick muttered. He pulled away, heading for the still-packed boxes of medical supplies in the corner of the room. He got out gauze pads, tape, a package of stitches, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. This was going to be a grand adventure.

When Nick turned back to Ellis with his equipment, the younger man's eyes widened, "It ain't that bad." He insisted weakly, despite the blood running down the side of his face.

"Ellis, it's still bleeding . Even Megan's have stopped." Nick retorted, still eying the bleeding gash, "I have to close that. It might not stop on its own. At least, not in a timely fashion."

Ellis frowned deeply, but he gave in. Nick walked over to him, dumping the medical supplies on the coffee table and moving the speech board to the nearby end table. He then seated himself on the table beside the medical paraphernalia so he could properly face Ellis.

"You should probably be lying down, but I don't want you getting blood all over the couch. Try not to faint. This is going to hurt." Nick grabbed the rubbing alcohol and one of the gauze pads. Ellis stiffened, hissing quietly as Nick cleaned out the wound.

"Don't be a baby."

"It hurts ." Ellis whined in reply. Nick made a show of rolling his eyes.

"The actual stitching is gonna hurt a lot more, kiddo." He said, pouring more alcohol onto the gauze pad. "Kris," he said as he was tearing open the package of stitches. "I need a hand. Or two."

She saved her page and snapped her book shut, standing up and walking over to him, "What?"

"I need you to use this gauze pad," he handed her a pad, "to dab at the wound and keep the amount of blood to a minimum. I won't be able to see what I'm doing otherwise."

She nodded silently, tearing open the gauze pad, "You didn't even wash your hands."

"I've done this in much less sterile conditions. He'll be fine." He replied, threading the needle deftly as Kris pressed the gauze to the side of Ellis' head. "Ready?" He asked, and Ellis nodded slowly. Nick smirked at him and got to work.

It took about ten minutes to stitch the wound shut, which Nick was very proud of because he hadn't done stitches in about a year. But, surprisingly, he remembered how to knot the thread. Which was the most important part, really. The rest of it was fairly easy. Kris also proved her worth, which Nick was thankful for, even if he didn't want to admit it. She was very attentive, pressing the gauze to the wound every time he pulled his hands away.

Ellis was a champ through it, really. He only hissed occasionally, didn't flinch away at all, and didn't start crying. Sure, Nick had to occasionally remind him to breathe, but he'd done much the same thing himself the first time he'd been forced to give himself stitches.

They should've gotten Lidocaine or Novacaine or some other kind of caine. Nick just hadn't thought that anyone was going to need stitches in the near future. Or ever, considering how much beatings Nick and Ellis had taken without ever bringing forth the need for stitches.

Megan resurfaced from upstairs in sweatpants and a sports bra that didn't look like it would restrict anything if she were actually to engage in sports. Nick indicated the couch and shooed Ellis up to the shower. Technically, you weren't supposed to shower for twenty-four hours after getting stitches, but Nick didn't care.

Somewhere in the midst of stitching up Megan, Kris disappeared upstairs. He wondered briefly if it was because she couldn't handle the gore or if she just didn't like the noise. She always seemed irritated when they started talking to one another in her presence. Everything about her bothered him on some level or another.

He stared at Megan's back as he was dabbing away some of the blood. She had been in hysterics after he'd killed her nephew (Ellis had divulged that bit of information to him), and he understood why. But then she had insisted that she wasn't angry with him. He was sure it was a lie - there was no way she had no feelings of anger towards him after what he'd done. He would've imagined that she'd hate him, but didn't want to admit it for fear of upsetting him. Either that or she was wholly denying her feelings for some other reason.

"You know," he finally said as he pushed the needle through her skin again. "If you want to hate me or be angry at me, go for it. I've dealt with much worse."

She stiffened slightly, which was impressive considering how stiff she'd already been, and didn't say anything for a long time. He had touched a nerve, apparently. That was fine. It wasn't good for people to bottle up emotions the way he did. It made for an unpleasant human being.

"I don't hate you," she finally mumbled. "I'm not angry, either. I have no reason to be angry."

He tied off the last stitch, leaning back briefly to look over his work, before packing up the medical supplies and tossing things in the trash. Megan stood up, pulling the strap of her bra back into place and watching him carefully. He knew she was expecting him to say something, and he was going to say something. He just wasn't sure what yet.

He didn't quite understand why she needed a "good reason" to be angry with him. He didn't know if that was true for all normal people, or if Megan was just a strange person. Either way, he knew that she had just as much reason to be angry as she did to be depressed. And even if she hadn't had a good reason, that didn't mean she had no right to experience normal emotions.

He paused in the doorway to the kitchen, looking over his shoulder to glance at her, "It's okay to be angry at someone without having a reason." He told her, before ducking into the kitchen to finally get his coffee. He was sure it would be lukewarm by now, but he didn't care. He needed the caffeine if he was going to be expected to last until nightfall.

...

Dal hated his traitorous hands and mouth.

His exercises were simple; chew a stick of gum until his jaw was too tired or sore to chew anymore, and press the pads of his fingers to the tip of his thumb, one at a time, for as long as he could stand the frustration. The direction seemed easy, simple, straightforward.

Right until he had started doing it.

His jaw felt as if it would fall off. Still. He had stopped chewing over an hour ago and the muscles were still really sore. And he hadn't been able to get his fingers to his thumb properly. The fine motor control needed to do that was beyond him at this point. He was lucky his frustration threshold was pretty high, because otherwise his bedroom would be trashed in a fit of fury by now. He'd been at it for two hours and he wasn't making much progress. Granted, Megan had warned him that it might be a couple years before he was able to use his hands normally again but... he didn't know. Maybe he had thought she was exaggerating or imagined in his head that it wouldn't take that long because the damage wasn't that bad, but now he was seeing that he was completely wrong.

This was impossible .

That was an exaggeration. Right now, however, it certainly felt like the use of his mouth and hands was light years away from him. He had modified his exercise just a little because his thumb was in worse shape than the rest of his fingers. He couldn't move the appendage to meet the tips of his fingers. His thumbs were practically immobilized, so he was touching his fingers to the base of his palm instead. He would have to tell Megan about it later. Ellis had swung by his room on the way to the shower to tell him that his speech board was on the coffee table downstairs, and he was very glad to hear it.

But, with his mother now present, he wasn't sure he wanted to use it. Kris had raised him to be as inconspicuous as possible around her. Especially around her. He was to be silent as the grave in the house when either of his parents were home, but when his mother was around he had to be even quieter. He had grown up tip-toeing around his own house for fear that she would hear him and throw him into his room for a day or two. He had grown up without ever speaking in her presence. She had taught him to be quiet, and now that he had the option to "speak," he didn't want to.

He didn't know if she would be so bold as to punish him for making a sound, considering that Nick was around and probably willing to punch her. In fact, he was sure she wouldn't because she wasn't the type to fight with others. When she needed to, she would, but she didn't actively seek it out like Nick sometimes did. Still, though, he was wary of experimenting with the boundaries she would have set for him in these new circumstances. He didn't want to push her buttons. He didn't want to anger her.

For the first time in his life, he didn't want her to notice him. He had spent his whole life doing everything he could - from straight As to delinquency - to get her to pay attention to him. To notice him, speak to him, something . But she had never spoken a word to him. She and his father had ignored him so completely, he'd felt invisible, and it was the worst feeling in the world. The best thing he ever did for his parents was remain as quiet as possible for them. The best thing they had ever done for him was probably driving him home from the hospital after his accident, and that was only because the cops had gotten involved due to the illegality of his actions.

His parents had been so angry. He had been left in his room for a week. His stash had almost run out before the door was finally unlocked. That had been the worst week of his life, probably. He had left home almost as soon as his bones had healed, partially because he had to get away from them, and partially because he was hoping maybe they would notice his absence.

He'd been invisible for so long anyway, he wasn't sure why he thought they would. He had literally been forgotten about so many times, for so long at a time, he didn't know what he'd expected.

And now his mother was back in his life. He had Nick and Ellis now, though, and they cared for him. They paid attention to him. They noticed him and spoke to him and now they expected him to respond. Nick had already promised to look out for him, and Dal trusted Nick's word more than anyone else's. Nick had murdered someone for his sake. He could trust that Nick would keep him safe, so long as he didn't wander away on his own.

His fingers ached, but he kept at it. Megan had told him to stop when it started to hurt, but it didn't hurt that bad so he figured it wouldn't hurt to keep going. It wasn't like he was going to get carpal tunnel.

He was so concentrated on his task and his thoughts that he was startled when he heard someone knock on the door frame. He looked up, finding Nick standing there. The fact that he was sitting on the floor in farthest corner of his room was suddenly very embarrassing. Normally, no one stepped foot into his room for any reason. He was going to have to get used to living with people who didn't ignore the very air he breathed.

"How's it going?" Nick asked, walking into the room. Dal then noticed the board he was carrying in one hand. He hoped this wasn't going to turn into a confessional, but he could imagine that it would. Nick probably had a list of nine thousand things he wanted to demand an answer for.

Dal gave him the "so-so" hand gesture and Nick smirked, crossing the room.

"You know, you even have a chair in here."

He shrugged in reply. He wasn't even entirely sure how he had grown so accustomed to sitting in corners, but he had. Nick walked over to him, setting his coffee on the night stand and sitting down on his bed. Dal stared at him questioningly as Nick handed him the speech board. Obviously, this was going to be a huge confessional. Hence why Nick was making himself comfortable. Great.

"Gee, where do I start?" Nick said with a smirk. Dal shrugged at him again, and Nick chuckled. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to start from the beginning. Why were you alone in the swamps of Louisi-fuckin'-ana?"

Dal stiffened. He had been hoping that Nick wasn't going to ask about that, but of course, he couldn't have everything his way. Or anything, apparently.

" Ran away from home ," was his simple reply. He didn't especially want to divulge his entire life story. He knew that there were pieces of it that would infuriate Nick, mainly because he was sometimes unreasonable. Sure, being locked in his room for days at a time had left him with a crippling fear of being trapped alone behind a closed door, but he hadn't been beaten , so it wasn't really that bad.

Nick frowned, "And you're from where?"

" North Carolina ."

There was a long, long pause. Nick was probably wracking his brain to figure out how on Earth Dal had managed to get himself all the way to "Louisi-fucking-ana" by himself without getting picked up by the police and taken back home. Dal figured he could leave out the part about his parents frequently forgetting that he existed, and the part about them not even informing the police when he'd gone missing, but he wasn't sure he wanted to. He didn't want to. He didn't really want to leave out anything, and at the same time he was wishing this conversation wasn't happening in the first place.

To answer Nick's as of yet unspoken question, he continued, " My parents never filed a missing persons report. "

Nick visibly stiffened at that. "Why not?" He demanded, starting to look angry all of a sudden. Dal wanted to sigh loudly to frame his answer, but decided it'd probably be a bad idea.

" They probably didn't notice I was gone. I was raised to be inconspicuous enough to be forgotten about ." He explained, downcast. This was probably the most depressing discussion they'd had to date.

He could practically see the gears turning in Nick's head. He couldn't tell if the man was plotting to murder his mother or if he was just putting pieces of Dal's behavior together with this particular bit of information. Nick lowered his head slightly, gazing at the floor as if it had done something terribly offensive.

"Why are you scared of her?" He asked, his voice quiet. Dal's heart paused for a moment. He didn't know how to answer that. He was scared of her because she was terrifying. He was scared of her not because he knew what she could do, but because he didn't know what she would do. Not anymore. Not now that they had fallen back into each other's lives by accident. Not now that there were new boundaries, and the world had ended around them, and law enforcement didn't matter. For all he knew, she would stab him if he crossed the line she had drawn in the sand (wherever it was she had drawn it).

But he knew why Nick was asking. Nick thought she had beaten him. It would have been easier if she had. By the time he was eleven, he would've taken a beaten over being constantly ignored in every way, shape, manner, and form. By the time he had met Nick, he was willing to allow himself to be killed if it meant spending a couple of hours with a complete stranger, just because he'd been so starved for company.

" The rules have changed ," Dal tried to explain, eyes stinging. " Before, I knew what to expect if I behaved in certain ways. Now, I don't know where the line is, so I won't know when I've crossed it. And I don't know what she'll be willing to do if I do cross that line ."

When he looked up, he wasn't sure what the tempest of emotions reflected in Nick's eyes meant. He could hardly read all of them. The one he saw most obviously was anger, but perhaps that was because he knew to expect it. In some ways, Nick was very predictable.

"What did she used to do?" He questioned, voice strained.

Dal shrugged his shoulders halfheartedly, " Lock me in my room for days at a time. "

Nick looked a little surprised by that. Dal figured he had probably been expecting a terrible case of child abuse, which would've better explained why he was so terrified of his mother. It was a strange case for him, because he wasn't the victim of abuse. He was the victim of emotional neglect, and that wasn't really a huge deal. At least, it wasn't in his head. He was sure that other people would be horrified to hear that his parents had managed to almost completely ignore him for about eleven years. To Dal, it just... it wasn't like he had been beaten, or molested, or otherwise tormented. He had no real right to complain. There were kids his age who were so much worse off. He was just lonely.

Nick's scowl deepened, "What would get you locked in your room?"

"Being too loud. Forcing me and his father to waste time on him." The familiar voice of his mother made Dal's blood freeze. "Getting me in trouble with the police because he's an idiot ."

Nick nonchalantly turned to look over his shoulder, "Oh, hello, did you want to join in?" He offered with an icy smile on his face.

Dal's hands fell away from the board sitting on the floor in front of him. He sunk into his shoulders before he realized he was doing it, hunching forward and wanting to disappear into the wall behind him. His heart, which had restarted, was hammering away in his throat. He couldn't tell if she was angry with him or not. He couldn't tell. Her tone was calm, but it had sounded calm when she'd been reprimanding him for getting sick. Only her expression had given her away. And right now, he didn't think he had the intestinal fortitude to look up at her.

"I'll pass," she answered coolly. "Dinner's ready."

Dal finally managed to lift his head, only to find that his mother had left. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, which attracted Nick's attention.

"You alright?"

He nodded, even though it was a lie. No, he was not okay. He didn't know why, exactly, but it probably had something to do with his mother walking in on his confessional. There was no way she wasn't going to be irritated by the fact that he had basically made her look like a poor example of parenting.

He shouldn't have answered Nick's questions. He should've just told him what he told Ellis - "I don't want to talk about it." Nick would've harassed him about it until he gave a straight answer, but Dal could deal with Nick harassing him. He couldn't deal with his mother being angry with him. His head hurt from the massive amount of over-thinking he was embarking on. He stood up with Nick, ignoring the dizzy spell that came with it. He swallowed hard, following the conman out of his room, even though he wasn't hungry at all. He was never hungry, but at the moment he was particularly not-hungry. Nick place a hand on his should and he helplessly leaned into the contact. He needed it.

He felt like he was going to die from the fear carving its way through his body.

For all he knew, he was. It would certainly serve him right for being such an idiot.

...

Alongside his endless supply of anger, Nick's head was buzzing with a mixture of his gruesome imagination and more questions. Megan's very delicious spaghetti was settling him for the most part, though. He was sure he was going to crash soon after dinner. He hadn't had a real meal in days, and he hadn't had a home-cooked meal in years. Needless to say, his anger was being drowned out by his contentment.

Dal wasn't eating much. He hadn't eaten much since Nick had met him, though, save for that two hour period when he had practically inhaled all of Walmart. Nick wasn't worried, per se , but part of him wished for the kid to eat more. He was sure it had something to do with the fact that he was sick. Megan had taken a thermometer to him when his appetite had died in Walmart and found that he did indeed have a low-grade fever. And when she'd checked a couple hours later, it hadn't changed. So, they had figured that the new fever was related to the Green Flu and left it alone.

Dal was showing Megan that his thumb was more immobilized than the rest of his fingers, and she was nodding her head as the kid showed what he'd been doing instead of the exercises she'd given him. It was more or less the same thing, just that he was tapping his fingers against a different spot.

"I'll have to think of something we can do about your thumbs. You're gonna need those." She told him, and Dal nodded in agreement. Ellis was actually so busy shoveling food into his mouth that he had forgotten to talk about absolutely nothing, which was kind of nice, in Nick's opinion. Sure, Ellis had been quiet in general lately, but he did seem to be feeling better since they had moved. That was something of a relief. He had been wondering if Ellis was really seriously regretting his actions or if it was just a moment of sorts. He didn't really want to be talking the guy off a ledge or dealing with guilt-ridden mood swings or whatever it was normal people did when they regretted their actions severely.

"S'there more?" Ellis asked Megan after he had swallowed a mouthful that looked too big for his throat.

"No, sorry." She replied, and Ellis' face immediately fell.

Megan returned her attention to her dinner, while Kris was getting up to put her plate in the sink. Nick glanced over at Dal in time to see him slide his plate towards Ellis, who stared at him. He'd barely taken a bite. Nick wondered if it would be wise to make Dal eat. Not that he knew how he could possibly do that.

"Are ya' sure you're done? Ya' barely ate anythin'." Ellis asked. Dal nodded pushing his plate closer as he slid off his chair. Nick looked to Ellis, who returned his gaze with a confused look. Nick shrugged his shoulders, which the younger man seemed to take as a "go ahead" signal, as he dug in only a moment later.

Megan stood up with her plate as the sound of the kitchen sink being turned on reached them. Nick twisted in his seat, finding Dal pushing his sleeves up past his elbows and grabbing a dish sponge.

"Do you need a hand?" Megan asked, setting her plate down on the counter. Dal didn't even look up, just shook his head as he poured soap onto the sponge and got to work washing the dishes by hand. Even though they had a dish washer.

Megan looked to Nick helplessly, and once again, he shrugged. If Dal wanted to do the dishes, he should be allowed to. Though to Nick it was a little odd that he hadn't needed prompting, he had just decided to do them on his own accord. Ellis was swallowing his last bite as Nick stood up, so the conman grabbed his and Dal's plates, nodding at Ellis' word of thanks, and brought them to the sink. He set them down, pausing by Dal's side as the others retreated to the living room, Ellis limping pretty severely. He must've done more than just twisted it. Either that or it was one hell of a twist.

"Are you alright? You didn't eat much." He asked, and Dal looked over at him, expression clearly reading I never eat much . He frowned and sighed, "I'll be in the living room so make some kind of loud sound if you need something."

Dal snorted and nodded in affirmative, returning his attention to his task. Nick's frown didn't abate by the time he walked out, and Ellis and Megan immediately took that as a bad sign. He could just tell by the way their conversation halted. He must've looked like he was going to kill someone.

He shrugged, "He said he was fine, so I gather he's fine." At the disbelieving looks he received, he rolled his eyes, "He doesn't have a track record for lying to me about that."

Megan sighed, "His fever seems to knock out his appetite, but we really should start monitoring his diet. He looks underweight."

"No kidding," Nick replied, "I mean, I hadn't eaten for the first two days after this mess started, and after that I didn't eat for another day and a half. We just hadn't thought to stop for nutrition and no one was diabetic so it wasn't an issue. But seriously, before we met you, I don't know when the last time he ate was."

Megan looked deeply unsettled by that revelation. "I think if we make him eat little things throughout the day, he might stop losing weight. Especially if we get him eating things with high sugar content."

"Like Twinkies?" Nick offered with a smile.

"I don' think Dal's the type t'like Twinkies," Ellis remarked. Megan rolled her eyes at them both.

"Nobody likes Twinkies." She said, earning a laugh from both Nick and Ellis. "But seriously, we should-..."

There was a crash and a thud from the kitchen that immediately made all of them jump, and then freeze momentarily in anticipation of something terrible happening Nick turned around swiftly, hurrying into the kitchen, Ellis and Megan right behind him. When they got into the kitchen, they saw Dal, lying on his side on the floor, the remnants of a shattered plate littering the ground underneath and around him.

And he wasn't moving to get up.

Nick's heart stopped and he rushed over, falling to his knees beside the kid and turning him over. His face was saturated with sweat and his skin felt hot to the touch. His eyelids were fluttering slightly, indicating that he hadn't completely lost consciousness. That was a good thing, if he had to guess.

He grabbed the kid under the arms and stood up, hauling Dal with him. The kid was lighter than he'd been expecting. Much lighter. Nick was a relatively strong person, but Dal was... really light. He had lost a lot of weight. Way too much, in fact.

Ellis appeared beside him, doing his best to help support the kid's weight while standing more or less on one foot, "Where to? 'Is room?"

Nick considered whether or not that would be a good idea. Getting Dal upstairs while he was mostly unconscious was going to be a challenge. Abruptly, however, the weight lessened. It took Nick a moment to realize that Dal had found his legs and planted them on the floor, and appeared to be trying to pull away and steady himself. Nick was not keen on letting him go, though, lest he collapse again.

"Easy there," Nick muttered, "Upstairs. Let's go."

Dal didn't seem to know which direction that was, so Nick wrapped an arm around his back with one hand and gripped him by the upper arm with the other. Getting upstairs was grueling, but Dal seemed to have regained enough consciousness to more or less know how to work his legs. The kid's breathing was labored and his eyelids were drooping, but he didn't faint again.

Nick sat him down on his bed, touching his forehead briefly. It was hot. Much hotter than it had been when Megan had told him to do the forehead test before. His stomach plummeted. Before he realized what he was doing, he was pulling Dal's sweater off - he needed to cool him down quickly. He didn't know how hot a person could be before they expired.

"Meg-..." He turned, looking for her, only to find her right beside him, already pressing her hand to Dal's forehead.

"I grabbed the Tylenol but that might not be enough. Here, make him take it before he faints again." She said quickly, pushing two pills and a glass of water into his hands. Ellis held Dal upright while he blearily took the pills Nick had given him.

"What do we do?" Nick asked Megan, his voice sounding much calmer than he felt.

"I want to take his temperature. If it's too high, we give him an ice bath." She replied quickly, pulling a thermometer out of her pocket and sticking it into the kids mouth.

"How high's too high?" Ellis asked, watching the thermometer.

"If his fever is over 105, we have to give him an ice bath. We don't have any ice though, so we'll have to just give him a cold bath and hope that works." Megan answered quickly. The thermometer beeped and she pulled it out of Dal's mouth, immediately inspecting the numbers. The look on her face wasn't worry, though. It was confusion.

"What?" Nick asked, watching as Dal started to wake up some.

"It's... not high enough for him to have fainted," Megan said slowly, "Only a hundred and four. That's... it must be going down. Hang on." She reset the meter and stuck it back in Dal's mouth. The kid blinked rapidly, reaching up a lazy hand to rub at his eyes tiredly. He then raised his head and stared at them, looking faintly confused, before he lurched forward.

Nick caught him, "Don't make me hold you up, brat." He muttered half-heartedly, his joking mood not entirely present.

The motion Dal did with his hands looked like someone washing a plate, and Nick could've slapped him, "No, you're not doing the damn dishes! Hold still." Dal did as told, and a moment later the thermometer beeped. Megan pulled it back and Nick shoved Dal into bed, grabbing him by the legs and pushing him until he gave in and rolled the rest of the way onto his bed.

"One hundred and three point six. It's definitely going down, and fast." Megan said, bewildered.

"Tylenol acts pretty quick," Nick remarked.

"No, not that fast. It was already going down when we gave it to him. He just... apparently spiked a really high fever for a moment and then it went back down." Megan decreed with some uncertainty. That sounded like some kind of anomaly to Nick, though he didn't really know enough about illness to make a judgment call.

"What should we do? Just monitor his fever to make sure he doesn't die in his sleep?" Nick questioned, watching Dal maneuver himself under his blankets. Megan hummed thoughtfully, but nodded in agreement after a moment.

"Every ten minutes until it's down to a hundred and two," she replied. Ellis and Nick both nodded, glancing at one another. Ellis looked fairly pale, his eyes full of worry. Nick wondered if he looked the same. Wondered if any of them could tell in any way that he had sort of panicked for a second, that he had been genuinely afraid for Dal's life.

He wondered if they could ever tell. His concussion seemed to be healing enough for him to not be so crabby all the time, and that was his biggest and only tell when he was in pain. He wondered if Dal had noticed that, or if Ellis had figured it out. He stared at Dal's already sleeping face for a moment, part of him almost wishing that the kid could tell.

It was improbable, though. He was pretty good at the poker face thing.

Chapter Text

Ellis was tired.

It was a distant feeling at first, but it grew as the morning dragged on. Dal was feeling much better and was dutifully working on his exercises downstairs. Or at least, he had been last time Ellis had seen him. Kris had been just waking up when Ellis had stepped into the bathroom to shower, while Nick had been downstairs making his second pot of coffee to share with Megan.

Ellis wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom, padding down the halls to his room. He was extremely tired and his head was hurting, and he wasn't entirely sure why. He was beginning to think, however, that he was getting sick. He really hoped he wasn't, but he was pretty sure he was. It was the best explanation for his fatigue and his headache.

Ellis absently pressed a hand to his forehead after he had finished putting on his shorts. He felt warm. Probably. Not as warm as Dal had gotten, but maybe a little warm. So, perhaps a slight fever. He'd take a nap on the couch later. That ought to help. In the meantime, however, he was starving. It was time for lunch.

He pulled his shirt over his head, wincing as the fabric brushed against the stitches on his temple, pulling just slightly. He was surprised at how sensitive they were. Megan's didn't seem to be bothering him very much. Perhaps it was just because they were on his temple, and not his back. He supposed the skin there might be more sensitive.

He was halfway downstairs when his hunger for food shifted into moderate nausea. He halted on the steps, reaching up a hand and fisting it into his stomach in an effort to quell his sour gut. No luck. Perhaps it was just because of how hungry he was. No, probably not. He knew exactly what hunger-nausea felt like, and this wasn't that. He frowned unhappily and changed his course to the couch, where he fell into a seat beside Dal.

The kid looked up at him, expression curious. Ellis looked over at him, swallowing down a lump of nausea, "I don' feel too good." He explained, leaning back on the couch, "Think'm gettin' sick."

Dal's eyes betrayed his mild concern, and Ellis smiled weakly at him, waving off his worries. "Nah, don' worry. I'll be fine."

He leaned his head back against the couch and sank into the cushions to get comfortable. He was probably just coming down with a stomach bug. He could make a personal request for ginger ale and crackers later, if he felt like he really needed it. If not, he was sure he could find some Tums in the cabinets of the bathroom.

He could seek out home remedies later, though. Right now, he was just really tired.

...

Dal's fever had returned to its normal low-grade state overnight, according to the report Nick had given her in the kitchen that morning. Ellis had been obviously overjoyed that the boy had gotten better. The guy seemed to worry a lot whenever something bad came up. Kris had been entirely indifferent, which bothered Megan more than it seemed to bother Nick or Ellis. She didn't quite get why Kris was so dismissive about her own son. He didn't seem like a bad kid, so why would she come across as disliking him so much?

Nick had seemed only mildly relieved by Dal's swift recovery. He didn't seem to react much to anything, though, so for all Megan knew he was as happy as Ellis was. Megan herself hadn't expected Dal to die, but she was glad that he had recovered without any hitches.

Megan just didn't understand why his fever kept spiking in the first place. Especially since it had gotten high enough to make him collapse. There weren't a lot of explanations for that. Sure, it had only spiked twice now, but who was to say it wouldn't keep doing that? Who was to say it wouldn't get higher next time, or last longer? She didn't want to be a harbinger of misfortune, but she had a really bad feeling about the future of Dal's health.

Currently, the boy was taking a shower. Nick had confided in her that Dal had developed a phobia of water, probably related to the "rabies," so getting himself into the shower was probably a grueling, anxiety-provoking process. Megan had been listening to him drop things in the shower for nearly twenty minutes. His hands were extremely strong, but they lacked stamina and didn't recover particularly fast either. So, because he had been religiously (and sometimes over-enthusiastically) doing his exercises, his hands were extremely fatigued.

Megan had suggested that he slow down his pace, simply because he could end up doing more damage if he overworked his weakened muscles. He had apparently not liked the sound of that, as he had reduced the frequency of his regiment from every other hour for thirty minutes to five times a day for forty five minutes. Or until he found himself in pain. Whichever came first.

She hadn't realized that he was going to be so enthusiastic that he would run the risk of actually damaging himself. She figured he would be obedient and do them every so often for as long as it took for him to get bored. Instead, the kid was trying to give himself every possible kind of sprain and strain anyone could think of.

Megan couldn't blame him, though. Dal obviously hated being partly disabled. He had shown a great deal of frustration when she'd previously seen him slowly maneuvering his fingers into place, hands shaking from fatigue. It was sort of painful to watch him internally swearing at his hands because he couldn't do so out loud.

She had been startled by the amount of damage she'd discovered when she'd been assessing him. There were some obvious things that he couldn't do, such as speaking and using his fingers and wiggling his toes. But she had discovered that the quantity and quality of damage was pretty far beyond that. Dal didn't have the muscle control to roll his shoulders or his ankles. He couldn't cough. He couldn't do much of anything with his facial muscles, and he seemed to have a hard time chewing and swallowing as well. When he laughed, it sounded more like a bark of sorts rather than the usual "ha-ha."

She had tried to explain just how far the damage extended, but it was hard to describe. His body had been rewired to fight, so anything that didn't relate to finding and killing prey had been taken from him. It was sort of horrifying to think that the Green Flu could alter a person's physiology so much. How on Earth could a disease even do something like that? Why would anyone think that creating something like that was a good idea?

Megan rolled over in her bed, wincing slightly at the pull of her stitches. She really ought to get up. She had gotten into bed with the intent of taking a nap, but she'd been lying down for nearly an hour and hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. She hadn't slept the previous night, either, though she had neglected to mention that to anyone.

She hadn't been able to sleep since Jake was killed. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Nick snapping the child's neck. She truly wasn't angry with Nick, but she couldn't help the resentment she felt towards what seemed like everything else. Nick had been the least involved player on that particular playing field. She should've been there to help get her sister's family to safety. Her sister should've gotten her family out. Her sister's husband should've stopped Jake rather than letting himself get killed and leaving the boy to waste away. Why did Jake have to get infected in the first place? Why did CEDA have to make such a horrible disease? What was up with human curiosity?

Rather than hate or anger, she felt like she ought to apologize to Nick. She didn't quite know what it was she ought to be apologizing for, though. Perhaps she should be apologizing for suggesting they stay at her sister's house in the first place. Perhaps she should be apologizing for having a meltdown after Jake's death. Perhaps she should apologize for not being able to kill Jake herself - even though she wasn't really given an opportunity to do so.

Nick seemed to be waiting for her to explode on him, and she wished he wouldn't. He was by no means walking on eggshells around her, but she could sort of tell that he was waiting for her anger. It was just noticeable in the way he spoke to her - with just a hint more meanness than usual, as if he were trying to goad out her temper. It was visible in the way he looked at her on occasion, a bothered sort of look on his face. At the same time, he seemed to be avoiding her, just slightly. Instead of asking Megan something, he would hunt down and ask Ellis.

He just couldn't seem to believe that she wasn't going to be angry with him. She was caught somewhere between believing and not believing that he had prior experience with killing people's relatives and then taking the heat for it. Or maybe it was just a testament to how he'd felt when his sister had committed suicide. Or perhaps Nick didn't know how she ought to be reacting, and just defaulted to assuming people would get angry when he did things that weren't okay.

Eventually, she supposed, she was going to have to just talk to him. Sit him down seriously and do her best to put what had happened behind her. Even if it was right behind her, just having it back there would be best. She wouldn't make it through this mess with something that heavy weighing on the forefront of her mind. She could drudge it up to deal with it appropriately later on. For now, it needed to be behind her.

Megan closed her eyes, rolling onto her back and focusing on the dull ache of the wounds on her shoulder and back. It probably wasn't even one yet, and already it had been a long day.

...

Nick supposed that Megan was telling him the truth.

Sure, it was possible that she was lying, it was possible that she didn't know herself very well, it was possible that she was repressing her feelings because she was afraid of them. But, he supposed, he'd give her the benefit of the doubt. He'd trust that she, like she had said, wasn't angry. It wasn't like she had any real reason to lie anyway, so he'd just let it drop. He'd said what he'd wanted to say to her, and she still hadn't presented with any negative emotions besides what looked like mild depression.

There were other possible reactions to watching your beloved nephew getting murdered in front of you, anyway, he was sure. Depression, fear, acceptance... he knew there were others, but with his current headache he couldn't think of anything. Nick reached up a hand absently and ran his hand through his hair. His head was hurting enough that it was preventing him from sleeping at this point. He had gone upstairs to nap, but obviously that wasn't going to happen now. He was going to need drugs if he was going to sleep.

He hadn't been able to get any rest overnight because he'd been fretting about Dal. Stupid kid.

He had spent half the night grumbling and cursing and despising Dal's general state of health, then spent the other half working himself towards a panic attack all the while rolling in circles in his bed until he was so wrapped up in the blankets he couldn't move. That had taken several minutes to fix. He had wound up getting up at least five times to check that Dal was still breathing.

Nick wasn't the type to leave things that mattered up to chance. If he couldn't possibly be absolutely positive that everything was fine, he would go out of his way to make sure. Dal's life mattered. He wouldn't - couldn't - leave Dal to chance.

The invasive little brain-parasite that he was.

Nick had wondered on and off if things would've turned out the same if he hadn't been concussed. He'd spoken more to Dal about his head injury that morning, and the impression he'd been given was that he had been generally "not himself" from about the moment he was injured. That had left Nick wondered how he might've interacted with Dal if he hadn't been concussed. He didn't like to think that he would've grabbed the kid and broken his neck without a second thought, but he didn't really think he'd have fallen for his own con either.

Dal and he wouldn't have become close. That was for sure.

Nick sat up in bed, sighing heavily. He didn't particularly like the way that Dal appeared in his thoughts on a fairly regular basis. It was unfortunate that there wasn't much he could do about it at this point. Though it'd be nice if Dal would come to mind in a more positive way once in a while. Something always seemed to be wrong or going wrong regarding the kid.

As he was walking downstairs, he spotted Megan in her room. She had apparently tried to nap as well. She had looked tired when he'd seen her earlier that morning. Megan had natural shadows under her eyes, but they had gotten darker overnight. Obviously, while she hadn't mentioned it to anyone, she had definitely not gotten much sleep. He could relate.

When he arrived downstairs, he found himself in the midst of a small commotion. Ellis was lying down on the couch, Dal crouched on the floor by his hips. Kris was walking swiftly out of the kitchen, drying her hands with paper towels that she dumped on the coffee table. There was a bowl of clear liquid sitting on the table with what looked like a pair of scissors and a washcloth in it.

"What'd I miss?" He greeted nonchalantly, stepping towards them. Kris reached into the bowl of clear liquid on the coffee table and pulled out the thin scissors.

She knelt down beside Ellis' head, "I told you, you should've washed your hands." She chided absently. Nick's brow furrowed, confused, and he stepped closer to the scene of whatever crime was taking place, peering over the arm of the couch to see Ellis' face and determine what the hell was going on. Obviously Kris wasn't going to just tell him, so he might as well preform his own investigation.

As soon as he saw the dusty blue color on Ellis' temple, he knew what had happened, and his stomach twisted.

The stitches were infected. And badly, by the looks of it. Ellis' face was screwed up in pain and covered in a sheen of sweat. He looked a touch feverish, in fact. Kris put one hand on Ellis' forehead, pressing down firmly to hold him in place.

"Don't. Move." She said clearly. Ellis made a thin sound in reply, likely nothing more than acknowledgment. Kris frowned then, and started snipping away at the stitches and pulling them out. She moved methodically, effortlessly, and efficiently, completely ignoring Ellis' occasional noises of distress. Within a few seconds, the stitches were out and she was pulling the washcloth out of what Nick was now guessing was alcohol.

He watched as she carefully ran the wet cloth over the wound, wiping away pus and pushing gently to get more of the gunk out of the wound. Ellis' breathing was fast and shallow, his jaw clenched, and his whole body shaking with restrained tremors.

Dal took the guy's hand carefully, and Nick saw the moment Ellis started squeezing. Dal didn't even flinch, just watched his mother work stonily. The kids face was paler than usual, and he looked like he was seriously contemplating being sick, in much the same way Nick was.

"Damn," Nick stated rather stupidly, reaching up his hand to run his fingers through his hair again. His head was pounding harder than it had been a few minutes ago. He swallowed down nausea, feeling a touch dizzy.

Kris shook her head in what looked like disbelief as she continued cleaning the wound, "He has a fever," she stated blandly. "He needs penicillin."

"Please tell me we thought to grab that." Nick said without an ounce of hope in his voice.

"We didn't. I looked." Kris answered calmly, dunking the washcloth in the bowl again. "Someone needs to go to either the hospital or the nearest drug store and get a bottle of it."

"What's wrong with Ellis?" Megan's voice floated down from halfway up the stairs, and Nick turned to glance at her. His head pounded harder with the sudden movement, but he ignored it.

"His stitches are infected." Nick told her, "Someone has to go and get penicillin."

Megan's expression turned both serious and concerned, "There's a drug store not far from here. Turn left at Elm Street and it's about four blocks down. I could take someone."

"You're still injured, Megan," Kris stated disinterestedly. "You'd pop your stitches if something attacked you."

Nick nodded in agreement, "Me and Dal can go."

"Dal and I will go," Kris stated with surprising finality, acting very obviously as if she hadn't heard Nick at all. The conman glowered at her as she straightened up. She looked over at him with a glare of her own. "Out of everyone here, I'd say the concussed one should be the last to offer going out somewhere. Especially when he's developing a crippling migraine."

She had an excellent point, and it infuriated him. He distinctly recalled the last time he'd tried fighting with one of his migraines. He'd passed out in the middle of a horde and very nearly gotten himself trampled. Not to mention how bad his aim was when he couldn't see straight from the pain.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? You think you and Dal will be able to work together?" Megan asked, having come the rest of the way downstairs and chosen a spot behind the couch to hover over Ellis.

"It's the only option, Megan." Kris replied coldly. "The rest of you are incapacitated."

Nick scowled darkly, wishing there was a counterargument in the universe that wouldn't sound petty but there really wasn't anything he could say. Besides he actually only wanted Dal to come back alive. If she wanted to off herself by way of infected, she was welcome to it. And anyway, Kris wouldn't purposefully get Dal killed – probably.

He ought to make sure, though.

"If anything happens to him, I'll make sure you regret making it this far." He said darkly, gaze hardening. Behind the woman, he could see Dal staring at the two of them with slightly widened eyes. For some reason, Dal always seemed to look worried or frightened when Nick and Kris were glaring at each other. Even though neither of them had ever become violent against the other, the kid seemed like he was constantly expecting one of them to start beating on the other.

Kris stared at him stonily for only a moment before she stepped around him wordlessly. As she was pulling an assault rifle out of the coat closet where they had decided to stash all their weaponry, Nick briefly wished upon a star that she would meet her untimely demise while on this drug run with Dal.

Nick knew she wasn't frightened, but she really ought to be. She didn't know what he had done to people who wronged him in the past. She didn't know what kind of person he was. She didn't have a clue what he'd be willing and able to do to her if anything happened to Dal.

He wasn't even sure he knew what he'd be willing to do.

Chapter Text

The sky was overcast and the threat of rain loomed in the distance. Kris was silent as the grave and Dal was doing his best to be even quieter. He was nervous, perhaps even bordering on terrified. But he didn't really think she'd let him get slaughtered on purpose. Or rather, he didn't really think that she would slaughter him. If he got killed, it would be his own fault. He was probably a dozen times stronger than Kris at this point, so unless she shot him, he could easily take her out.

There were bodies more or less littering the streets, and most of them didn't have any visible injuries. There were a couple with pools of dried, rotten blood around them - likely victims of Ellis and Megan's speech board adventure. The rest, however, were just infected who died of natural causes.

Dehydration. Fever. Starvation. Heat stroke. Any of a number of other things could've explained any number of deaths, but it all came down to the same thing; they died because they were infected.

It was horrifying for Dal, because he knew exactly how close he had been to ending up like that. He could've expired like that, simply because he wouldn't have had the knowledge to eat or drink.

It had been five days. If there were any infected left, they were either lucky as hell, or sane like Dal was. The actual likelihood of either of those scenarios, however, was close to zero. The epidemic was over, for the most part. Soon enough, CEDA or the military were going to come through the States and clear out the bodies. Soon enough, people would return to the country (or perhaps the continent) and try to pick up their lives where they had left off.

That was, of course, assuming that anyone had actually gotten out. For all Dal knew, this was it for the Americas. For all he knew, they would never try to repopulate the continent. Maybe people would be too afraid of the risk of catching the illness. Maybe no one would ever want to come back. Maybe their group would be the only ones living in the Americas for the foreseeable future.

Who could say for sure?

A soft sound reached his ears and he slowed his steps, listening carefully. He couldn't quite place the noise. It hadn't sounded quite like a growl, but at the same time it had. His mother had taken several steps ahead of him, and he picked up the pace so he could catch up with her again. Before he made it to her side, however, something thick and slimy wrapped around his throat and torso, effectively pinning his arms to his sides, and yanked him back. He came clean off his feet and hit the ground hard, managing a yelp of surprise before the grip of the tongue tightened and mostly cut off his airways.

He wheezed rather loudly as Kris was spinning around, reaching for the machete holstered to her waist. She took two steps forward before a loud, familiar shriek sounded, practically echoing in the otherwise silent streets. Dal's mother turned to the left in time to be slammed into, her gun falling off her shoulder as she flew back and hit the ground.

He couldn't breathe. Dal put every ounce of strength he had into pulling his arms away from his sides, in an effort to loosen the grip enough to free himself, but he was losing strength fast. He choked, eyes watering and fear ricocheting through him. He could distantly hear his mother's cries of pain as she was shredded by the Hunter who had pinned her.

The grip around his throat tightened probably tenfold and completely cut off his airways. Panic set in as he twisted and turned and writhed, mouth open and eyes wide. He couldn't breathe couldn't breathe couldn't breathe couldn't breathe couldn't breathe. The edges of his vision were going fuzzy and gray, his clenched fists loosening as his strength started to leave him alongside his consciousness. No no no no no no please please I don't want to die let go of me let go of me please - he could distinctly hear Kris shrieking louder and louder, her cries becoming more panicked and more distressed - I need to help mom I need to help mom - but he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. There was nothing he could do. Someone please help me save me I can't breathe I can't see oh god please helphelp help help help - fear tore through him. He didn't want to die. He couldn't. Not yet. Please don't let me die.

The sound of his mother's cries had died off, and his stomach twisted. Everything was dimming and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, but he couldn't hear his mother. His eyes were slowly starting to close, hands twitching occasionally, as he fought to remain conscious.

A black blur was stalking towards him, and for a moment he could've sworn it was his mother. He blinked, eyes closing for what felt sort of like an eternity, and a heavy weight fell on his stomach, persuading him to open his eyes again to try and figure out what had happened. His brain was fuzzy and muggy and everything was dark and he couldn't see and he couldn't breathe and he saw the blur on top of him raised a clawed hand and he then realized what he was staring at.

He suddenly realized what was about to happen. He shut his eyes, only barely able to feel the tears streaming out of them, and braced himself as best he could for pain.

But it didn't come. Suddenly, the grip around his throat disappeared and he sucked in such a deep breath so suddenly that he choked on it. He was in the middle of wheezing and coughing when he opened his eyes and saw a clawed hand coming down on him again. Dal's newly freed arm came up to block the claws, and he let out a sharp cry when those nails tore through his bare skin. With his other arm, he struck out, forcing the Hunter to roll off him to avoid damage.

Actually, the fact that it had done that was... strange. But he couldn't think about that now. He rolled in the direction opposite of the Hunter and stumbled to his feet, eyes wide. He was still gasping for air, his head still felt fuzzy, his whole body suddenly felt extremely warm and fatigue was finding him at the worst possible time. He swallowed hard to wet his parched throat and brought up his arms in a defensive stance.

His vision was swimming and his head was pounding. The Hunter snarled and leaped at him, springing forth from her spot. He side-stepped her easily, but he didn't anticipate how fast she could turn. He was midway through spinning around to face her when she suddenly struck out with her claws again, grabbing his upper arm with one hand and aiming another clawed strike for his face. She landed a solid hit, tearing open his cheek, and he stumbled away from her once he had managed to tear himself out of her iron grip.

She let out a loud, piercing shriek, claws at the ready, and leaped for him again. She was too fast. Way too fast. He swore internally and stepped back, bringing up both arms to guard, and she sank her claws into both his forearms, her weight crashing into him and slamming him into the ground. She ripped her hands back hard, refusing to let go of his wrists until she had cleared them out of her way, effectively disarming his guard. He bucked hard to throw her off balance, rolling to the side and grabbing the front of her green hoodie.

His vision swam and he felt his whole body suddenly drop communication with his brain. Everything suddenly felt weak and feeble. He couldn't hold his grip. The Hunter brought up one leg and kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him backwards. She leaped after him immediately, and he brought up his own leg, catching her by the chest and continuing her momentum to send her flying over him entirely. He rolled over, getting to his feet as quickly as his knees - which felt like jelly - would allow.

She was running at him when he turned around, and he didn't need to think to react. He swung hard and fast with his dominant arm and punched her square in the temple. There was a sickening crack that sounded through the streets, and pain tore through his hand and up his arm. The Hunter hit the ground heavily, instantly killed.

He turned away from the corpse and took a few shaky steps before pausing. He felt like his legs were going to give out at any moment. His head hurt, his body felt hot and cold at the same time, his joints felt weak and his bones felt fragile. His hand was throbbing harshly, angry with him for using it to break bone so barbarically.

His eyes slid over the pavement, falling on a bloody mess of a body. Slowly, uncertainly, he started towards it. Nausea was filling his gut with every step, and it wasn't long before he was standing besides his mother. She didn't move. She didn't breathe. She just lay there, still, unmoving, covered in blood and deep wounds. Eyes wide and unseeing (staring at him), lips parted and stained with blood (accusing him).

The pain he had been in mere moments ago melted away, replaced by tingling numbness that spread through every nerve in body. His legs buckled and he collapsed to his knees, unable to tear his eyes away from the body before him. It didn't feel real. Nothing felt real. Nothing felt period. He couldn't believe that his mom was really... that she was really...

She's dead.

Mom's dead.

He sucked in a breath as a tremor moved through him. He could hardly breathe. A startling, agonizing horror at what had happened tore into him like a hungry wolf. Shock twisted through him like a knife and stole his breath away, and all at once he couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't feel, he couldn't anything.

His eyes filled with tears that spilled down his cheeks unabashedly. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the body. He couldn't stop eying every individual wound. He couldn't stop looking into her inert eyes, eyes that stared at him, eyes that accused him. He couldn't stop thinking that he should've been able to do something. That he could've done something.

It should've been me.

The thought hit him like a ton of bricks and he didn't argue with it. It was the truth. It should've been him. He couldn't imagine the pain it would've put Nick and Ellis through, but Dal shouldn't have survived. If his mom had to die, he should've died with her. He should have just let himself be killed. He should have broken free of that stupid Smoker's tongue and saved his mom. He didn't know why he hadn't been able to summon more strength. He was practically a superhuman at this point. Why hadn't he done anything? Why was he so useless? He couldn't do anything right. He was always getting in the way, always causing trouble.

"No one's ever gonna love you more than me! I'm sure of it!" Mom cooed, holding him tightly and rocking him back and forth. Dallas grinned, hugging her back with joy in his eyes and love in his heart. Mom loved him so much, and he loved her so much.

"Mama, I wuv you too!" He replied, much louder and more enthusiastically. He spread his arms out as far as he could, "Di-is much!"

She laughed, kissing his face all over, "I wuv you sho much, Dal!"

Dal took in a shaky breath and choked on it, immediately raising his hands to cover his nose and muffle the sound of his sobs. He had never measured up to what she had wanted him to be. He had never been able to please her. He had never been able to make her happy, to make her smile. He had never been a child that she could be proud of, that she could want, that she could love. He had always been a defect, a failure, an idiot, a delinquent, a disappointment...

It wasn't like she could've had any more children after him. He had taken that from her, too.

He choked on another sob, pressing his hands against his face harder, just like he'd taught himself to do. He didn't want to leave her here. He didn't want to abandon her. He couldn't. He couldn't just leave her here, alone, left to the elements like the infected that littered the streets. His mom wasn't one of them. She wasn't some abandoned creature left to die because of a disease no one understood. She wasn't some terrible person that deserved the punishment she had gotten. She hadn't been beyond saving. She hadn't been too far gone to help. She had been right in front of him, and he hadn't saved her.

He wouldn't leave her here. She didn't deserve that.

I'm so sorry, mom.

...

"They've been gone for a long time," Nick muttered. He was stationed in the armchair beside the couch. Megan was seated on the couch, Ellis' feet buried in the cushions behind her. The hick was awake, and looked like he was feeling a little better since Kris had cleaned out his wound, though it was still obvious that he felt terrible.

"I'm sure they're fine." Megan replied, not even looking up from the book she was reading. Ellis hummed absently in agreement. Nick frowned, wondering if he was the only one genuinely concerned for the welfare of their absent companions. Well, Dal moreso than Kris. Megan and Ellis seemed to have complete faith in their ability to handle themselves. Nick knew better than to make such assumptions.

He had the same numbers of reasons to imagine they were both dead as he had to imagine they were both fine. It was more than just whether or not he trusted Kris to not kill Dal as soon as they got beyond earshot. Dal was a great attractor of danger, much like Ellis. Dal was also developing a pattern of frequent fevers. If he collapsed while they were out, God only knew if Kris would be able (or willing) to carry him back.

Nick wanted to go out and find them, but he knew it wasn't a good idea. If Dal had been truly opposed to going out with his mother, he would've made some effort to inform Nick. The kid had seemed to be more or less fine with it, actually. Nick sometimes couldn't read the kid at all. At times, Dal looked terrified of the very air his mother breathed. At other times, he seemed perfectly fine with her presence, if not a bit wary.

He just hoped nothing had happened. He hoped they had just forgotten which direction Elm Street was in, and had been forced to backtrack, thus lengthening the amount of time they were out. He hoped that, if they did encounter danger, nothing terrible happened and they got out of it smoothly. He hoped that Dal hadn't spiked a fever.

He hoped, on more than one level, that Dal would walk through that door at any given moment.

He jerked and stood up suddenly when the doorknob suddenly turned. The door opened, and Nick's blood froze at the sight before him. Dal looked at him through hooded eyes, his face flushed and sweaty, one hand digging around in his pocket for something. The kid pulled out a bottle of Penicillin and a bottle of iodine and held them both out to Nick, who took them out of his filthy hands and threw them at Megan.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he breathed. Dal was smeared with blood, his face was cut up, his shoulder and forearms shredded. There were bruises everywhere that there was visible skin. His hands and the knees of his jeans were caked with dirt, as if he'd been digging somewhere. His eyes were rimmed red, evidence that he'd been crying, and Kris was nowhere in sight.

Nick's stomach plummeted as he realized that Kris was missing, "Dal, where's Kris?"

As soon as he said her name, he regretted asking. Dal had already been shaking all over, and at the mention of his mother his tremors were exacerbated and the tears started flowing. He sobbed, lifting a hand as if to cover his mouth, but Nick grabbed his bloodied wrist to stop him. Immediately after touching the kid, however, he came to another horrible realization: Dal had a fever.

Dal had a very high fever. He stood up, grabbing one of the boy's shoulders as he started to sway and pressed a hand to his forehead. It was too hot. Way too hot. And he could feel it getting hotter as he stood there with his palm against it.

Abruptly, Dal's head dropped forward and his legs buckled, forcing Nick to grab him more securely and hold him upright. "Meg-..." Nick had to stop himself from shrieking for her, knowing full and well that she was standing right next to him. She had grabbed the thermometer off the coffee table, where Kris had forgotten it, and was looking like she wanted to stick it into Dal's mouth, but Nick shook his head.

"Meg, his fever's too high. It's higher than it was before. We don't have time for that." He said as urgently as he could, and her eyes widened.

"Upstairs. Strip him to his boxers and put him in the tub. Straight cold water." He nodded, hefting Dal up as much as he could and dragging him towards the stairs. He was so busy looking up the staircase and trying to figure out how he was going to manage this when the weight was suddenly halved. He looked over, seeing Ellis, face sweaty and a little pale, holding up Dal's legs.

"Le's go," He said quickly. Nick nodded, and they started up the stairs, moving as quickly as they could without risking dropping the kid.

Once in the bathroom, they set Dal down in the tub and turned on the water. Only then did Nick grab his boots and started taking them off, while Ellis practically tore off the kid's shirt. Megan appeared in the doorway with one of their bags of ice, breathless, eyes wide and bright with worry.

Nick pulled off Dal's jeans and hurled them into the wall behind him, turning to receive the bag of ice from Megan.

"All of it?"

"All of it. We can get more." She replied breathlessly. Dal was completely unresponsive in the tub, despite the frigid water and the ice that Nick was in the process of dumping all over him. Megan switched places with Ellis, a cup in her hand, and filled it with some of the ice water. She then dumped the water on Dal's head, before repeating several times.

"Do we have an ice pack in the freezer, Ellis?" Megan asked quickly. "Can you check? A bag of frozen something will work, too."

"M' on it!" And Ellis disappeared, limping as quickly as he could down the halls. Megan pulled out the thermometer again and stuck it in Dal's mouth.

"If it's dropping again like last time, we have to get him out of this tub quick." Megan stated, holding the meter and waiting for it to beep. Nick clenched and unclenched his fists several times. Every muscle in his body was stiff, and his brain was reeling. How long had Dal been walking around with this fever? Had it come on just recently or did he have it before he left?

The thermometer beeped and Megan pulled it out of Dal's mouth and looked at the number. Nick watched her eyes widen in a mixture of shock and horror, her lips parting slightly before she turned to Dal and pressed a hand to his forehead. She swore out loud as Ellis came limping into the room (he looked like he was limping worse, in fact) with the ice pack. Megan turned around and snatched it out of his hand, startling him slightly.

"What is it?" Nick asked, voice strained. Megan shook her head distractedly, pressing the ice pack to Dal's forehead while simultaneously pushing down on the kids shoulders to get him further under the water.

"A hundred and six point three." She finally replied, voice tense, and Nick's heart dropped into his stomach. "A hundred and seven will kill him."

"What d'we do?" Ellis asked, face white and drawn with pain. Megan didn't reply right away, and with every passing second Nick felt like the situation was more and more hopeless. Dal was going to die right in front of him if they couldn't do anything about the height of his fever. No, that couldn't happen. There had to be something they could do.

"There's nothing we can do right now," Megan finally admitted, easily making Nick feel a thousand times more useless without even thinking of it. "We keep him in this bath until his fever is down to a hundred and one. Until then, it's just a matter of waiting."

Nick nodded mutely, his throat drier than a desert. Megan stuck the thermometer back into Dal's mouth, waiting patiently for it to beep. Anxiety-provoked nausea was starting to fill Nick's stomach, and he sort of wanted to leave the room and have a nervous breakdown. At the same time, however, he didn't want to leave Dal's side until the kid was either all better or dead. And actually, Nick probably wouldn't leave his side even in either of those situations.

The thermometer beeped and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, looking at Megan hopelessly. It had been ten minutes since they had dumped Dal in the tub, but Nick didn't know how long it was supposed to take for his fever to start going down. Surely not much longer, right? Megan still looked worried, but she hadn't started panicking upon seeing the numbers, which could only mean that, at the very least, Dal's fever hadn't gotten any higher.

"It's taking a long time to start going down," Megan muttered. "It's only down to a hundred and six even. We shouldn't leave him in here for more than twenty minutes."

"What if it isn't low enough by then?" Nick couldn't help but ask. Megan looked over at him, furrowing her brow.

"Then I guess we'll have to throw caution to the winds and leave him in for longer," Megan replied rather resignedly. Nick didn't particularly like the sound of that, but Megan knew a lot more about the whole ice-bath business than he did.

He hadn't been this panicked in his entire life, he was pretty sure. Nick had had guns shoved in his face and he'd had knives sunk into his flesh. He'd been on the run for days straight before he could find a car to escape the area. He'd played Russian Roulette. He'd literally stared death in the face and then slammed the door on it. He'd been in so many tight spots, been through too many close calls.

And yet, despite all his real-world experience, Nick had never been in a position that had frightened him as much as Dal's current state of health did. His heart wouldn't settle in his throat, his lungs didn't want to cooperate with him, his mind was fuzzy and he couldn't think straight. He was sure if he had any less self-control, he would be shaking all over. His face was probably as white as a sheet at this point, and he hated it.

If Dal was going to worm his way into Nick's life, the least he could do was make sure he didn't die.

Dal shifted slightly, making a thin sound of discomfort. Megan pressed a hand to his forehead swiftly, which roused the kid a little more. Dal's bright green eyes slowly opened, his lips parted as he took in shuddering breaths and started to shiver. Nick looked to Megan, and she held up the thermometer for the kid to see. He nodded blearily and opened his mouth, allowing Megan to stick it under his tongue.

Nick watched as Dal's arms slowly came up and crossed over his chest. He was definitely freezing, but evidently didn't have the energy to actually get out of the tub himself. The meter beeped yet again, and Megan pulled it out to inspect it. She looked at Nick, nodding with a relieved smile on her face.

"A hundred and two. We can take him out now, I think." She said, "I'm gonna run the ice pack downstairs. You two, take him to his room, get him dry and into something warm. It important to make sure he doesn't get hypothermia."

Nick nodded in understanding, glancing at Ellis as Megan escaped from the room. The hick walked over, limping much worse than he had been before. Nick pulled the stopper in the tub and grabbed Dal under the arms, while Ellis grabbed him under the knees.

It didn't take long to get him into bed, and once he was, Nick fell into the chair in the kid's room and let out a shaky sigh. Ellis looked over at him from where he was standing near the door.

"Ya' gonna stay in 'ere?" He asked, and Nick nodded mutely. He couldn't find words to speak at that moment. Ellis nodded in understanding, and limped out of the room. Nick supposed he probably should've taken a look at the guy's ankle, or at least asked why he was limping so much more, but he couldn't bring his mind to care much at that point. Ellis' ankle would recover eventually, whether soon or later was debatable.

Nick leaned forward in his seat, planting his elbows on his knees, and resting his forehead in his hands. His head, which had stopped hurting for a period of time (either that or he had just managed to forget about it), was now killing him. He needed rest, but he was sure he wasn't going to get any. He couldn't bring himself to leave Dal alone for that long. Not when the kid's fever wasn't gone, not after it had gotten as high as it had.

He couldn't leave Dal up to chance. He just couldn't.

…

He had to get out.

Nick didn't know why. He didn't know what was happening. He didn't know who it was that needed him. All he knew was that he had to get out of this place. This horribly familiar place. He needed to get outside, he needed to run away, find whatever or whoever it was that was pulling him along by the heartstrings.

There was blood. Oozing out of his open mouth as he gasped for air. Father's foot connects with his side, sending him into the wall. The plaster cracks under his weight. Scott's laughing in the background. Father's got that smile on his face, the one he wears when he's aching to spill more blood. The one he wears when he wants to send Nick to the hospital.

Nick wheezes, clutching at his abdomen and coughing. More blood. He was probably bleeding internally by now. The fiery burn in his gut was certainly pointing in that direction.

Have to get away. Have to escape. Run. He needs you. Get out there, wake up. End it.

Another solid boot to the side, right where his hand is gripping, and he feels his ribs starting to give under the pressure. He lets out a sharp cry before clamping down on his own voice hard. Don't scream. Don't give them that pleasure. And don't get father in trouble because you know exactly how that will end.

Father pulls his boot back, and Nick can tell he's rearing back to kick him again. There's no other option, he has to go now . He rolls onto his stomach and propels himself forward, lunging out of the way before staggering to his feet. He can hardly find his legs.

Nick hears sirens, and panic sets in. He's late. He's late. He's late. He has to get out of here. He's late. He's going to miss it. He's going to miss him . He can't let that happen. He feels a hand grabbed his shoulder and a knife appears, a knife that wasn't there in the original memory, and suddenly he's older, grown, stronger, better at this than they are . He spins faster than he feels he should be capable of, swinging out with the heavy blade and slashing open his brother's throat.

He turns back towards the door, only there isn't a door. There's a kid there, staring at him. Wearing a hooded sweatshirt and dirty jeans, heavy-looking boots. Scarred face. Tired expression. Flashing red and blue lights appear over the kid's head, and the sirens somehow get even louder. Somethings wrong. Something's going wrong. He's going to miss him. He's going to miss.

Nick extends his arm forward desperately, reaching as far as he could. He was going to miss it. He was going to miss him. He wouldn't make it. He was too late. Too late. Too late. Too late. Too late. Too late. Too late.

Too late .

Nick jerked away with a loud, panicked gasp. His eyes were wide and searching around the room for the source of his panic. He didn't remember what was going on. What had he been late for? What was he searching for? He wheezed out another gasp, clutching at his chest and feeling his heart hammering in his throat.

Dal .

He sucked in a breath and leaped out of his seat, very nearly falling as his shaking legs almost gave out on him. He caught himself on the bed and rushed to Dal's side. He couldn't see anything - it was a lot darker than he remembered it being. He reached over and turned the bedside lamp on, eyes widening and panic spreading through him. Dal's face was flushed again, and when Nick pressed a hand to his forehead, it was extremely warm. He grabbed the thermometer off the bedside table, where Megan had put it earlier, and stuck it into the kid's mouth. A minute later, it beeped, and Nick's blood froze solid - a hundred and six point six.

Nick didn't hesitate as he pocketed the thermometer, throwing the blankets off of Dal and getting to work pulling his saturated shirt off. He scooped the kid into his arms and strode swiftly into the bathroom, setting him down in the tub and turning the knob to straight cold water.

His heart was still hammering. He could hardly breathe. He ran downstairs and grabbed the last bag of ice and the ice pack out of the freezer. He raced back upstairs and proceeded to dump the contents of the bag into the tub. The tub filled with water quickly as Nick placed the ice pack on Dal's forehead and held it in place.

This had to stop. Dal needed to get better and he needed to do it quickly. If his fever kept spiking like this, and if it kept getting this high... Nick was going to miss it one of those times, and Dal was just going to bake to death in his bed. If Dal died...

Nick didn't know what he'd do if Dal died. He couldn't even think of the possibility. It was too much for him. Dal had to live. He just had to. Nick wanted the kid to stick around after this mess was over. He hadn't told Dal yet because he had been almost disgusted with himself for having the thought in the first place. But now he wanted Dal to know. He wanted to tell him that he had to stay, even after the infected were cleared out and society resumed its normal pace. Nick would be happy to lie to everyone and say that Dal was his little brother, or even his kid.

He wanted Dal to stick around. So, he couldn't die. Not yet. Not for a long time. Some people deserved to live a long, happy life, and others didn't. And if Nick had lived his life for as long as he did, with his reasonable contentment with the style of living he had gotten himself into, but Dal died right now...

No, he couldn't even begin to think of it.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

At times, he would feel safe, protected, surrounded by walls of softness and love. At other times, it was like he was dangling off a cliff, held up only by the slender hands of his glaring mother. Those times filled his chest with dread and anxiety, and made his sleep fitful and disturbing.

"I didn't want children in the first place!" Daddy is yelling, his hands moving about as if he were searching for an object to throw. Mommy's hands are in her hair, pulling every now and then to indicate the depth of her own fury.

"Then why won't you listen to me!?" She shrieks in reply, "If he doesn't want to be with us, then just get rid of him! We can put him up for-...!"

"That child is a gift from God, Kristina!" Daddy hollers in equal volume, spouting words that Dal recognizes only because he remembers them causing fights between his parents before. "We can't just get rid of God's gifts! He's ours now, and we have to at least keep him because you wanted a baby!'

"He doesn't love me anymore and he never loved you! I don't want a child like that! He won't even let me hold him!" Mommy yells back, and the fear in Dallas' chest is overcome by a pain in his heart that he's never felt before.

"That goes against God's will-...!" Daddy wants to keep him only because of his God.

"God wouldn't give me a child that won't love me!!" Mommy just wants him gone.

The world was hot, and then cold, and then hotter, and then colder. Freezing, burning, freezing again, burning up. Fire behind his eyelids. Surrounded by icicles. Yanked back and forth. Torn to pieces. Ripped to shreds. Burned alive. Frozen to death.

His mother's lifeless eyes glared hate into his very being. Blood splattered across a body he could barely recognize. Mother, dead. Taken from him. He was never even able to make her smile.

There was pain. So much pain. He could feel his own blood seeping through his clothing, huge areas of his flesh that he knew had been torn to shreds. He could feel the sting of the air on those wounds. The scent of burnt rubber and hot metal filled his lungs, alongside the powerful stench of blood.

His blood .

Dallas' eyes were spilling tears. He could already hear sirens, he could hear someone talking to him, trying to keep him from going into shock. His whole body felt cold and hot at the same time. He was trapped under that stupid motorcycle. He could hardly breathe past the weight of his fractured ribs.

He was in so much pain, but all he could think of was how angry his parents were going to be.

Distantly, voices. Louder, panicking, then quiet. Voices, then just one voice. Talking, then muttering. Whispering. Pleading. Someone's about to cry, he was relatively sure. Then, more panic. Lots of movement this time, like he's being shaken. Loud voice, then louder. More talking. Hollering, calling for someone. For help. What, he wondered, was going on out there?

"Da-al," Dal hates the way his voice sounds, but he speaks anyway. He wants this man to at least know his name, even if he ends up forgetting it later.

"Dal?" The man looks confused. "What's...? Is that your name?"

Dal nods. The man frowns, obviously unhappy with the situation. "I'm Nick," is his half-hearted reply.

"You... you have to get better, Dal. You have to. You have to." That voice is impossibly familiar, but wracked with misery and rawness, he doesn't quite recognize it. A strange, painful ache filled his chest, and he strained his ears to hear that voice again, twisted his memory to try and remember it. It was just beyond his reach. If he could just grab it...

Nick...

In his dreamland, Dal sucked in a breath and turned his wide-eyed gaze skyward.

He had to get out. He had to. Someone was waiting for him.

...

Nick was a mess.

It wasn't the most obvious thing in the world, that was for sure. Nick didn't show much in the way of emotion in any situation, especially not if that emotion was pain or sadness. He wasn't particularly private about his history, but he was extremely private about his emotions. So, the fact that Ellis could tell that Nick was a complete mess was a show of just how bad it was.

Nick was already a fairly pale person. He didn't really have the same healthy glow to his face that Ellis did. Now, though, his face was white as a sheet. His eyes had dark shadows under them, and he didn't seem interested in speaking to anyone unless Dal's fever started going up and he needed to yell for Megan.

Ellis was pretty sure Megan hadn't noticed yet. If she had noticed, she probably didn't realize what that meant in terms of the extremeness of the situation. She didn't know Nick enough to understand that the conman's visible depression meant he was probably in the deepest hole ever.

Dal had been sick for about two days now, and as far as Ellis could tell, Nick hadn't gotten so much as an hour of sleep in that amount of time. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week, actually. He seemed hellbent on getting no rest until Dal was either better or dead.

Ellis shifted on the couch slightly, wincing as pain shot up his leg. He hadn't been of much help in past day or so, because he had seriously re-injured his ankle. When he'd run downstairs to get the ice pack that first afternoon, he'd landed fairly wrong and pain had shot up and through his ankle. He'd fallen, unable to get up for a brief moment, before he forced himself to his feet and managed to grab the ice pack and race back upstairs. Ever since he'd pushed himself like that, though, he could hardly put any weight on his leg at all. He had been wondering if it was broken. Probably not - it'd hurt a lot more if it was broken, he was sure.

He felt incredibly useless because of his injured leg. He'd cleaned out the still-healing gash in his temple that morning, just to keep himself occupied. Dal was currently in bed, Nick posted right beside him in the large armchair in his room. Megan was in her room, likely either trying to nap or reading. No one had been able to get much sleep (except Dal) since the kid had fallen sick. No one really wanted to sleep. Nick seemed to be afraid that Dal would die if he wasn't there to check his temperature approximately every half hour.

Ellis eyed his injured ankle with a mild scowl on his face. He disliked the feeling of waiting uncertainly, caught between hopeless and hopeful. He didn't appreciate the feeling of helplessness. He didn't enjoy being forced to watch Nick go to pieces while knowing there wasn't a thing he could do about it. He hated that he was basically an invalid on the couch, useless as he was.

Megan had been the one to tell him to stay off his feet as much as possible until she looked at his ankle and assessed the damage, but Ellis wasn't sure how much more nothing he could stand to do. He didn't particularly want to make the damage worse than it was, but he couldn't bear to just sit around and twiddle his thumbs while Dal burnt out from a fever.

He swung his legs off the couch, grunting in mild pain when he smacked his knee into the coffee table. Ellis carefully balanced his weight on his good ankle and stood up, grimacing at the pain. It really had gotten a lot worse since he'd basically fallen down the stairs. He was sure it was either sprained or broken.

He limped into the kitchen, peering around in the cupboards and poking around in the fridge. If he couldn't help them take care of Dal, he could at least help them take care of themselves. None of them had eaten since yesterday morning's breakfast of coffee and home made biscuits - courtesy of Kris.

His heart twisted as he was pulling out fixings to make a vat of soup. He hadn't given much (if any) thought to the fact that Kris had been killed. He hadn't given much thought to the evidence that Dal had almost been killed in that same moment. He didn't know how the kid had managed to save himself. He bore signs of a serious struggle, including bruises around his throat and arms that looked like the work of a Smoker, as well as deep cuts and scratches that looked to be the work of a Hunter.

Ellis wondered if anyone had thought to clean out those wounds. He'd have to do that when he went upstairs. He was sure they weren't infected, but it couldn't hurt to rub some alcohol into them anyway.

The soup he was making - cream of broccoli - was a recipe from his late mother's handwritten cookbook. He hoped Nick wasn't a picky eater like he'd been when he was a kid. Ellis used to hate broccoli. Now, he couldn't get enough of it. He supposed that it was part of growing up. His taste buds had matured with the rest of him.

It only took him about fifteen minutes to make the soup. It was a quick, easy recipe. He wouldn't be able to bring it upstairs to give to everyone, because he would have to limp and thus end up spilling the soup everywhere. But, he decided, he could see if Megan was awake and get her to do it while he was cleaning up Dal's face and arms.

He grabbed the alcohol and a couple gauze pads and made his way upstairs. The stairs creaked as they always did, as did the hallway. He headed first to Megan's room, where he found her reading on her bed.

"Hey," he greeted her when he knocked on her door frame. She looked up at him jerkily, startled by his sudden appearance. Megan looked exhausted too. Not as much as Nick, but she obviously hadn't slept last night, possibly also the night before that.

"Hey," she returned, smiling slightly, tiredly.

"I made a pot o' soup. I'd really 'preciate it if ya' could bring a couple bowls up fer Nick'n Dal. I'd do it m'self but I'd spill 'em everywhere with this dumb limp." He requested, "Oh, an' you can have a bowl too, if ya' like, " he added with a wink. Megan smiled more broadly.

"Yea, no problem. And thanks. Where're you off to?" She wanted to know. He jabbed his thumb towards the other end of the hall, where Dal's room was. Megan opened her mouth in a silent "oh" and nodded, before snapping her book shut and swinging her legs off her bed. Ellis turned away from her door then, and started limping his way down to the other end of the hall, whilst Megan headed downstairs behind him.

The door to Dal's room was shut, and he didn't want to risk disturbing anyone so he pressed an ear to the door and listened as carefully as he could. No sounds of any kind, so he gingerly wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and eased the door open.

Nick had passed out in the armchair. Ellis didn't know how long he'd been out, so he was going to have to check the kid's temperature. He limped over as quietly as he could, creeping around the chair that had migrated from a corner of the room to right next to Dal's bed, and picked up the thermometer. At the rate they were going, the batteries on the thing were going to die.

He paused to glance at Dal's face, noting that the cuts on his face were looking a little swollen and unhappy, but they weren't as badly infected as Ellis' stitches had been. A little alcohol and they'd be fine. He could do that right after he checked the kid's temperature.

He put the thermometer into Dal's mouth, blinking in surprise when the kid opened his eyes blearily and looked at him. After a moment, he seemed to figure out what was going on and closed his eyes again, relaxing. He seemed to be really out of it, but Ellis supposed anyone who was sick would be.

The meter beeped and Ellis retracted it with his hand, looking at the numbers. His eyes widened, startled.

That couldn't be right... could it?

...

"-ck! ... -ick!" Nick jerked violently, eyes flying open as he surged forward, ready to leap out of his seat and deal with the crisis. But Ellis' hands came down on his shoulders and shoved him back into his seat, an act that startled him. Was he being seated so he could receive bad news? Was Dal...? He forced himself to school his thoughts, unwilling to think like that until he absolutely had to.

"Wha...?" He managed, confused, dazed, and altogether not together. Megan appeared in his line of vision and he looked over at her, still confused. She was holding two bowls of soup, looking like she'd just had the daylights scared out of her. She held out one of the bowls to him, and he was about to reject it when Ellis took it from her and forced it into his hands. Nick just held it, looking at it for a moment before raising his gaze back to Ellis' face.

"Eat it, ya' insultin' prick." Ellis said commandingly, and for a moment, Nick was certain that he had been woken up like something terrible had happened so that Ellis could force him to eat.

"What is it?" Nick asked, completing the sentence he had started earlier but hadn't finished. Ellis grinned at him wordlessly, stepping to the side, evidently so he could see Dal's state of health. The conman's eyes widened, his chest constricting and all the air leaving his lungs in a mass exodus.

"'E's all better!" Ellis provided the jovial caption for the sight before Nick's eyes, his already huge grin somehow managing to get even wider.

Dal looked at him from his spot in bed, one hand dabbing at the cuts on his face with a wet strip of gauze - likely doused in alcohol. The kid smiled his strange smile, looking incredibly tired but at the same time, alert, awake, and apparently feeling much better. His face, which had been switching between the usual ghastly pale and an incredibly unhealthy flush, had fully regained color. Dal looked better than he had when his fever had broken in that Walmart.

He felt... numbed. Nick hadn't actually been expecting Dal to recover. And perhaps that was why it had hit him so hard when the kid had gotten sick in the first place. Now that Dal had gotten better, he didn't know how to react. He didn't know what to think or feel or say or do. His brain had been reduced to such a messy puddle of misery that he didn't know how he expected to pull himself back out of it.

"Nick?" Megan spoke then, pulling him just far enough out of his reverie to notice that he was openly staring at Dal. The kid hadn't wavered from his intense scrutiny, though he occasionally winced as he was pressing the gauze pad against various cuts and bruises. Nick hadn't even thought to clean them, he'd been so busy panicking over that stupid fever.

"Your fever broke," he finally said, realizing belatedly how stupid that sounded. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, and he was pretty sure everyone in the room was waiting for him to do something either shocking or terrible. Or perhaps both.

Slowly, as if uncertain about his reply, Dal nodded silently. Ellis' grin had disappeared, and he looked rather concerned as he watch the conman. Megan's eyes were darting from Ellis to Nick repeatedly, as if she was trying to read the air between them.

The conman looked to the floor for a long, seemingly tense moment. He wasn't sure how he felt about this particular bit of information at the moment. Part of him was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Perhaps he'd wake up from this pleasant dream and find Dal was dead in his bed. Or maybe Dal would suddenly start convulsing in front of him. Or maybe Ellis would get sick, now. Pessimism was something he was particularly good at, and in this situation, was it both unwelcome and unneeded.

The other shoe already had dropped and Nick knew it.

At the moment, he sort of hated Dal.

Chapter Text

Nick seemed to shift from moderately depressed to the foulest possible mood in the eight hours he had spent in his room, evidently sleeping. The man had gone into his room with his bowl of soup in some kind of a daze after he'd been duly informed of Dal's full recovery, and when he had resurfaced the following morning, his glare could've set fire to rain. Under normal circumstances, "sleeping on it" usually resulted in a clearer outlook, a calmer approach, and a better mood. For some reason, it had instead turned Nick into a walking storm of hate and anger.

Megan had absolutely no idea what had caused the change, and she had no idea who or what he was actually mad at. One would've thought that Dal's recovery would've put him in the greatest possible mood. Perhaps he just had a headache - some people got cranky when they were in pain. Nick had mentioned having a headache a couple of days ago, while Dal had been out with Kris.

Kris, who was dead now.

In much the same way Jake's dead.

She slammed her pot of boiling water down on the counter much harder than she would've intended in even a fouler mood, frowning at the colander in the sink. At times, she felt like she had managed to work her way past Jake's death. At other times, it seemed like the trauma might as well have happened ten minutes ago.

Kris' death had reminded her of Jake, right when she had been certain that she was over it - even temporarily. She didn't feel like she even had a right to try and talk to Dal about his mother's death, because she was so wrapped up in her nephew that she hadn't really given Kris' death any thought. Dal had come home shaking like a leaf, and at the mere mention of his mother, he'd gone to pieces. Of course, he'd fainted immediately after, but that didn't change the fact that he'd been really broken up about it.

The boy ought to have someone to talk to. Though, she didn't really feel like she was close enough to Dal to talk to him about it. She didn't know where Ellis was on that, either. Nick was obviously out of the question - with his random, unadulterated anger, he'd probably just succeed in making everything worse.

She wasn't sure if she ought to ask Ellis if he thought talking to Dal was something they should try. Dal himself seemed to be either heavily in denial or completely over his mother's death. She figured it was possible that he was doing much the same thing she'd been doing - saving it for later. It was turning out, though, that doing that was nothing short of impossible. Eventually, that pain was going to return, and it would likely do so with a vengeance.

She needed to cry all her tears. Doing it was a lot harder than it sounded, though. Megan had managed her meltdown initially after Jake's death, but she hadn't been able to summon forth the emotions required to resume that meltdown. She'd never had this much trouble accessing her emotions before. When she needed to, she could pull them out like cards from a hat, and when she didn't want them, they could be locked back in a filing cabinet for later use.

She'd never been unable to reach those feelings before. She did not at all understand what was going on.

Although, considering the circumstances, perhaps it was for the better. She didn't really think a meltdown was a good idea at the moment.

...

He wasn't mad for no reason.

In fact, Nick would say he had a fairly good reason to be angry. Even if no one else in the universe agreed with him. He had every right to be furious that he'd been reduced to such vulnerability. He had every right to hate that he'd been made to feel so weak and helpless. He hated being made to worry and fear for other people. When it was himself, it was an adrenaline rush that he lived for. When it was someone else, he had discovered, it was just pain and misery.

He was, at this point, avoiding Dal. Well, not really avoiding. Ignoring was a better word for it. At least for the moment, he wanted nothing to do with the brat. He didn't want to talk to or at him, he didn't want to associate with him, he didn't want to breathe in his general direction. Part of him hoped the kid would get extremely upset when he noticed. It was a cruel thing to think, but Nick had never once mentioned that he was a decent human being.

He wondered, then, if Dal had noticed yet. It'd only been a day, and the kid had been fairly involved with his exercises when Nick had gone downstairs to snag coffee and leave his bowl from the previous afternoon in the sink. At the moment, he was loathing the fact that Dal couldn't talk - if he was able to talk, Nick could fight with him. He hadn't felt this antagonistic since Coach and Rochelle had disappeared to lands unknown.

His anger was a stubborn thing; it would fixate on something and he would be furious for days. He'd find ways to make himself more angry, or to drag out the rage for longer. He'd want to fight with everyone around him, and he would work at it to get them to engage in verbal or physical battles with him. It wasn't necessarily that he enjoyed being angry. It was more that it was his nature to be mad, so he was actually fairly comfortable with it. Comfortable enough that it didn't bother him if he was enraged about something for days on end.

The wind was picking up outside, the skies still overcast. He'd been waiting for it to rain for three days now, and judging by the sound of the wind, today was the day. As if to confirm the thought as it was passing through his mind, a rumble of thunder rolled through the clouds, sending vibrations through the air.

In all thirty-five or so years of his life, nothing had ever reduced him to tears except pain. And even then, he'd never been reduced to the kind of shaking, sobbing mess that other people seemed to enjoy partaking in. He hadn't been going for a record. He hadn't been purposefully avoiding the kind of emotional pain the brought on a crying fit. He hadn't been masking his anguish all these years.

He hadn't thought he would ever be the kind of person to show that kind of weakness. Apparently, he'd been wrong. After all, he'd been quietly hysterical and basically a sobbing mess just a day and a half ago. Pleading with a near-comatose brat who couldn't hear him anyway, trying to contain himself as he fought his misery back down his throat.

It infuriated him.

He could hardly believe that he'd been reduced to such a ridiculous low. That he'd presented the universe with a side of him that was weak and vulnerable. That he'd been as pitiful as he would ever be, and for what? A kid. A kid he had originally promised himself he would con and then kill. A kid he had no real ties to. A kid he couldn't seem to make disappear from his damn thoughts.

He had never ever been attached to anyone in his life, and yet here he was. A hopeless case of a con gone wrong.

That was the part that really got to him. The fact that this whole stupid mess had started because he hadn't had it in him to play a con properly was an outrage to him. He'd never been so stupid as to get attached to a victim of a scam before. He'd never been that much of an idiot before. He'd always been excellent at keeping himself distanced from the pathetic bastards he played like a card game. He'd probably been best conman in the country, and yet he'd stooped such a low.

He couldn't believe himself.

...

He wondered if Nick thought he hadn't noticed.

The guy had been avoiding him all day. He hadn't spent much time out of his room, certainly, but Dal noticed right away when Nick didn't so much as look in his direction. He noticed when Nick didn't greet him in any way. Nick didn't ask him about his progress like he usually did, Nick didn't ask him if he had eaten like he always did.

They were little things, sure, and maybe they didn't mean anything aside from the fact that Nick was mad at him for making him worry. The man had a history of doing that, so it wasn't really a huge surprise that he was doing it now. Just seeing him after he'd been woken up had been enough proof as to how worried he'd been. Nick didn't seem to handle concern very well.

So, perhaps Nick would stop being so angry in due time. He'd never been given that bad a scare, so it was possible he'd be mad for a while. But he'd get past it, like he had in the past. It would just take longer.

Dal sighed, lowering his hands dejectedly. The exercises were a thoughtless activity. It was a way to pass the time, and it was something to do with his hands while he thought about things - or, in some cases, tried to not think about things. Right now, his hands were burning and aching. It was time to stop, unfortunately.

Megan had been monitoring his temperature since his fever had broken the day before, expecting it to return to its normal low-grade state, but it hadn't yet. His appetite was back with a vengeance and his body, once again, felt... right. It felt comfortable, even when his hands and jaw felt like they were going to fall off. He had been relishing in the feeling, expecting his fever and discomfort to return in much the same way Megan was, but it had been twenty-four hours and nothing. Last time, it'd taken only two or three hours for the fever to come back.

Did that mean... it wasn't going to come back? If it wasn't... what did that mean? Did it mean he was a fully recovered victim of the Green Flu? The physiological changes hadn't gone away - his strength was still unrivaled - but the fever was gone. The night sweats were gone. The headache was gone. The ache in his joints was gone. The loss of appetite was gone.

He didn't want to get his hopes up, but he felt like perhaps that was it. It was sort of anticlimactic.

Not that he was complaining.

Megan chose that moment to surface from the kitchen, smiling at him briefly before cupping her hands around her mouth and hollering up the stairs, "DINNER!!"

There was a small commotion upstairs that sounded a lot like Ellis leaping out of his bed and immediately falling, before two separate doors opened in almost perfect unison. It was always funny to see Ellis come galloping downstairs like an injured horse when he was alerted to the fact that dinner was ready.

Dal straightened up on the couch and got up after Ellis had gone into the kitchen. He glanced up as Nick appeared at the top of the stairs, his expression as sour as it had been when Dal had seen him earlier. The teen wondered if he would even stay for dinner, or if he would take his plate and disappear upstairs.

When he walked into the kitchen and dining area, Ellis was already stuffing his face and Megan was only barely restraining her amused smile. The guy ate like a starving wolf whether he was actually hungry or not. Nick took his seat at the head of the table across from Megan, while Dal sat across from Ellis. The conman was silent as the grave as he helped himself to his own portion, his scowl never fading. Dal could tell he was lost in his own thoughts, much like Megan seemed to be, though she didn't appear to be in the same bad mood that Nick was (still) in.

Nick's stubborn anger was probably the main thing Dal didn't like about him. Nick could stay mad about something for days. During the Coach and Rochelle Chronicles, it had seemed like he would go out of his way to make himself angrier for the sheer sake of forcing those around him to suffer. It was a surefire way to get rid of the people around him. If Dal had to guess, Nick's anger served two purposes: getting back at people he was mad at, and getting rid of people he was mad at.

Dal was pretty sure that, when they'd been around, Nick's anger towards Coach and Rochelle had served the purpose of getting rid of them. That anger had lasted consistently for what had seemed like forever, and had dissipated as soon as they'd disappeared. Nick had, at the time, done everything in his power to stay as mad as possible. Doing things like starting fights and interacting with the one person who would fight with him, being overall sullen and cranky, and finding little things to get pissed about. He had really gone out of his way to stay as mad as possible for as long as possible. The headaches probably hadn't helped, either.

I wonder if you're trying to chase me away, too.

The thought almost made him choke, and once it was there, he couldn't get rid of it. No, Nick wouldn't... he wouldn't be that mad. It wasn't like Dal could control the inner workings of his body at will. Nick knew that, surely. Nick wouldn't just want him to go away for something like that. Even if the man had looked like he'd been ready to leap out the top window of a five story building when Dal had awoken post-fever.

He'd get over it soon enough. Definitely. Dal just had to give him more time.

Ellis leaned back in his chair and stretched contentedly, finished before everyone else as usual. Dal, who had been keenly avoiding looking in Nick's direction since they sat down, had to work not to follow Ellis' gaze when it wandered over to the conman. He didn't want to be caught looking. Not when he knew that he was the source of Nick's anger.

"Don' like it, Nick?" Ellis asked semi-innocently. Out of the corner of his eye, past his mop of hair, he could see that Nick was scowling at his plate, unashamedly playing with his food.

"Not hungry." Nick replied, his tone fairly cold.

"Being irrationally furious over absolutely nothing tends to kill my appetite, too." Megan said dryly, all her usual good humor leeched out of her voice. Ellis looked over at her at the same time Dal did, surprised by her sudden show of moodiness. Megan was usually about as even-tempered as Ellis, which was quite a feat in Dal's opinion. Ellis was, after all, the hardest-to-irritate person in the universe. After all, it had taken Coach and Rochelle deciding that Nick and Dal's lives were worth less than a psychopath's to piss the guy off.

Nick slowly lifted his gaze to meet the redhead's, his scowl darkening. Dal wanted to let out an exasperated sigh at both of them. Megan, naturally, didn't know better than to pick fights with Nick. Ellis and Dal probably should've clued her in yesterday, when the conman had been sleeping.

Dal didn't know if Megan understood why Nick was mad. He could imagine she didn't, simply because she didn't know Nick's history of getting upset when he was made to worry. She had been spot on with what to say in order to start a fight, though that was actually relatively easy when Nick was in a foul mood. However, Dal didn't know why Megan was now angry.

She hadn't been in a bad mood earlier that day. He'd been listening to her slam things around in the kitchen while she'd made dinner, but she hadn't really given any impression of being in a bad mood until this exact moment. She'd seemed lost in thought, sure, perhaps a little less animated than usual, but not mad.

Now, they had two full grown adults who were both apparently prepared to act like children. Again.

Dal had been sure they were done with this when Rochelle and Coach left. He sighed unabashedly, digging his fork into the fake mashed potatoes Megan had made.

"Gee, and here I thought you weren't mad." Nick drawled, rolling his eyes. Megan blinked at him, before her expression twisted into true anger.

"I'm not mad, you prick." She snapped, and for a moment Dal couldn't believe that they were actually fighting about something like that. Then again, he recalled, this was Nick he was talking about. Nick could get anyone to fight with him about anything.

"You're being very convincing, Megan."

"Obviously I'm a little irritated. You've been nothing but a jackass since Dal got better, for no discernible reason." Dal flinched at her words. She really had no idea what she was getting into. Ellis was just watching them, eyes carefully assessing the severity of their verbal battle so he wouldn't miss the moment it turned physical, because it didn't really seem like Nick was the kind of person who would genuinely never hit a girl.

"It's not really your problem, is it?" Nick's voice took on a venomous undertone, warning her away from the topic, "I'll be pissed about whatever I decide to be pissed about, and so long as you stay out of my war path, we won't have a problem."

"It is my problem because I live with you. I have a problem with you turning into a raging prick for no reason, and then taking it out on everyone you come into contact with!" Megan snapped hotly.

"Gee, sorry mom, didn't think I was upsetting you so much." Nick replied sarcastically.

The redhead slammed a fist on the table, eyes widening slightly as her agitation got the better of her, "What, are you just menstruating and just can't help your PMS? If you're going to be an ass, you should at least find a decent reason for it!"

"I have a perfectly good reason to be angry, you impossible bitch!" Nick suddenly snarled. Megan pushing his buttons was going to end poorly for everyone, and she didn't have a clue.

"And what would the reason be, hm?" She pressed on, her own rage bubbling forward, and Dal then knew exactly what was going on. "Can't find your stuffed bear? You're certainly childish enough to have one."

Megan had perhaps been suppressing it, or perhaps she just didn't know herself very well, but Dal could see it. It was suddenly crystal clear before his eyes, like someone had lifted a blindfold. Megan was finally feeling her anger at Nick, who had killed her nephew. She had been holding it in long enough, and now it was boiling over. That had to be why she was picking a fight with him. It was incredibly childish, but Dal couldn't talk and his speech board was upstairs.

He wondered if Ellis had figured that out. Nick had already figured it out, that was obvious - though it didn't seem to change his attitude towards fighting with her.

Nick paused, wearing a glare to end all glares. He was hesitating, and Dal wasn't entirely sure why. Perhaps he knew how unreasonable he was being, but didn't want someone on the outside to tell him so.

"None of your fucking business," Nick finally said, his voice low and dangerous. "But if you'd like to volunteer yourself as a punching bag, I'd be more than happy to beat the shit out of you."

Megan rolled her eyes, "You don't scare me, Nick. Even if you are the kind of lowlife who would hit a girl."

Dal stuffed his last forkful into his mouth and stood up abruptly, startling Megan and Nick out of their very intense battle of the wits for a brief moment. He took his, Ellis', Megan's, and Nick's empty plates and took them all to the sink. He then turned the water on and got to work cleaning the plates off. Megan had told him to use the dishwasher rather than washing everything by hand, but he preferred to do it by hand. He'd learned how to do the dishes really well in an effort to get praise out of his parents, since they hadn't had a dishwasher, but he'd been unsuccessful in that department.

His parents.

Who were both dead, now. He didn't know what had happened to his father. Maybe he'd been killed by his mom after he turned. He could easily see her putting him out of his misery without batting an eyelash. Maybe he'd been able to get out via his office, but mom had been forced to go another route because she was at home at the time. He couldn't know. He could say for sure.

He ought to visit her grave.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Megan was saying, and Dal realized then that he had missed a section of their fighting. "Your reason is obviously ridiculously stupid, and you know it. That's why you won't say what you're angry about. I would've thought you'd have a better sense of what's worth being pissed about, but obviously your emotional intellect is as stunted as your shitty personality!"

He couldn't help shaking his head at that moment. Megan was slowly nurturing what would likely develop into hatred, and Nick was feeding his already simmering vat of anger. They were both just blowing off steam, but in doing so they were making the pot boil faster. Fighting like they were wouldn't make either of them feel better. He would've thought that Megan would be the reasonable one and want to just talk it over with Nick when he was in less of a terrible mood.

Evidently, he'd been overestimating her. Well, that wasn't really fair. It was likely that Megan wouldn't behave like this under normal circumstances involving her being angry with someone. The fact that Nick had murdered her nephew made everything different. It was such an extreme situation, there was no real way for her to handle it "correctly" or "normally." Not that there was a correct or normal way to handle grief.

"And I suppose your refusal to admit why you're angry has nothing at all to do with your obvious control-freak complex,"Nick snarled sardonically, and Dal could imagine that his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. "Gee, I don't know why I didn't believe you before; you obviously have all that anger towards me murdering your nephew under control! I ought to follow your example and be equally productive with my emotions!"

Dal couldn't actually believe that Nick had just said that. He couldn't believe that Nick actually had the audacity to say that. He wasn't at all surprised when Megan didn't reply immediately, likely wearing a mixed expression of incredulity and absolute fury. He was sure that Nick had just shocked her into silence with his awfulness, and now she was seriously considering the glass of water at sitting very close to her hand. Dal probably shouldn't have left them with projectiles.

"Mom, Dad," Ellis suddenly spoke very evenly, voice raised just enough to make himself heard, looking from Megan to Nick, "Please stop fightin'."

Dal turned to see the scene, because it was one he couldn't pass up. Megan was staring at Ellis, lips slightly parted, rage still etched into her face, chest heaving. Across the table from her, Nick's was gazing at Ellis stonily, his eyes slightly wide, disbelief coloring them brighter than usual. Dal watched them both, then turned his attention to Ellis, who was patiently waiting for them to either punch him or burst into laughter. Nick looked like he'd throttle the kid, but Dal didn't miss the way the corner of the conman's lips curved up, just slightly. He was stuck between wanting to laugh and wanting to remain furious.

Abruptly, Megan sucked in a breath and started laughing. Loud, heaving laughs as she doubled over, bracing herself on the table. Nick looked over at her, appearing mildly astounded for a moment before a smile - an actual smile - graced his features just briefly, and he let out a quiet breath of laughter. He shook his head, standing up from the table and shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned to vacate the kitchen.

He paused only briefly, glancing towards Dal for some unknown reason. The man had been avoiding so much as looking at him all day and now, for some reason, he chose to look over at him. Perhaps he was over it, finally. Perhaps the fight with Megan had gotten him to see the light and now he would stop being a jerk.

Dal willingly met his gaze and he regretted it immediately. What he saw wasn't any form of calmness, or relief from the anger, or even just a regular, stony expression like Nick sometimes used. What he saw wasn't that hint of laughter from mere seconds ago, nor was it a glance to see if Dal was just as amused as Megan.

Nick looked at him, and his eyes filled with contempt so suddenly, Dal's heart dropped clear through his stomach. His gut twisted and his eyes widened a fraction, surprised and horrified all in the same breath. The look didn't waver even as Nick turned his gaze away, expression settling back into a scowl as he left the room.

Nick had never looked at him like that.

He'd only seen the man direct that gaze towards three people - Coach, Rochelle, and Scott. Two of those people had been chased out of their lives, and the third had been murdered in cold blood. Nick had only given that look to people he hated. Nick didn't... Nick hadn't...

Nick didn't hate him, right?

He couldn't have handled it if Megan or Ellis noticed his plight at that moment and asked him what was wrong, so he turned himself around and went back to work on the dishes. Nick couldn't hate him. He couldn't. That couldn't be right. He was just beyond angry, but he couldn't hate him. Not now. He couldn't lose the only thing he had left. His dad was gone. His mom was dead. He couldn't lose Nick too.

It felt like his heart was in a vice grip. Tears were threatening to start spilling from his eyes, and misery was trying to choke him, but he held it in. He held it in the same way he'd been holding in the agony he felt when his mom had been killed. He hadn't been able to do anything then, and it seemed like there was nothing he could do now. Nick was going to continue to feed his anger (hate) until there was nothing left to salvage. He would... he was going to...

He was going to keep ignoring him. Probably for the rest of the time Dal stayed with him.

Megan and Ellis had vacated the kitchen, likely saying something to him on their way out, but he hadn't heard them. All he could hear was the repetition in his head. The same one he'd heard before he'd left home. The same one he'd heard when he'd first started following Nick around. The same one he would always end up hearing, he was sure.

He doesn’t want me around.

“If... you wanted to, I wouldn't mind it if you stuck around a little longer.”

Had he overstayed his welcome? Was it because he'd stuck around so long? Nick hadn't said anything about him staying permanently. He had never said that he wanted Dal to stay forever. Maybe he'd just been around too long. Maybe he'd just gotten too close. Nick didn't seem like the type to want any kind of long-term relationship with anyone. Had this been the outcome from the start? Should he have foreseen this? Should he have just moved on long before now? He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to do about it. He didn't know if there was anything he could do about it.

He put the last plate back in the cabinets, an ache in his chest that he'd grown to know too well. There wasn't any noise coming from the living room. Everyone had retired upstairs for the remainder of the night.

At this point, he didn't really think that Nick would get over it. He didn't think there would ever be anything to salvage. He didn't think there was a way for him to make amends. He didn't think an apology would suffice. Nick could hang on to anger and hate forever if Dal decided to refuse to go. Nick could become abusive and awful in a couple of days, if not sooner. Nick would do everything in his power to chase Dal out of his life.

He already knew there was something so reprehensible about him that his parents hadn't been able to continue to care for him. He still didn't know what it was that was so awful, but he knew it was there, so this turnout shouldn't have been such a huge surprise. Maybe Nick wasn't mad because he had made the man worry. Maybe it was the same thing his parents had grown to hate. Maybe Dal was just inherently flawed, and no one would ever be capable of loving him.

Maybe what he'd had thus far was as good as it would ever get. Maybe he was just going to obtain unsteady relationships with people who would eventually decide that they detested him, and find some way or another to chase him out of their lives. He didn't want to believe that was the truth, but what if it was? What if he really wouldn't get anything more than loneliness and bitter endings? What if he was just going to have to continue to roam the country, like a lost spirit, always searching for his other half? What if he didn't have another half? What if...

What if he was to spend the rest of his life alone?

He slowly sat down on the couch, looking around the living room through a sheen of tears. His lower lip quivered as he fought down the lump in his throat. He couldn't live like that. He couldn't live like this. He couldn't keep forcing his way into people's lives, only to end up turned out on the streets. He couldn't handle the constant rejection. He couldn't handle the unending loneliness. He couldn't handle anyone else looking at him the way his mom and Nick had. He couldn't handle being ignored anymore. He couldn't handle being forgotten anymore.

If life was always going to be like this, he didn't want to live at all.

I just wanted someone to see me. Why can't I have that?

%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

On occasion, Ellis would literally wake up with a bad feeling.

Usually, these bad feelings turned out to be a Bad Idea Keith had embarked upon - one which would leave him hospitalized for days. Sometimes, the bad feeling clued him in to something bad happening to another one of his friends or their families. Sometimes, the bad feeling was just because the milk had gone sour, which he wouldn't realize until he had actually had some of it.

So, when Ellis woke up with a bad feeling, his first reaction was to worry. What was so bad during this mess of an apocalypse that he would wake up with a bad feeling? He hadn't actually had one of those since long before the world ended, so why was he getting one now?

Ellis swung his legs out of bed and got dressed. He was thinking that he ought to go out and get more supplies from the Walmart in town sometime today. They were running low on food stuffs and toiletries. He'd have to go through the kitchen and make a list of what to get. He hoped at least some of the perishables hadn't yet gone bad.

He limped carefully down the stairs, not wanting to aggravate his ankle the way he had yesterday. The living room was deserted, which was a bit of a surprise - normally, Dal was always the first one up and he would perch himself on the couch and do his exercises for several hours.

Ellis had no idea how much progress the kid was making. Because he had been in the room at the time, he knew that Megan had changed up his exercise routine a little - she now had him carefully sounding out vowels, tilting his shoulders forward and backward, and wiggling his fingers as best he could. Ellis supposed that such a seemingly dramatic change in the level of difficulty in his exercises was a sign that he was probably making significant progress.

The fact that Dal wasn't up yet made Ellis' bad feeling worse. He took that as a sign that, whatever was up, it had to do with Dal. Perhaps the kid's fever had returned. He sure hoped not. Dal had been fever-free for two days. There was no way it'd returned now , right?

Ellis made his way into the kitchen after snagging a small pad of paper and a pen off the top of the television that they didn't use. As he was peering through the cabinets and fridge, noting down what they were running low on, he heard the sounds of someone else getting out of bed. His mind was still buzzing with that bad feeling, and he felt like every passing moment that Dal wasn't in the living room was making it worse.

He dumped the pad of paper and the pen on the kitchen counter and headed back upstairs. At the very least, he wanted to see if the kid was in bed. Maybe he was just sleeping in because he didn't want to get up. Maybe he'd been up late last night for whatever reason. Maybe he just didn't want to come out of his room because Nick was in a terrible mood still and his agitation was likely to put Megan in a bad mood too, and he just didn't want to listen to them fighting again.

Ellis' bad feeling reached critical mass when he walked into Dal's room and the kid was nowhere in sight. He stood in the doorway, looking from the bed to the large armchair, as if he thought Dal would materialize out of nowhere. On the last vestiges of hope left in him, he walked over to the closet and pulled it open, looking at the dark corner, right where Dal wasn't.

His bad feeling ricocheted through the ceiling and continued up to the heavens, quickly being replaced by worry - and maybe a hint of fear. Where was Dal? Had he gone off somewhere? How long had he been gone? Ellis couldn't remember if he'd seen him in his room at all the previous night. Sure, maybe he'd just gone for a walk, but maybe he'd also run away. Ellis was well aware of the fact that Nick was angry with Dal for making him worry. He didn't know the extent of that anger, but he knew that it was there.

Had Dal run away because of it? He couldn't be sure. All he knew was that, evidently, the kid wasn't home. Ellis stood in Dal's room, his mind reeling. Had the kid disappeared overnight? Without word to anyone that he was going away? Why would he just leave like that? It couldn't just be because of Nick, right? What had Ellis done to warrant a decision that there wasn't a reason to stay?

No, no, he was jumping to conclusions far too quickly. Dal might not have run away. He might just have gone out for a walk. He couldn't be positive that the kid had ditched overnight because of Nick's bad mood. He didn't want to jump to the conclusion that it was the conman's fault, because that would start him towards anger and that wasn't where he needed to be.

Ellis came to a decision at that moment. He walked over to the nightstand and grabbed Dal's speech board before going downstairs. He went into the kitchen and grabbed the pen and the pad of paper, bringing them back into the living room, setting the speech board down momentarily and sitting down to scrawl out a quick message for Megan and Nick. He didn't know if they were awake yet, and he didn't think he had the time or patience to wait for either of them to get up.

Dal's missing. Gone to find him.

He left both writing implements on the table, stopping only briefly to pick up the board, grab a pistol and a round of ammo out of the designated gun closet, and hurried outside. All his running around in the house had started aggravating his ankle, but he didn't stop to rest it. It hurt a lot, sure, but getting Dal home safely was significantly more important.

Immediately after walking outside, he threw his head back, took in a deep breath, and cawed as loudly as he possibly could. He knew that Dal knew that call - he'd explained it to him almost immediately after finding Nick in the swamps. But there was no reply. He clenched and unclenched his fists several times before he turned to his left and started walking.

As far as Ellis could tell, Dal had put almost all of his stock into his relationship with Nick. And if Nick decided to cut that relationship off, Dal probably didn't even realize that he had anything else left. He genuinely didn't know if Nick and Dal had had any kind of interactions with one another since the conman had decided to be furious about being made to worry. If they had, Ellis could imagine it had been unpleasant. If they hadn't, that meant Nick had been purposefully ignoring Dal, and that kind of behavior would definitely clue the kid in to his status as "not Nick's friend anymore (for now, probably)."

He'd find Dal if it was the last thing he did. If the kid had run away, it mattered a lot to Ellis that he tell him how important he was. Dal didn't get to just ditch because he thought Nick didn't like him anymore, or because Nick was being a jerk, or because Megan and Nick had been fighting. He didn't get to just decide that Ellis was chopped liver. Ever since the world ended, everyone always seemed to leave him out of their calculations when it came time to think about group opinions.

Dal's sense of self-worth was obviously in the toilet. If it hadn't been, there was no way the kid would've left, likely without thinking that anyone would really miss him. Knowing that he would be missed would've kept Dal from leaving. Ellis just knew that. The kid had put way too much into his relationship with Nick, and not enough into his relationship with anyone else. And while that made Ellis want to punch Nick square in the jaw for messing up so badly, it also hurt a little.

Okay, maybe a lot.

His eyes scanned every square inch of everything around him as he marched through the streets, taking in everything and listening carefully for any signs of life. It was possible that, if Dal didn't want to be found, Ellis would never find him. It was possible that the kid was so far away at this point that Ellis would never be able to catch up.

He wouldn't rest until he found him.

...

"Fine! Stand around with your thumb up your ass and pretend this has nothing to do with you! I'm going to go and look for him!!"

The sound of the door slamming was still echoing in his ears, alongside Megan's last statement before leaving. He still stood in the middle of the living room, now alone. His fist was still clenched around Ellis' note, from when Megan had shoved it into his hands. His heart was still hammering in his chest, and his mind was still providing every excuse it could think of for why this wasn't his fault.

Even though he knew it was.

The anger he had felt towards Dal for making him worry hadn't last long in the first place. It had only lasted a couple of hours at the most, before it had melted away into a deep-set loathing directed towards himself. He hadn't felt contempt towards Dal for a moment longer than it took for him to realize that the person at fault for his show of weakness was none other than himself.

He had allowed himself to get attached. He had failed to follow through with his con. He had decided to let the kid stick around. He had refused to take responsibility for his action, and he was the one who took it out on Dal.

There had been no one to blame from the start but himself.

And now, the kid was gone. This time, there was no hoodie in the door, there was no note, there was no sign. There was nothing. Just an empty living room and an awful ringing in his ears. Slowly Nick's clenched hand relaxed, the note he'd been clutching falling lightly to the floor. He wasn't sure if he ought to go out and help look for Dal. He wasn't sure if he had any right to try and find him.

As Nick stood there, his mind slowly started to quiesce. The ringing faded away, the echoing of Megan's voice dissipated, all the excuses and the thoughts settled back into the silty darkness of his mind. For a moment, there was silence. A loud, awful silence that surrounded him like a thick, suffocating blanket.

Have you ever been nice to anyone ?

He lowered his gaze from the front door to the floor a few feet in front of him. No, he had never been nice to anyone. At least, not for a decent reason. He had shown a better, kinder side of himself for the sake of getting things out of people. He had been pleasant mannered to persuade people to trust him. He had never just been nice.

A strange feeling, one that he wasn't entirely accustomed to, settled in the pit of his stomach. It was almost like nausea, but closer to the sensation of butterflies in his stomach. Close to anxiety, but it wasn't anxiety. It wasn't something he knew. He wasn't even sure where, exactly, it had come from.

It was a feeling that reminded him that he was and always had been completely incompatible with other. It reminded him of all the times he could've turned back and changed himself and his life. It reminded him of all his shortcomings, of all the ways he had failed everyone around him, all his life. It reminded him of all the pain he had caused, all the people he had unfeelingly betrayed.

He didn't understand why he was feeling this way. He didn't understand how he could make it stop. He didn't know what to do. He didn't like the confusing array of emotions running through him. He didn't like the stirring, tingling nausea in his stomach. He didn't like the memories that it was drudging up. He didn't like that he couldn't make himself move in one direction or the other.

Should he go out and try to find Dal? Would the kid even be willing to come back with him, if he did find him? He reached up a hand and jerkily moved his fingers through his hair. He didn't even know what he would say to Dal if he did find him. He was nervous about the prospect of it. He knew that he was the reason Dal had bolted.

The way he had looked at the kid yesterday... What had he been thinking? He had looked at Dal the same way Kris used to look at him. How could he do that to him? How could he be so selfish as to not think for even a second about how the kid might react? Had he ever thought of how his actions might impact Dal? Had it been like this from the start? Had he always been so thoughtless and uncaring?

Had he really always been this awful?

...

"Dal!!" Ellis hollered at the top of his lungs, mild desperation beginning to set in. He'd been out for a long time. It was long past noon, he knew. The sun was beginning to lower in the sky, slowly but surely, and the worst of the day's heat had passed.

But still no sign of Dal.

He had crossed clear to the other side of the city, taking every turn, glancing down every alley, looking towards every roof. He knew he hadn't looked everywhere, simply because this place wasn't small enough for him to have done so in the amount of time that had passed, but it felt like he had. It felt like he had searched every nook and cranny. It felt like he had seen every square inch of Brookhaven.

He had noticed when he'd first left the house that there weren't any corpses in the streets anymore. He didn't know why, but they had been cleared away by someone. He didn't especially care who - it meant that the stench they'd been dealing with had started to go away, slowly but surely. It was certainly making this excursion less horrible.

He had wondered if some organized group of volunteers had come through to clear away the bodies, preparing the continent to welcome back its residents. It would certainly explain why the electricity hadn't been turned off yet. Someone would've had to return to the power plants throughout the country and run maintenance and whatever else it was people did to keep the electricity flowing through the power lines.

Still no sign of Dal.

His ankle was killing him. It seared with pain every time he put weigh on it, and ached and throbbed when he wasn't. He had refused to slow his pace, and had thus started limping and walking interchangeably, depending on how much it was hurting at any given point in time. His bad feeling had only gotten worse as time wore on, so he felt that he didn't have time to waste. For all he knew, Dal was literally standing on the edge of a building, bracing himself to jump.

Ellis, as a naturally optimistic person who'd had little to no trouble throughout his life, couldn't possibly begin to understand the mindset of someone who had fallen so deep into despair that they ran away from home, ran away from the source of the problem. He didn't understand the kind of depression that led to suicide. He couldn't even begin to imagine that level of emotional pain.

Still no sign of Dal .

Even if night fell and he couldn't see, Ellis wasn't going home. He wasn't going home until he found Dal. That was the end of the discussion. He couldn't bear to leave the kid out for any longer than was absolutely necessary. He couldn't bear to have him thinking he was unwanted for another second. He couldn't imagine how awful that felt.

He tilted his head back yet again and let out another voluminous caw. His throat was raw from all his yelling and cawing, and he didn't care at all. Part of him wondered if it was smart to be making so much noise. If Dal didn't want to be found and he heard Ellis cawing like that, he might run the other way. But surely if Dal heard the calls, he'd recognize that he was being searched for because he was wanted, right?

He couldn't possibly know for sure. He couldn't know anything for sure until he found Dal and talked to him. He adjusted his grip on the board he was carrying for the umpteenth time. When he did find Dal, they were going to really talk. They hadn't done that... at all, really. Dal was quiet in general, but he'd been as silent as he'd been pre-speech board since his mother had died.

The thought of Kris sent a twist of guilt through him. No one had stopped to talk to Dal since Kris had died, almost as if everyone had forgotten she was his mother. She may have treated him awful, she may have lost her right to be called a mother, she may have been a terrible person through and through... but to Dal , she was his mom. It didn't matter if she had been awful and cruel and generically mean. She was still his mom, and for a lot of his life, she had been one of the few things he'd ever had.

Still no sign of Dal.

Ellis walked another several blocks before he decided to yell again. And it must've been his incredible luck - the same luck that had saved his life a week before the apocalypse had begun - that permitted him to tilt his head back when he did. As he dropped his mouth open and took in a deep breath, he glanced diagonally to his right and stopped dead in his tracks. He closed his mouth, staring up at the roof of what looked to be an office building.

Sitting on the ledge of this five-to-seven story building, was Dal. Ellis couldn't really make out whether it was genuinely him or not. He couldn't have been sure because the kid was pretty high up and the sun had been blinding Ellis' left eye for some time now, but he knew it was him. He knew because it had to be Dal.

"DAL!" He hollered up at the person, watching as they slowly turned to look at him. "Don't ya' dare move! I'mma be real mad if ya' do!"

Without another word, he took off, ignoring the searing pain shooting up his leg. He threw open the unlocked door to the building and raced up the stairs. His ankle shrieked pins and needles at him, nearly had him stopping to collapse in pain, but he pushed through it. He found the door to the roof and threw it open, staring at the kid sitting on the ledge.

Dal didn't turn to face him, even as he was limping across the roof to stand a couple of feet behind him. Ellis hesitated for a moment. A long, long moment. He stared at the kids back, words lost to him, waiting for some kind of sign that Dal was ready to welcome his company in the first place.

Finally, Ellis continued forward, right up to the ledge. He didn't like that Dal was sitting there, but he could tell now, at this proximity, that the kid didn't have any intention of jumping. Dal seemed fairly keen on not looking at him, and Ellis was fine with that. He got up on the ledge and sat down beside the kid, setting the speech board between them. He noticed the way the kid's head turned just slightly to investigate the object that had been placed there, but he didn't comment.

It was delicate, in a way. He didn't know what to say or do, really, but he knew what he didn't want to do. He didn't want to mention anyone's fault. He didn't want to mentioned the worry and fear Dal had caused. He didn't want to guilt anyone. He didn't want to make Dal feel terrible or trying to persuade him to regret his actions to validate Ellis' feelings. He almost certainly didn't want to bring up Nick, unless Dal mentioned him.

For a while, he didn't say anything at all. Partly, he waited to see if Dal would say anything. Partly, for once, he wanted to collect his thoughts before he spoke. Besides, now that the anxiety-provoking part of his day was over, he was perfectly fine with just sitting with Dal and settling the butterflies that had been floating around his stomach for several hours.

He had no idea how long he'd been out.

"Did I ever tell ya' 'bout my ol' buddy Keith?" He asked, finally settling on where to start. Dal didn't reply, which Ellis decided to take as a "no." He leaned back, putting his weight on his hands and looking up at the sky, with it's pastel clouds. He really had been out for a while. No wonder his ankle was hurting so bad.

"Aw, man, how could you 'ave hung around me this long and I didn' talk 'bout Keith? Oh, boy, I gotta lot t'fill ya' in on." He chuckled, thinking of all the fonder memories of his best friend. "Keith is like, Evel Knievel, but no motorcycle. He was always pullin' these dumbass stunts, shit no one else could do. I mean, he always got hurt - like this one time, he drowned in the Tunnel of Love! You wouldn't think it could happen 'cause the water's so shallow, but that's how it gets you, man. Overconfidence . Keith was with his lady at the time, and he was yellin' for her to save him, but she didn't want to get wet."

Dal tried, but Ellis didn't miss the shaking in his shoulders as he laughed. His smiled broadened, "An' there was this other time, me, Keith, n' Dave went t' this s'posedly haunted house. I gather some folks got burnt up in there a long time ago, and their ghosts still 'aunted the place. Real neat, some ol' guy told us 'bout it. Anyway, we all went and some kids lit the damn place on fire while we was in there." He recalled aloud. That had been a close call, too, he remembered. It'd happened only a week before the infected had reached Savannah.

"Hot damn, man, Keith's arms n' 'ands got all burnt up cause the ceilin' caved in in front o' me and there was a two-story drop out a window behind me, so 'e was using his bare hands to try and dig through the burnin' rubble. I almost died, actually, but the floor caved in an' there was a window so I was able to git out." He spoke, excitement finding him as it always did when he was retelling stories about Keith and his adventures. "Was real close though. Keith almost died too, but Dave got 'im out. I think Dave was actually the only one who wasn't hurt. Ha, it sucked but it was pretty fun too."

"Keith 'n me used t' get into all kinds of trouble." He said, his smile fading only a little as nostalgia reached him. "I miss 'im sometimes. I mean, I got you guys, but I still wish Keith were 'ere too. 'E always made it more fun. I bet he woulda loved to fight zombies with us."

Dal reached over with one hand and started typing on the board sitting beside him. " What happened to him? "

Ellis shrugged, "'ell if I know, really. Alls I know is that 'e got out on o' them whirlybirds. Son of a bitch didn' even wait for me. Though we lived on opposite sides'a town, so I wouldn'a been gettin' on the same chopper as him."

" Am I going back? "

The question surprised Ellis, but the answer didn't take more than a second to come to him, "Well, I'd sure like it if ya' did, but we don't 'ave to go yet. My leg kinda hurts, so we're gonna be at a slow limpin' pace anyways. We got time."

Dal didn't reply to that right away. Ellis wondered if he was considering asking if he could just not go back, to which he would probably say "absolutely not." He didn't know what he'd do if he was unable to convince Dal to come home with him. He hoped the kid wouldn't make him.

"Y'know," he said, his voice quieter than it had been. "S'not like I wouldn't miss ya' if ya' left. No one told me t'go look for ya'. I left a note t'say I'd gone out to find ya'. Didn' even stop to wake e'rybody else up. I must'a ran through this whole darn city... village. Whatever."

Dal sank into his shoulders a little, and Ellis let out a sigh, "Nah, man, don' feel bad about it. S'not like I'm blamin' ya or anythin'. I just..." he paused, glancing at his knees. "I just don' want ya' thinkin' ya' don' matter to no one. 'Cause that ain't true, not for a second. And I promise I'll never change my mind."

Dal made a thin sound, lifting a hand to his mouth and hunching forward more. Ellis reached over and grabbed the speech board, moving it to his other side for a moment and scooting closer. He then wrapped an arm around Dal's shoulder and pulled him over. It was like a dam broke at that moment, and all of a sudden the kid was letting out heaving sobs. Ellis gently rocked them side to side, offering the physical support that Nick had never been comfortable with.

He let the kid cry against him for as long as he needed to. It seemed like all the hurt Dal had been accumulating in his fifteen years of life were pouring out of him all at once. He couldn't imagine what kind of life the kid had lived, to bring forth this kind of response to Ellis' words. He just didn't know enough about Dal, he suddenly realized. He didn't really know anything about Dal, aside from his age and his history with concussions. He wanted to know more. He wanted to really get to know Dal, to be someone he could talk to. To be a friend. A brother.

Ellis had never had a younger sibling. Keith had been the older brother he'd never had, and Ellis had always been thankful for that relationship. He hoped he could be the older brother for Dal that Keith had been for him. Maybe with fewer stupid stunts, though.

They sat together for a long, long time, even after Dal had calmed down. Occasionally, Ellis would tell him a story about Keith, or Dave, or his mom, or the friendly lady down the street that Keith used to stay the night with when his brothers locked him out. When he finally glanced over to see how the kid was faring, he was both surprised and overjoyed to see a smile on his face. Not the usual not-smile that he had worn before, but a real, honest-to-goodness, recognizable smile.

Ellis grinned so wide his face hurt when Dal started actually laughing at one of his funnier recounts of Keith's misadventures. It was a rich, joyful sound, and Ellis hoped he'd get to hear more of it. After everything that had happened, he was incredibly happy that he had been able to bring Dal out of his reverie of depression. He had been so far into it, Ellis had wondered if he would be able to help at all. If he would've been able to persuade the kid to come home with him.

It was getting to be extremely important to him that Dal keep smiling. That he start laughing more. That he got happy and stayed happy. So, he committed himself to making the kid smile and laugh as often as possible. He'd help Dal make his own happiness. If anyone in the remaining world deserved it, it was the kid sitting beside him.

"So, there was this girl who came through Savannah one time, n' Dave thought she was kinda cute so me n' Keith decided to try and hook 'em up, ya' see..."

%MCEPASTEBIN%%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

Megan was the first one to get back. She started on dinner almost immediately after walking in the door, despite how tired her legs were. The boys would likely be starving when they returned. She was only marginally surprised when she found that Nick had left as well, though she couldn't be sure if he was actually out looking for Dal. The guy was such a self-centered, excuse-making jerk, she wouldn't be surprised if he just went out to make it seem like he had been looking so that no one would yell at him when they got back.

She didn't know. It was hard to figure out what Nick was thinking at any given moment. He did his poker face extremely well. Even when Dal had been sick and close to death, while his face had been gaunt and his hands shaky, Nick hadn't looked hysterical. He hadn't shown any signs of emotion. When she'd first met him, it'd been obvious that he and Dal were quite close. Nick had shown a strong protective streak when Kris had been subtly bullying her son, he had shown a compassionate side when Dal had been upset, he had offered as much physical support as he was comfortable with (which wasn't a whole lot, evidently).

And that had all gone to pieces as soon as Dal got better from his bout of sickness. She didn't know why it had all gone to pieces like that, but it had.

"It's not my fault if the little brat can't handle it when I get moody!"

Megan scowled at her pot of water, waiting for it to boil. Nick had never shown such a lack of concern for Dal's well-being before. She had thought that he would be willing to talk with her and maybe they could figure out what had caused Dal to decide to run away from home, but the man had instead immediately gone on the defensive for what had seemed like no reason.

And with how defensive he'd gotten, she couldn't really help but think that he must have said or done something to Dal to convince him to leave. Perhaps he hadn't done it - whatever it was - with the intent of driving the boy away, but it was the results that mattered. If Nick was the reason Dal had up and disappeared, he needed to take responsibility for that and apologize. And if Dal refused to forgive him, he would have to deal with that.

If that wasn't the case, if Nick hadn't done or said something to Dal, she could only imagine that he was really just a prick. In either case, Nick was a bastard of a man who needed to take a few minutes to grow the hell up. And if he wouldn't, he wasn't going to be able to maintain his relationship with Dal. Or anyone, for that matter.

She remembered him telling her that he'd been married twice, and that both times he'd been divorced. He had denied ever being friends with anyone. He hadn't mentioned having any stable relationships with anyone. He had told her that his whole life had been swindling and scamming and lying and cheating and running for his life.

He had told her that he'd been alone since he was about four. His father had been an alcoholic and his brother a psychopath. His sister had killed herself when he was thirteen. His mother had walked out on him so long ago, he didn't remember her ever existing in his life in the first place.

Megan then wondered if Nick had never had a relationship of any kind with anyone because he didn't know how. The thought was surprisingly depressing. The anger she'd been collecting towards him dissipated slowly, and she was left with an empty feeling that she didn't like. She didn't know why she'd been fighting with him. She didn't know why she'd been letting him bait her into verbal battles.

As she was dumping pasta into the pot of now boiling water, she tried to think of what had come over her. First, she'd found it impossible to access her emotions so that she could grieve for Jacob, and now she was being overwhelmed by all the wrong emotions. Was that what it was? Was it about Jacob, like Nick had said when they'd been fighting over dinner?

"You obviously have all that anger towards me murdering your nephew under control!"

She flinched, wrenched rudely out of her thoughts when she heard the door open. She stirred the pasta briefly before walking out into the living room to greet whoever it was that had come home.

"'N oh my god, 'e screamed every time 'e opened 'is eyes for n' entire year. It was real funny at first, but then it jus' got sad, n' then it got funny again, oh man." Ellis was saying, limping fiercely as he made his way over to the couch. He sat down, letting out a breath of air and groaning, before laughing a bit.

Dal chuckled, a sound that surprised Megan. When he'd laughed before, it hadn't sounded... normal. He would either let out a breath or a bark of laughter, but it wasn't ever a chuckle or a real, honest to goodness laugh. It had sounded like someone who didn't have any control or strength in their throat muscles.

He had made a lot more progress a lot faster than she'd thought he would. Dal and Ellis probably didn't realize the significance of the boy being capable of laughing. She would have to do an actual, full-body assessment later, to see if the rest of him was following along at the same pace. It was possible that his throat, jaw, and mouth were ahead of the game because he didn't just chew gum all day, he also ate full meals and nibbled on various things throughout the day. That meant that he was giving his mouth and throat more exercise and in different ways than she had stopped to consider.

Her eyes then fell on Ellis, who was in the process of taking off his boots, Dal walking around the coffee table to sit beside him. Nick hadn't come in with them. She had kind of been hoping that, considering how long it had taken Ellis to get back, Nick might've been with them. Evidently, her prayers weren't answered. She hoped they weren't going to have to go look for him, too. If he had gone out without the intention of returning, they would never be able to find him. Nick seemed like the kind of person who could easily disappear permanently. She had been fighting with him endlessly, but that didn't mean she hoped he would go away forever. In fact, it meant quite the opposite. Nick had to come back, because she needed to talk to him.

Once Ellis had his boots off, he let out a relieved sigh, and turned to Megan, "Hey!" He greeted, "Is everybody home?" He wanted to know, and Megan shook her head in response. The younger man's face fell, and she watched as he exchanged a glance with Dal. The redhead then noted that the two of them were sitting closer together than they usually did. Dal usually put about a foot of distance between himself and everyone else – save for Nick. Right now, however, he was within six inches from Ellis.

"Nope." She replied, wondering what had happened between the two of them to cause such a change in behavior. Obviously they'd been talking. Dal had come in with his speech board tucked under his arm, and now it sat contentedly on the coffee table. "I went out looking without Nick, so I don't know if he's actually in on the search party or if he's just taking a very long walk."

Ellis looked worried, as he started twiddling his thumbs anxiously. Megan sighed softly. She wasn't concerned about Nick. He was, after all, the most capable out of all of them. He was probably fine. He was either panicking as he searched the entire village of Brookhaven for Dal, or he was taking a walk with his head in the night sky.

"Don't worry about him, Ellis." She reassured, "If there's anyone in the world we don't need to worry about in terms of safety, it's probably Nick."

...

He wasn't really looking for Dal. He wouldn't lie to himself about that much. He wasn't looking for anyone. He was, in fact, continuing to hope that he didn't run into Megan, or Ellis, or Dal. Especially Dal. Considering how his day was going thus far, of course, he might very well run into Ellis and Dal. That would make for an awkward exchange.

Nick glanced up at the night sky. There was a thin, rolling cloud cover that just barely coated the moon once in a while and hid most of the stars. The night was much nicer than the day had been. The streets looked less awful in the cover of the evening, its bloodstains and battle scars well hidden. The stench that had been lingering in the streets alongside the bodies had subsided, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by Nick that the quantity of corpses was significantly less. So much less, in fact, that he hadn't actually seen a single body since he'd left the house.

He didn't know what exactly that implied, but he could venture a guess - it was likely that some form of organized group was coming through and clearing out the streets. Probably either military, CEDA, volunteer survivors, or any combination of. He'd place his bets on CEDA or volunteers, though. The military was probably busy "securing the nation" or something stupid like that.

It didn't matter. He hadn't encountered anyone thus far, he didn't expect to encounter anyone now.

Nick let out a sigh, turning his gaze back to the ground a few feet ahead of him. When he'd first left the house, he'd been in a sour mood. His pace had been much quicker than it was currently, and he'd been full of anger and hate and had sort of wanted to kill someone. Or something. Whatever came first.

Now, he was lost somewhere between thinking and not thinking. His head wasn't really in the clouds, but it wasn't really with him on the ground, either. He'd spend a great deal of time just counting the cracks in the sidewalk, or looking into houses curiously. Some of them had their lights on, others didn't. He'd think for a while, and then his mind would still and nothing would come to him. He turned down a street – Spruce Street, to be exact. He counted the letters of the two words – twelve letters. Four vowels. Eight consonants.

He tried not to, but he wondered if Ellis and Megan had found the kid yet. If they'd be able to find him. He knew that, when he'd disappeared from his home when he was seventeen, he had made absolutely certain that he would never be going back. When he didn't want to be found, Nick would not be found. He didn't know if Dal was like that. When Dal had told him that he was a runaway, Nick had been under the impression that the kid hadn't been trying to disappear. He had probably been trying to garner his parents’ attention. He wasn't sure if this was different or not.

It was entirely possible that Dal didn't want to be found just as it was possible that he did want to be found. It was also possible that he didn't care if he was found or not, because he was teetering on the edge of a five-story building. Though Nick tried not to dwell on that last option, mainly because it made him feel physically unwell. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if Dal were to actually kill himself.

He made another turn, this time down Maple Street. Lots of tree names for the streets in Brookhaven. Eleven letters. Four vowels. Seven consonants.

He was beginning to think that he might be coming to terms with the simple fact that he wasn't suited for relationships of any kind. He couldn't manage a marriage, couldn't manage partnerships, couldn't manage friendships, couldn't manage people in general. He didn't really know why he'd thought he'd be able to maintain his relationship with Dal. It had been a stupid idea to do something like that in the first place. It had been stupid to try. If he'd followed through with his original plan – the one he'd come up with four to six hours after he'd met Dal – he wouldn't be in this mess now, and the kid would probably be in a better place.

He didn't know why he'd wanted to try and maintain his relationship with Dal. He didn't know why he'd bothered. His history with relationships should've been enough to warn him that it wouldn't work out in the end. It should've been enough to tell him that he would ruin it. It was what always happened. It wasn't even like he was moping about how the world was cruel and he hated his life; it was a fact.

Nick wasn't suited for relationships. He just wasn't.

He turned a corner, and was immediately blasted in the face by an awful, incredibly bright light. He immediately lifted a hand to shield his eyes, his head pounding much harder than it had been a few moments earlier. As he was blinking the stars out of his eyes, a highly authoritative voice that instantly infuriated him spoke.

"Identify yourself, sir!" It called commandingly, and Nick felt his fists start to clench with agitation. He'd had a bad enough day. The bright as hell lights dimmed somewhat, and he lowered his arm to try and get a look at whoever it was he was supposed to be talking to.

He didn't respond right away, his face settling on a glare. He could just barely see the silhouette of the self-important officials he had accidentally walked into. Volunteers, CEDA, or military? Military would be armed. CEDA probably wouldn't be. Volunteers might be.

"Identify yourself!" The Authority spoke again, and Nick's glare only hardened.

"Who the fuck are you?"

...

"Whaddya think's takin' him so long?" Ellis asked no one in particular. He turned his head to look at the other two in the room with him. It was going on midnight, and still no sign of Nick. Dal was sitting on the side of the couch opposite of him, doing his exercises on Ellis' ankles. Megan had told him to elevate his ankle, so he had propped his feet up on Dal's lap. The kid hadn't seemed to mind, and had actually had a fair amount of fun tickling him on and off when he'd first put his feet up. The little rascal had a sense of humor that Ellis hadn't been able to see before. He liked it.

"I don't know, Ellis," Megan sighed. He felt bad for staying up. For some reason, Dal and Megan had decided to stay up with him once he had told them he would wait up for Nick. They didn't have to stay up, he knew, and he sort of wished they'd go to bed.

Well, at the rate they were going, the three of them might pass out on the couch.

"Maybe he got lost," The redhead continued, "Wherever he is, I'm sure he's fine."

Ellis frowned. Megan had seemed kind of off since he'd gotten back with Dal. He didn't know what had happened, but he could at least guess that she had probably had another fight with Nick.

Several more minutes passed in silence. Ellis yawned, leaning back against the arm of the couch. His ankle was still aching something fierce, but it wasn't as bad as it had been a couple hours ago. It'd been pretty badly swollen when he'd first got back, and Megan had done a full assessment of his ankle, deeming it sprained and warning him to stay off it, unless he wanted to do permanent damage to his leg.

"Ellis," Megan spoke suddenly, and he looked over at her again. She was staring at him, her expression unreadable. "Have you ever lost anyone?"

Ellis' thoughts halted at that question. He knew immediately that she was thinking about her nephew. Dal had paused in his exercises, his fingers hovering over Ellis' ankles, and he looked sort of tense.

Finally, Ellis answered, "Yea, I 'ave. My mom 'ad a heartattack two years ago. N' my dad died o' cancer when I was twelve."

Megan nodded solemnly, and fell silent for a moment. She seemed to be deep in thought. Dal was as stiff and silent as a tombstone, and Ellis wondered if they were walking on thin ice. After all, Dal had lost his mom a couple of days ago. Maybe they ought to not be having this conversation in front of him.

"How did you handle it?" The redhead in the armchair asked, and Ellis looked at her again. He had handled his father's death much better than he'd handled his mother's. His father had been a Vietnam veteran, and he had always been very unavailable. Ellis had never had a real relationship with him.

His mom, however... That had been a completely different story.

"Well, I handled m' dad's death pretty good," Ellis replied slowly. "I didn' know 'im too well, he was pretty absent all the time. Vietnam vet, n' all. But when m' mom died... man, I was a wreck fer... prob'ly weeks. Not even Keith could get me outta th' house for ages."

Rather abruptly, Dal leaned over Ellis' legs and hastily typed on the large keys, "I'm gonna go take a shower. I feel gross."

He quickly moved his legs so the kid could get around him, and Dal got up and headed for the stairs. Ellis watched him go, feeling bad because he knew his conversation with Megan – however brief – had chased him upstairs. The kid was obviously avoiding thinking about his mother's death, and Ellis couldn't blame him.

Losing a parent, whether you were close to them or not, was tough. Dal probably didn't know what to feel about his mother's death. She hadn't shown him any affection in the short amount of time that Ellis had known her, and he couldn’t imagine that the rest of Dal's childhood had been much different. It had been hard for Ellis to mourn for his dad, because he'd been like a stranger to him. They'd rarely spoken to one another, but Ellis had still cared for him. And once he'd come to terms with those feelings, the grief was easier to accept.

He looked back over at Megan, who was still staring up the stairs after Dal. Slowly, she turned back to face him, her eyes on her lap. Once again, she looked to be deep in thought. Finally, after several minutes, she looked up at him and their eyes met.

They needed to talk to Dal about his mom. He needed to grieve for her, because she was his mom, even if he had never had any semblance of a relationship with her.

...

Unsurprisingly, everyone was asleep when he slipped into the house noiselessly.

Surprisingly, they were all sprawled across the living room furniture instead of curled up in their beds.

Nick clutched his bleeding side as he walked into the house, slipping his feet out of his shoes near the household shoe pile so he could move about more quietly.

Dal was sleeping peacefully on the couch beside Ellis, looking entirely content despite the fact that he would likely wake up with a terrible kink in his neck. Ellis had his feet propped up on the kid's lap, and something twisted in Nick's chest at the sight. A strange, foreign kind of anger that he wasn't accustomed to. But it was immediately smothered by an even stranger longing, until he had forced himself to look away.

It didn't matter. Not really. He had screwed up and now he was moving on. He had no business getting mad at Ellis for taking his place as Dal's number one.

He needed to tend to the wound in his side, anyway. He'd best not dwell on unimportant matters when he was slowly bleeding to death. It'd be easier if someone else was awake to help him with it, but he didn't really want to wake them. He knew there was a bullet lodged in the wound. It didn't feel like it was particularly far in, so he didn't imagine it'd be that hard to get it out. It was going to suck a lot, but he could manage.

It wouldn't be the first time he pulled a bullet out of himself.

He was incredibly lucky, as usual. The bullet had only hit him in a patch of flesh. It hadn't hit any internal organs, it hadn't nicked any large blood vessels. It hurt a lot, sure, but he wouldn't die from it. Honestly, if he were to die from anything, it'd probably be whatever the hell was in that syringe they injected him with. "The cure." Please. If it was a cure, it wouldn't be hurting so damn much, he was sure.

He headed upstairs, walking into the bathroom. There was a package of straight-edge razors in the cupboard, he knew, so if he needed to make the wound bigger to get the bullet out, it wouldn't be too hard. It would hurt a lot, and he'd likely lose a lot more blood, but he'd manage somehow.

He grabbed the rubbing alcohol out of the cupboards as well as the package of razors, setting them down on the counter before moving over to the hutch that stood over the toilet and grabbing one of the suture kits.

He pulled his shirt off, wincing at the pull of his injury, and dumped the blood-stained garment on the floor. That was trash, as were his pants. He'd throw them away later.

He sat down on the edge of the bathtub, not wanting to fall that far if he found the pain too much to bear. He wasn't looking forward to this part. He thought back to Spruce Street and Maple Street. Twenty-three letters. What street had he encountered "The Authorities" on? Had that been Lover's Lane? No, that was from a memory of New York. What had that street been called? Sisson Street, right. Another twelve letters. Make that thirty-five letters.

Nick gingerly palpated his side as he forced himself to think of those calmer things, searching for the exact location of the bullet. He didn't have any clamps, so he would have to do this the hard way. He was not looking forward to it, but it had to be done. He couldn't very well stitch this wound shut without removing the bullet.

Fuck "The Authority."

He braced himself for pain, pinching his flesh just below the bullet, and started squeezing. He clenched his teeth as pain flared through his nerves, trying not to start swearing at the top of his lungs. Blood spilled out of the wound, falling to the linoleum floor in droplets. He could feel the bullet slowly moving, and that only made the pain that much worse.

Nick swore quietly, squeezing his eyes shut, face screwed up in agony. The bullet was farther in that he had thought it was, and it didn't want to move very far. He was going to have to made the wound bigger and reach in to grab the thing. He wasn't sure if his fingers were small enough for that, but he had to try. Worst case scenario, he'd start shouting curses and wake everyone up. Megan's fingers were probably small enough.

With his free hand, he reached over and grabbed the package of razors, swiftly tearing it open with his teeth and pulling free one of the straight edges. Once again, he tried to steel his nerves and brace himself, even though he knew that it would hurt like hell no matter what kind of prep he gave himself. He pressed the edge of the razor to the wound, clenched his teeth so hard he thought they might break, and started cutting.

They should've grabbed Novocaine, or Lidocaine, or some other kind of caine.

...

"Son a bitch!"

Megan wasn't entirely sure what had woken her when she jerked awake rather violently, eyes wide and searching for the strange, unspecified noise she'd just heard. She looked over at Ellis and Dal, who had both done much the same thing. They all looked around in confusion for the source of their rude awakening, but didn't see anything. Megan glanced at the clock, noting with dismay that it was nearing eight o' clock. Had Nick come back?

"FUCK!" She jumped, turning towards the stairs, eyes wide. Apparently, Nick had come back. She looked over at Ellis, who was in the process of slowly getting to his feet.

"I'll meet you upstairs," she said quickly, leaping out of her seat and jogging up the stairs. She looked down the hall towards Nick's room, finding the door to his bedroom open. He wasn't in there, though. She glanced in the other direction and saw that the bathroom light was on, and headed over there.

Megan poked her head into the bathroom, and her words died in her throat. The sight before her was gory and rather horrifying. There was a small puddle of blood on the floor of the bathroom, and Nick was sitting on the edge of the tub, hunched over a wound in his side that he was trying to carve into with a razor. His face was screwed up in pain as he swore colorfully under his breath.

She watched as he took a breath and started cutting into his own flesh again, and nausea bubbled up in her stomach.

"N-Nick?" She said uncertainly, and he paused in his ministrations and looked up at her. His face was white as a sheet. He'd lost a lot of blood, it looked like. There was still crimson liquid flowing freely past his fingers, out of a deep, ruined chunk of flesh in his side, a few inches above his hip.

"Hey," he greeted with a strained voice. "I need your hands."

She hesitated, mildly horrified that he needed her hands for something, before carefully stepping into the bathroom the rest of the way. Her mouth was dry and she felt sick. She'd never known herself to be a particularly squeamish person, but this was beyond that. Nick was carving into his own flesh with a razor. It looked like he was trying to make a wound in his side larger, for whatever reason.

"What do you need?" She hoped to god he just wanted her to mop up his bleeding side while he did whatever it was he was trying to do, but judging by the look on his face it was unlikely.

"There's a... bullet in this wound," he managed to say past his tense jaw. Megan's eyes widened, dismayed, and she nodded. She had a feeling she knew exactly what he was going to say. "I need you to pull it out for me. I can't... reach it and it doesn't want to move.. easily. I think it's... caught in some tissue or something. I just... I need you to pull it out before I bleed to death. Please."

The fact that he said "please" surprised her, but she decided it would be best not to comment. There was a sound of footsteps, and Ellis and Dal appeared in the doorway, a relieved smile on the hick's face that was wiped away the second he laid eyes on the massacre-like scene in the bathroom. His eyes widened as he took in the situation. Dal's expression was it's usual neutral, but she could see the look in his eyes betrayed his shock.

"Jeez, Nick, what the 'ell?"

"Shut up," Nick hissed, his eyes on Megan, "Would you?"

She couldn't really refuse, could she? Either she help Nick or he continued to mutilate himself in an effort to remove a bullet. She swallowed hard, nodding mutely, and moved over to the side he had injured. She crouched down, looking at the mess of flesh and blood, and glanced up at Nick.

"Do you know how far in it is?" She asked.

"I'm literally holding it in place," he replied tensely. "It's not that far in, but I have sausage fingers."

Megan smiled weakly at his attempt at a joke, reaching forward with one hand to place her fingers over Nick's gently, just so she'd have a better sense of exactly how far in she needed to go. She took in a deep breath and reached forward with her other hand. She hesitated for a moment, glancing at Nick's face. He was watching her hand intently, and she could tell he was bracing himself, just by how tense he was.

She steeled her nerves against her nausea, and carefully pushed her fingers into the wound in his side. Nick didn't make a sound, but she could see his other hand clenching into an impossibly tight fist beside her. His breathing hitched, and he made a thin sound of pain, but didn't utter another noise. She found the bullet without much trouble. The metal was slippery, though, and with the way Nick was holding it, she wouldn't be able to pull it out easily.

"Move your fingers behind it," she muttered, as if she were afraid of disturbing him. God, she felt like she would be sick at any moment. "I can't grab it with you holding it like that."

He nodded mutely, flinching as he moved his fingers appropriately, pushing the bullet forward just a tiny bit. She spread her fingers a little, pinching the bullet between her thumb and forefinger. After a second where she made sure she wasn't pinching his actual flesh, she started moving her hand backwards, pulling on the bullet. It was extremely slippery, so she held on as tightly as she dared. She didn't want to accidentally make it slip out of her fingers.

She was at the home stretch when Ellis suddenly moved forward, grabbing Nick's shoulder and steadying him. Megan suddenly noticed that the man was going lax, and her eyes widened a fraction. She looked at his face, noting that his eyes were closed, his face ashen, if not a little green, and his skin was cold to the touch. He was definitely in the process of fainting.

"Meg," Ellis said, and she quickly returned her attention to her task, pulling the bullet the rest of the way out. Ellis' had his hands on both Nick's shoulders, supporting almost his entire weight.

Meg quickly got up, turning on the water just long enough to quickly rinse off her hands. She turned to the cabinet, only to find Dal there, handing her the iodine and probably a dozen gauze pads. She smiled at him in thanks, and he nodded curtly in reply. She couldn't stitch the wound shut, but she could clean it and cover it for him.

She returned to Nick's side, deftly coating one of the gauze pads in iodine and pressing it to the wound, staining his skin yellow-orange. Nick flinched violently as she applied a bit of pressure, his breathing becoming ragged and the hand that had been pinching his side going limp. He fell against Ellis heavily, and the young man held him up as Megan cleaned out the wound and pressed several gauze pads to it, try to staunch the bleeding.

"Nick, hey," Ellis was saying beside her, "C'mon man, wake up."

Nick groaned in reply, his eyelids fluttering open. Megan smiled at him in relief, and he looked at her with mild confusion in his eyes. He looked exhausted. Slowly, he pulled himself further upright, blinking hard and smacking Ellis' hand away absently. The hick stood on standby, as if he fully expect Nick to faint again.

"You okay?" Megan asked softly, and he nodded silently.

"Stitches," he muttered. Dal grabbed the package of sutures from the counter top and handed it to Nick, who stared at him for a moment before taking the package. His hands were shaking something fierce. Before he went to bed, Megan was going to have to make him drink a lot of water to make up for all the blood he'd lost.

Once he had managed to thread the needle, it didn't take very long for Nick to stitch himself up. The sutures brought forth only more blood, which Megan deftly wiped away with one of the gauze pads she held. Within ten minutes, the sutures where done and Nick was looking like he wanted to get up.

"D'ya wanna shower 'fore ya' go to bed?" Ellis asked, looking at the smeared blood all over Nick's midsection.

"What do you think?" Nick grunted, standing up haphazardly. Ellis held out a hand jerkily, watching carefully to make sure the man didn't fall.

"Okay, then," Megan said. "Let me get up some of this blood off the floor." She turned and grabbed one of the many towels in the linen closet just outside the bathroom door. She folded the towel in half and dropped it on the puddle of blood.

"I'll leave that there for now. Ellis, could you either stay in here or wait just outside the door?" Nick glared at her but Megan ignored him. "Just in case he faints again."

"I'm not... gonna faint," Nick muttered, breathing heavily. Megan rolled her eyes, and Ellis grinned.

"No problem, Meg." Ellis returned good-naturedly.

"I'm not gonna faint," Nick repeated, this time a little more forcefully.

The redhead sighed heavily, turning back to the conman, "Nick, you lost a lot of blood. You're clammy and sweaty and you fainted like, two minutes ago. Ellis will make sure you make it to bed in one piece. Deal with it."

Nick glared at her, but it was such a weak, withering look, Megan didn't find it at all threatening. She patted Ellis on the shoulder and walked out of the bathroom, turning back to Dal.

"Coming?" She asked, and he nodded, following her out of the bathroom. She was exhausted, but she wasn't sure she wanted to sleep until Nick was safely in bed. If he fell in the shower or popped his stitches or something, she needed to be around to handle it. Dal and Megan headed downstairs, the boy taking up his post on the couch once again.

Megan looked over at him as he absentmindedly started doing his exercises. She had him tapping his fingers individually against the surface of his choice (he was using his knees at the moment). She wanted to improve his dexterity and stamina, as well as catch his thumb up to the rest of his hands. She also had him working on moving his tongue about in his mouth, touching it to the back of his top front teeth and the insides of his cheeks. She had also told him to try licking his lips more often. For now, she was mainly working on strength and stamina with all the exercises she gave him. The dexterity practice portion of it was more of a bonus than anything.

She didn't expect him to be talking any time soon, but she hoped to have him sounding out vowels soon. His improvement was much faster than she had expected it to be. She had been wondering if it had something to do with the Green Flu. She had wondered if perhaps not only his physical strength, but also his healing capacity had been significantly altered. She didn't know how that was possible, but she also didn't know how something like the Smoker or the Tank could've been created by this awful strain of rabies.

She looked over at Dal. He still hadn't mourned, much like Megan hadn't. They had both lost someone important to them and it seemed like they were handling it the same way. She could figure, after seeing him interact with his mother, that he had probably suffered in the past, even if he wouldn't have called it "genuine suffering." The victims of abuse never thought that what happened to them had been all that bad. There would always be someone who had it worse.

She could tell that he was young, too. She didn't know how old he was, but she could tell he was young. Younger than Ellis, older than Jacob had been. She would put him around sixteen or seventeen at the most. He was such a young person, and he had seen so much tragedy already. So much pain. It wasn't fair.

It was never fair, though, was it?

"Hey Dal," She suddenly spoke, and he looked over at her silently. She didn't know what to say, how to word what she wanted to ask. She wanted to know if he was alright. That was what it came down to. She wanted to make sure he was okay. His mother had died. He had recently run away from home, and she still didn't know exactly why.

But mostly she wanted to make sure that he was okay.

"Are you... are you okay?" She finally asked, and he stared at her. She watched his bright green eyes widened a fraction, and he looked almost confused. "A lot's happened to you lately. And I know it's not really any of my business, but I know no one's talked to you about... well, anything. I want you to know that I'm here, if you need someone to talk to. I'll always be here."

She saw a sheen of tears in his eyes before he slowly lowered his head, hair falling into his face and obscuring it so she couldn't see him. Slowly, he nodded. She smiled sadly at him, before getting up from her seat on the armchair and joining him on the couch.

"It seems we handle our grief the same way," she said mock-woefully. "Super unhealthy."

Dal giggled a little, the sound thick with emotion. Megan wrapped an arm around his shoulders gently, pulling him over, "I know we don't know each other very well, but I would like to be your friend, if you'll have me. You seem like a really bright kid, so I think I'd enjoy talking to you. We could talk smack about Nick all day."

Dal laughed at that, rubbing his eyes and smiling widely. Megan smiled broadly, patting him on the head. Upstairs, she could hear the bathroom door opening someone padding down the halls. Nick was done with his shower. If she wanted to, she could cut her conversation with Dal short and go to bed. She could sleep for a few hours and wake up refreshed, and probably promptly make dinner (which had somehow become her sole responsibility, just as the dishes had somehow become Dal's sole responsibility).

She wasn't really tired anymore, though. She could take a nap later, or perhaps just sleep really, really well tonight. Right now, she kind of wanted to conduct a few experiments to gauge Dal's progress. She wanted to talk to him more. She wanted to get him talking. She knew he hated being mute. Being quiet was one thing, being unable to communicate easily was a whole different can of worms.

She distantly heard Nick's bedroom door close, and Ellis came limping down the stairs, supporting himself with the banister. He paused when he saw them on the couch, and she was sure she saw him smiling in the corner of her eye.

After Dal's runaway adventure, she had noticed that he and Ellis seemed to be a bit closer, though it was hard to really tell in the amount of time since he'd been back. She knew that Dal had gone upstairs with Ellis rather than running ahead to join her immediately. She knew that Ellis and Dal had been sitting closer together that they ever had in the past.

She didn't know what they'd talked about, or what had happened between them, but she was glad. It was better for Dal to be close to someone like Ellis. Nick was as emotionally unavailable as they came. Megan hadn't said anything because it wasn't her business, but she had felt that Dal had been too emotionally dependent on Nick. She was sort of glad they had "broken up" – their relationship had been extremely unhealthy.

She didn't know if Nick was regretting whatever it was he had done. She didn't know if he would try to fix it. She hoped he would. It would be a real, growing experience for him, and he needed that. He needed to understand that you couldn't just have a relationship without any effort. It took trust and communication and so many other things.

She hoped Nick would see how Ellis handled his relationship with Dal and learn a thing or two.

Chapter Text

"So, I'm thinkin' we oughta talk to Dal about Nick n' Kris." Ellis said once he had situated himself on Megan's bed. She walked over to join him, crossing her legs on her pillow and leaning against the wall.

"I think so, too," the redhead replied, running her fingers through her hair. "He's suffered a couple of fairly significant losses in the past few days. But I think he's also really denying to himself that anything's wrong. I mean, you saw the way he walked out on our conversation yesterday."

Ellis nodded solemnly, "I sure 'ope it won' be super hard to get 'im to talk to us."

Megan fell silent as she considered his words. Dal might very well be hard to talk to. The way he had so suddenly walked out on Ellis and Megan's talk yesterday was proof enough. He was likely trying to smother his feelings by not thinking about the things that had happened, the losses he'd sustained. But that wasn't healthy, and Megan knew that.

"Who d'ya' think oughta talk to 'im? Me 'r you? Nick's obviously outta the question." Ellis asked her after a long lapse in their conversation, "I dunno, I ain't good at this sorta thing."

Megan nodded slowly, thoughtfully, "That's a good question. I mean, obviously I'm the one with more experience in the field, but you're closer to Dal than I am."

Ellis frowned, "I don' think I'm that much closer, actually."

"You are," Megan told him. "Dal and I haven't had any form of a conversation to date. I asked him if he was okay yesterday and he got kind of upset, but that's the closest so far."

Ellis bobbed his head in understanding, "So, ya' think I should talk to 'im?"

The redhead tilted her head back and forth, crossing her arms in thought. She wasn't sure. Like she had already said, Ellis was closer to Dal than she was. But at the same time, Ellis seemed uncomfortable with the idea of confronting the boy about his emotional denial. The young man might not be able to stomach upsetting Dal for the greater good.

It wasn't healthy to bottle up strong feelings the way Dal was. Those emotions would eventually fill up the bottle and burst out in some kind of way, and the way it came out would almost definitely be destructive in some kind of way. She didn't want Dal to go through that kind of destructive emotional breakdown. She didn't like seeing people suffer, and she especially didn't like seeing people she cared about suffer. She may not have known Dal very well, but she did still care for him.

"I don't know, Ellis," Megan finally said, scratching the back of her neck, "I think it'd be a good place to start. If he won't talk to you, we can either confront him again together, or I can go in solo and give it a shot."

Ellis sighed, looking unhappy, "I hope 'e'll talk to us."

"Me too," Megan returned. She wondered faintly if there was going to come a point when all of them were in emotionally sound places. If she was honest with herself, the answer to that question was probably "no." Nick and Dal were fairly damaged people. They both needed years of therapy, though she was sure Nick would never accept something like that. He didn't come across as being particularly happy with his lifestyle, but she also could tell that he was wedded to it. He didn't seem like the kind of person who was interested in changing himself for his or anyone else's benefit.

And never changing might not bother Nick, but it made the outlook on the rest of his life rather bleak. He'd be hateful and angry and alone for the rest of his life at the rate he was going, and that wasn't really okay with Megan. She didn't want to go out of her way to try and change someone who would likely lash out at her attempts prior to walking out the door and never coming back, but, at the same time, she didn't like to think that Nick was just doomed to a life of solitude.

She wondered if it would be possible to get through to him on that level. If she could talk to him about Dal and get him to feel some remorse. If she could persuade him that he could fix what he'd broken if he was willing to put forth the effort and take responsibility. It was entirely possible that Dal would forgive Nick in a heartbeat, just because he had been so dependent on the man. If he wanted to, Nick could get away with his latest mistake without any repercussions.

Of course, that thought made her wonder why he hadn't yet. Had he not realized it? Or was he genuinely just done with Dal? He'd certainly seemed like it when they'd been fighting the previous morning. If that was the case, though, chances were high that Nick wasn't going to learn a thing.

"Ellis," she said slowly, and the man looked over at her again. "Do you know why Dal latched onto Nick the way he did?"

Ellis blinked, looking surprised for a moment. Then, he replied, "Nah, I ain't got a clue. I guess Dal was alone for a real long time before he found Nick. Nick said they hadn't got off to a good foot right at first, but I don' really know when the magic moment was. Probably if Nick 'adn't been concussed an unarmed, 'e would'a killed Dal right when 'e saw 'im."

Megan blanched, "Really? You think he would have killed him?"

Ellis nodded, looking significantly less horrified at the prospect than Megan felt, "Oh, yea, that's how it's been. Shoot first, don' bother askin' any questions. Even if Dal'd saved 'im, Nick would'a seen 'im as a Hunter first. I mean, one he was wearin' that hoodie, Coach n' Rochelle immediately saw 'im as jus' a Hunter, even though 'e led us to Nick and everythin'. And they wanted t' kill him, too."

"What about you?" She wanted to know immediately, "Did you also want to kill him?"

Ellis laughed at that, "Nah, man, I was prob'ly the only one o' us who didn't wanna kill Dal at any point. I mean, 'e wasn't dangerous, 'e didn't try killin' us, so I didn' see a problem." He paused, suddenly looking sullen, "Though, no one listened t' me, so I didn' really get a say."

Megan nodded slowly, "You know, you told me all about the adventure you guys had, but you didn't tell me what happened to Coach and Rochelle.

At her question, Ellis' entire demeanor changed. She almost immediately regretted asking. Perhaps that was too much. She could never seem to tell what would cross boundaries until she was actually over said boundaries. Megan was about to retract her question, to apologize for asking, when Ellis let out a heavy sigh, looking forlorn.

"They left." He finally said, "Remember when we told ya' that Nick killed 'is brother?"

She nodded jerkily, almost afraid to learn whatever it was that Ellis was going to tell her. He turned his attention to a thread attached to the blankets they were sitting on, frowning deeply.

"Well, Nick didn' just kill 'im. He shot 'im in the knees and then got a horde comin', and left 'im for dead." Megan's eyes widened a fraction. She hadn't heard this part of the story. "Coach n' Rochelle couldn' deal with it. They said... they said that Nick n' Dal were just two tickin' time bombs and then they actually had the nerve t' ask me if I'd come with 'em while they ditched 'em."

Megan's mouth was dry. "Why... why did Nick kill his brother, again?"

Ellis looked at her as he said, "'e attacked Dal. Tore out three o' his teeth with pliers."

The horror she had started to feel towards Nick mercilessly, brutally killing his brother was gone in an instant. Scott had certainly been a psychopath – she had gotten that impression from Nick's retelling of his past. But she hadn't really thought that the guy was that kind of psycho. She hadn't thought he had been really the kind of person who would watch and laugh as his alcoholic father beat on his little brother. She definitely couldn't have imagined that he had been the kind of guy to take full advantage of the infection for his own sick amusement.

When Nick had told her that Scott had attacked Dal, she had assumed that the boy had likely fought back. But if he had tore out three of Dal's teeth, that meant the boy hadn't fought back. Or hadn't been able to fight back, because there was no way you could tear out teeth with pliers while someone was swinging at your head, especially with Dal's level of strength.

"And what, Coach and Rochelle didn't think what Scott had done was a huge deal?" She asked heatedly. Ellis smiled at her a little sadly as she was crossing her arms and scowling at the bed between them.

"They didn' really think o' Dal as human." Ellis quietly replied, "To them, Dal was a jus' a monster. I don' even know how they could look at another person and see 'em like that. I couldn', that's for sure. It don' matter if they've got this stupid disease 'r not. They're still people."

Megan fell silent, feeling somewhat depressed and still a bit mad. She hoped she never met Coach and Rochelle. She'd probably have a lot to say to them. The fact that they had put the life of an actual psychopath over the likes of Nick and Dal – even if the former was a prick – was disgusting to her. It was inexcusable.

She wondered if Nick had dealt with a lot of that. If he was relatively used to people looking at him and what he did to keep himself alive and saw nothing but a dangerous criminal. What Nick had done was completely understandable in her eyes. He had been protecting Dal. Perhaps his modus operandi had been way over the top, but if she considered Scott's long history with Nick, what kind of person he obviously was, and how many victim's he'd likely claimed... the electric chair wouldn't have been enough to blot out his sins. Perhaps Nick's method had been entirely justified, even as extreme as it had been.

A lot of Nick's actions were inexcusable. Some of them likely bordered on cruel and evil. Some of them probably toed the line before abusive. Sometimes, Nick was just generically awful. But Megan was sure he had never done anything without a good reason for it. Even if that reason was beyond the understanding of everyone around him. Even if that reason was based on inaccurate information. Even if it was a terrible reason.

He always had a reason for the things he did and the thing he didn't do. She was sure of it.

So, why hadn't he apologized to Dal yet? What was his reason for that?

…

The house was quiet. It was always fairly quiet, but today it seemed quieter for some reason. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe it wasn't really that quiet. Maybe he was just projecting the quietness in his head onto the rest of the house.

Though, the inside of his head was anything but quiet.

Dal sighed, turning his wrist back and forth, back and forth. Megan always explained to him what the exercises he did would do for his recovery. The wrist-twisting was for his rotator cuff. She had him starting small, apparently. Eventually he'd be twisting his entire arm back and forth for as long as he could hold it up. At the moment, his shoulders were still pretty weak, though, so she also had him doing shoulder rolls.

Megan had been steadily increasing his regimen. He was doing six different exercises – wrist-twists, shoulder rolls, ankle flexes, finger tapping ( still ), and what he had fondly christened "tongue exercises." He would do each of them for ten minutes, and then return to the start of the list and do them again for another ten minutes each. He had only gotten to three rounds so far. By the fourth round, he'd start feeling pain all over, so he just stopped at three. Megan had told him to let her know when he was able to do five rounds at ten minutes each. She'd been pretty impressed when he'd told her that he'd been able to do two full rounds from the start.

She'd told him it could be several months before he was really seeing improvement, but he was beginning to think that maybe she had exaggerated so he wouldn't be disappointed. At the rate he was going, he felt that perhaps he'd be talking within a few weeks, maybe a couple of months. That was an excellent motivator, if he had to say so himself.

He shifted where he sat, in the farthest corner from the door to his bedroom, and was about to move onto his shoulder rolls when he heard a knock on his door frame. He looked up from his lap, finding Ellis standing there. The guy smiled at him, and Dal returned the gesture. According to Megan, the atrophied muscle in his face had recovered significantly since he'd started eating again, so his smiles looked like real smiles. He hadn't realized that they hadn't in the first place, but whatever.

Though that did explain those strange looks he'd received from Nick for those several hours after they'd first met, but before they'd found the rest of the party.

The mental mention of Nick made his heart stutter, and he immediately refocused his attention on Ellis, who was in the process of crossing his room. He watched carefully as Ellis slid the speech board off his nightstand and graciously received it from him. The guy sat down next to him ( Nick would've sat on the bed ), and turned until he could more easily look Dal in the eye.

"How're ya' doin', Dal?" He asked, and Dal was immediately suspicious. He had a feeling Ellis had an ulterior motive. Nick would've just come right out and said it, without wasting time on asking questions about Dal's well-being – unless Dal's well-being was relevant to the conversation, of course.

" I'm fine. " He replied on the board. Ellis looked like he believed him about as much as Dal believed himself. For a moment, Dal thought that maybe Ellis wasn't going to comment on the teen's honest state of being. That perhaps the guy was just going to glaze over it like he had the last time they'd talked and discuss something unimportant.

Not that Dal could think of anything unimportant for them to talk about. At least, nothing that couldn't have waited until dinner.

"Man, I'm so bad at this. Aw, hell, I guess I'll jus' come right out n' say it." Ellis returned, chuckling awkwardly, "I'm a lil' worried, 'cause ya' haven't really dealt with th' stuff from yer mom and Nick yet."

Dal's thoughts came to a screeching halt, rather like a car that was braking before it drove off a cliff. The problem was that his brakes didn't actually stop him from heading over the cliff. Instead, the pitched over the edge and plummeted into the quarry. All at once, everything he had been cleverly not thinking about rushed to the forefront of his mind, alongside a very loud, panicked repetition of " no! "

His mom, who had died because he hadn't been strong enough ( hadn't tried hard enough ). Nick, who he had only ever caused trouble ( only ever caused anyone trouble ). His mom, who he had never been there for ( he had never stopped to think that maybe his pining had made her life harder ). Nick, who had done so much for him ( he hadn't done anything in return ).

" I'm fine, " He hastily typed, swallowing around the nausea that was starting to build up in his stomach. " Really. There's nothing for you to worry about ."

Ellis looked at him incredulously, "Dal, how can ya' look me in the eye and tell me that. Your mom was killed right in front o' ya'. Nick coulda stabbed ya' n' it'd have hurt less. You told me that much yourself."

Nick, who didn't want him around anymore ( that's not his fault, it's not like he's the only one who's ever wanted me gone there must be something wrong with me there just has to be eventually everyone will want me to go away that's just how it always is because something is wrong with me ). His mother, who he had buried out of respect despite how he wasn't really sorry that she was dead ( how could I not care that she's gone she's my mom what kind of defective product am I it's no wonder she wanted me gone she must've been able to see that I was just a little monster that I would never really care for her and love her like a son should she was right she must've always been right I must not have really loved her ).

He wished he could look Ellis in the eye and honestly tell him that nothing was wrong. That he was dealing with it. That he wasn't trying as hard as he could to avoid thinking about Nick and his mom because he couldn't handle it. He didn't think he'd ever be able to handle it.

( Nick could probably handle this. Pretty much anyone could, I'll bet. )

"Dal, I've lost people too," Ellis was saying, "I know 'ow much it hurts, but that's why ya' gotta talk it out wit' someone. I'm here 'cause I want ya' t' feel better, ya' get me? I did tell ya' I'd be around."

No.

Without pausing to think about it, Dal shoved the speech board off his lap and to the side farther from Ellis. He wrapped his arms around his waist, hunching over his crossed legs. His hair fell into his face, obscuring Ellis from his vision. His eyes were filling with tears at surprising speeds. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to forget. He wanted it to go away and never bother him again. He had been doing just fine until Ellis came in, helpfulness blazing.

"Dal," Ellis said softly, his voice sounding rather sad, "Ya' can't just pretend it didn' happen and think it'll-..."

Dal didn't hear the rest of it, because he clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head rapidly. He swallowed hard, feeling like he was getting close to becoming sick. Ellis was still talking to him, but he didn't care. He didn't want to hear it. He refused to hear it. He didn't care if Ellis was just trying to be helpful and compassionate and all that nonsense.

( Nick wouldn't make me talk about it. Nick wouldn't force the issue. Nick would leave me alone. He'd let me have my lie. He'd know that I'd come to him when I wanted to talk, if I ever got to that point. He'd just be present for my meltdown. )

I miss him .

He felt Ellis' hand touch his shoulder and he jerked away violently. He didn't want Ellis' comfort. He didn't want his sympathy. He didn't want his help or his compassion or his naive optimism or his annoying voice or his irritating need to make Dal "feel better." He didn't want this stupid hick with his righteous " let me help " bullshit. He didn't need help. He didn't want help.

He wanted that self-centered jerk with his temper and his pessimism and his irritating need to fight with everyone about everything when he was in a foul mood. He wanted Nick, with his immorality and his capacity to understand that sometimes people just needed to be left alone.

No.

He wanted to apologize for getting sick, even though he knew logically that it was Nick who ought to be apologizing. He knew that he couldn't have helped getting sick. He knew that Nick was in the wrong for turning into a right bastard for something that Dal couldn't have helped. He knew that Nick had no right hating him for that. He knew all of that, but it didn't matter.

No, stop.

It didn't matter because he was sorry that he got sick. He was sorry that he had made Nick worry so much. He knew that the man didn't handle being made to worry very well. He knew that Nick got irrationally, unreasonably stressed out when he was worried. He knew that Nick worried more than he ought to about Dal, even though he shouldn't. Even though Dal wasn't really worth worrying about.

Don't think about this .

His mother had been right all along. He wasn't worth the trouble. He wasn't worth anything. He didn't deserve what Nick had given him. He didn't know why he had thought Nick would just stick around with the likes of him forever. He didn't know why he thought Nick had really, truly meant it when he said that Dal could stay permanently. Nick hadn't known that he was such a messed up mistake of a human being at the time.

Dal should never have let him make that mistake.

Please stop thinking about it. You're only making it worse.

…

Ellis had disclosed his incredible failure to Megan long before dinner came and went. She had reassured him that she had figured it might be fairly difficult to get Dal to open up. After all, he seemed to have developed a pretty good system of not thinking about it. That hadn't really made Ellis feel much better, though, since he felt like he'd upset the kid for basically no reason.

He hadn't realized how strongly Dal had been censoring his thoughts. He certainly hadn't expected the kid to shut down the way he had and outright refuse to talk to him. He had no idea what was supposed to happen now. Megan had told him she'd give it some thought, but he didn't really know how long that was supposed to take. Maybe Dal would still be upset with him when she decided to try going in for the kill again.

He hoped the kid wasn't going to hold a grudge. He'd hate himself forever if he convinced Dal to hate him within forty-eight hours of befriending him.

Ellis sighed at the ceiling. Megan had gone upstairs to bring Nick his dinner, since he hadn't come down to eat with the rest of them. She was entertaining the idea that he was refusing to eat with them because the awkwardness would be too much for him. She obviously didn't know how awkward things had gotten between Nick and Coach post-arguments.

He looked over at the stairwell from his where he lay on the couch when he heard footsteps, and sure enough, Megan came down the stairs a second later. He noted curiously that she still held Nick's plate in one hand, and that she looked to be very deep in thought. She walked into the kitchen, and he heard the sounds of her opening and closing the microwave. Nick was sleeping then? Or had he just outright refused dinner? He might've been nauseous. Pain always used to make Dave nauseous.

Megan returned to the living room, sitting down in the armchair and looking over at Ellis. There was a pause that filled the room like the suspense before the big jump-scare in a movie, and after a moment of assessing the silence, Ellis began to feel that it was a heavy quiet that had filled the air.

"Ellis, what was Nick like? Before I met you guys?" Megan finally asked. Ellis stared at her. Nick, prior to meeting Megan? Why would she want to know that? It wasn't like Ellis had known Nick for a particularly long time. The guy had always been a self-centered jerk, from day one. He'd told Rochelle, Coach, and Ellis that he'd ditch first chance he got. He'd flirted shamelessly with Rochelle, his temper had been easily triggered by Ellis, he'd gotten off the wrong foot with Coach almost immediately, and he'd always told them that if one of them dropped, he would not be slowing down to help them.

So, before Ellis answered her question, he wanted to know, "Why d'ya' wanna know, Meg?"

The woman shrugged, "I dunno, I thought maybe you knew a different side to him or something. I didn't... I mean, he's sleeping right now. I've never seen him sleep before." She started to ramble, gesturing about frenetically, "He looked so relaxed and... younger . So much younger. I didn't realized he was that stressed out all the time. Is he always that stressed? I... I didn't realize..."

Megan trailed off into silence, her hands falling limply into her lap. She stared at the floor for a few minutes before looking up at him. Ellis let silence lapse between them for a few minutes as he thought about her question. To be be perfectly honest with her...

"Honestly," Ellis finally said, frowning apologetically. "He's pretty much always been th' same. When we all first met, he was a huge jerk. A lot more'n 'e is now. Then 'e met Dal and... well, he didn't get any nicer, but 'is focus changed. He stopped bein' such a jerk t' me and turned all 'is attention to Coach and Ro instead." He paused, thoughtful.

Actually, there had been a very brief point when Nick had seemed more relaxed than Ellis had ever seen him. Not as relaxed as he probably looked when he slept, but significantly more calm that usual. Ellis hadn't thought of it until just this moment, but after Nick had killed Scott, and after Coach and Rochelle had left, Nick had been... really, really calm. He'd been even-tempered for the first time in a while.

"After Ro and Coach split," Ellis slowly continued. "Nick was... actually, 'e was a lot different than he had been. He'd seemed sorta out of it, but 'e'd been pretty calm. I figured it was 'cause the source of 'is anger was finally gone 'r somethin'."

Megan was watching him, looking moderately upset. Not like she was about to cry or anything, but she looked very unhappy to hear that news. She didn't know a lot about Nick, and it seemed that the more she heard about what kind of enigma he was, the more she wanted to know about him.

A lot about Nick didn't make much sense to Ellis. He didn't understand why Nick was the way he was, he didn't understand why Nick did the things he did. On occasion, he could understand a specific action – such as Nick killing Scott – but he couldn't understand Nick. And he supposed Megan was in much the same boat. The largest difference being that Megan seemed rather determined to really understand the conman.

She'd been digging and digging and digging in an effort to uncover the Truth Behind Nick, but from where Ellis sat, it seemed like the hole wasn't getting any deeper.

"I think I was wrong," Megan suddenly said, drawing Ellis' attention once again. He looked at her curiously, waiting for the punchline. When she looked up and saw that his eyes were on her, she continued, "I think... I actually am mad at Nick for killing Jacob."

If Ellis had been Nick, he would've laughed and then said in the most sarcastic possible voice, " No, really ?"

Instead, he bobbed his head at her in agreement, "I figured that out when you two were fightin' over dinner." He replied calmly. She looked downcast to hear it. Megan had probably thought she knew herself extremely well until now. "Naw, Meg, don' be like that. How could you 'ave known? S'not like you've ever been in this kinda situation before. You got every right t' not have a clue what's goin' on with yourself."

Slowly, she nodded, but didn't say anything at first. Ellis was beginning to wonder if she even believed what he was saying to her when she finally said, "I'm such a control freak, I thought I had really mastered myself over the years. Apparently not."

"S'not such a bad thing," Ellis said quietly. "If ya' have that good control over yourself, ya' must bottle up a lot. Weren't we just talkin' t'day about how bad that is for people?"

He smiled at her and she managed to return the look, though her smile was almost painful to look at. She diverted her attention to the floor, evidently lost in thought. Dal came out of the kitchen, his eyes landing on the two of them. Ellis waved, which earned him a curt nod before the kid disappeared upstairs. He was definitely still on Dal's naughty list.

"Do you think he regrets it?" Megan asked, looking up again, "Killing Jacob, I mean."

Ellis stared at her for a long moment, wondering why she wanted to know. Would it help her forgive him? He couldn't imagine why. He wouldn't lie to her to make her feel better about Nick's character, either. Ellis had never been good at lying, anyway. He'd been raised to be honest and considerate. If he lied, he knew his mom would be turning over in her grave.

"No," he finally answered. "Nick'd never regret doin' anythin' he had to do."

Megan nodded mutely. "Okay." She mumbled softly. There was a beat before she slowly stood up, "I'll... I'll try to talk to him tomorrow. I've been meaning to but... I don't know, I guess I've been a big chicken in disguise this whole time."

Ellis smiled at her half-hearted quip as she continued, "Do you have any advice for talking to him?"

"If 'e doesn't wanna talk," Ellis advised, "'e won't. He might try t' start a fight t' make ya' go away. If 'e does that, go away . Don' let him bait ya' into a fight, 'cause that'll get ya' nowhere fast."

Megan smiled at him in appreciation, "Thanks, Ellis. I'll see you tomorrow."

He nodded with a grin, watching her ascend the stairs. He hoped she'd be able to get her talk with Nick. He hoped that she'd keep it strictly about Jacob and not try to force Nick to have a change of heart regarding Dal. He hoped she wouldn't try to "fix" him. He knew that Nick wouldn't handle any of those scenarios well. If she tried anything like that, there would be a huge fight that Nick would probably never get over.

He hoped she wouldn't try it, but he couldn't say for sure that she wouldn't. Megan had admitted she was a control freak. She might very well try to fix Nick, but she wouldn't succeed. She would make him hate her. She would put Nick in another bad mood that would last days (or weeks). He would try to chase her out of his life permanently. Megan couldn't convince Nick to become a better person. No one could convince Nick to become a better person.

Or rather, as his mom always used to say: "Nobody can make anybody do anything."

Chapter Text

He knew something was wrong before he even opened his eyes.

First and foremost, Nick's side hurt more than it had when he'd passed out. He'd been in agony then, and now that he had finally woken up, it seemed to only be worse. Aside from that, his head was killing him. He figured that perhaps he had been sleeping on his bad side for a few hours here and there, and it had just been seriously irritated by all the moving around, thus causing the headache. It seemed like a fairly roundabout explanation though, and he wasn't betting on it at all.

He was still exhausted. He could hear birds chirping outside - had he slept all the way to the next day?

Well, blood loss will do that to a person, Nick. He reminded himself, rolling carefully onto his back. The pain in his side flared up much more than it should have with that sparse amount of movement. He was beginning to feel a fair amount of dread regarding his current physical state of being. He shifted slightly in discomfort, scowling up at his ceiling. It seemed like the pain was worse now that he was lying on his back.

Wincing with every motion, Nick propped himself up on his elbow and kicked the covers back. Immediately, the cool air from the rest of the room hit him like an arctic breeze and brought on an onslaught of shivering, which didn't help the pain in either his side or his head. He gritted his teeth and did his best to control his trembling for the five seconds it would take him to check the status of his injury, and tugged his shirt up.

He did not like what he saw. It wasn't as bad as it probably could have been, considering the unsanitary conditions of the bullet removal and stitching. But that did not for a moment mean that the wound itself was in perfect (or even good, really) shape. The skin surrounding the wound was stained a dark, ugly red, and it was swollen enough that the stitches had started to dig into his flesh. They would have to come out. He wouldn't actually be surprised if he took out the stitches and a load of pus came spilling out of the wound.

He sat up further, flinching yet again as the pain flared up worse. With even the slightest bit of movement, an eruption of stabbing, searing pain shot through his side. He swung his legs out of bed, pushing down his body's physical response to pain, and stood up. Immediately, vertigo washed over him, and he had to sit back down and wait for it to pass. His head pounded even harder than it had been, steadily working towards becoming an incapacitating migraine.

When he was finally able to stand up again, he noted with mild alarm that he was feeling worse and worse with every passing moment. He was sure if he had remained in bed, he wouldn't be feeling quite so terrible. The fact that he was feeling progressively more awful indicated that his condition was worse than he had originally thought.

Nick wobbled his way down the hall, his face screwed up in pain. Walking was excruciating. He would have to try to avoid doing that in the coming days. The hall was quiet, and he didn't hear any sounds coming from downstairs. Everyone was still retired to their separate bedrooms, it seemed.

He grabbed the scissors and rubbing alcohol out of the cabinet once he had made it to the bathroom. He felt a bit dizzy and fairly sick. He was probably a running a relatively high fever. He settled himself on the floor, leaning against the wall across from the door to the bathroom and took a moment to breathe and wait for the flares of pain in his side to die down.

Nick looked down at his hands, noting for the first time that they were trembling. He was going to have a hard time getting the stitches out without hurting himself with that amount of shaking. Perhaps he should call on someone to get them out for him. It'd certainly be easier than getting them out himself.

No, his brain immediately supplied. You can get them out. Just take your time.

He grabbed the scissors off the side of the tub where he'd left them and lifted up his shirt again. The wound was still sort of a nerve-wracking sight. He knew that if it got badly infected, he'd be dead. He'd need IV antibiotics and a hospital and a whole bunch of things that they just didn't have access to anymore. He needed to take care of this quickly and he needed to be thorough.

He clenched his teeth as the tip of the scissors touched his skin, and he carefully started sliding one of the blades underneath one of the stitches. His left hand was clenched tightly as it held up his shirt. Just touching the wound was excruciating. He hadn't realized how tender it was until this moment. If it was that sensitive, it had to be a lot worse than he had originally suspected. He cursed his failing luck and slowly closed the scissors on the stitch. It pulled and wouldn't cut the first time, so he had to reopen the scissors and try again.

His eyes were watering. This was a lot worse than he had thought it would be.

"Fuck," he hissed, shutting the scissors again. It still wouldn't cut. It had to be the angle he was holding them at, or they were just too dull. He couldn't just rip the stitches out and he didn't happen to have a knife on hand. He pulled the scissors back, flinching at the pain and jerking the cutting implement against the wound as a result. He let out a slew of quiet, muttered curses and yanked his hand back before he could do anymore damage to himself. The scissors rested on his thigh, his fingers curled around them, and he leaned his head back against the wall.

This was the worst.

He closed his eyes, inhaling shakily and waiting for the searing pain he'd caused to stop. He was going to need help with this, and it infuriated him.

No, you can do it yourself. Try again.

He let out a thin sound of discontentment and opened his eyes again, He slid the blade of the scissors back under the top stitch again and closed the blades around it. Once again, the suture twisted along the blade of the scissors and yanked on the wound, this time much harder. Nick clenched his teeth so hard he thought for a moment that they'd break, and slowly turned the scissors and squeezing harder on the stitch. It just wouldn't cut. It had to be the angle he was trying to cut them at. It had to be.

He pulled the scissors back again, this time more roughly in his frustration. It only succeeded in yanking harder on the wound and he let out a thin sound of distress and dropped his hand to his thigh again. He let go of his shirt and leaned back again. The pain was making him feel more and more nauseous and his head was pounding so hard, it was close to blinding him.

He heard a soft sound, like rustling fabric and footsteps, and he opened his eyes. His stomach twisted as he took in the sight before him - Dal, dressed for bed, eyes wide in shock. Nick stared at him for a long time, watching as those bright green eyes (they aren't as bright as they use to be) took in the scene in the bathroom. The scissors, the rubbing alcohol, the fact that Nick was sitting on the floor beside the bathtub.

"What did you do!?" It was like Megan's voice was echoing around in his head, even louder than it had been at the time of their last fight. He was amazed that she had been at all willing to help him remove that bullet after what he'd said to her. She had figured out that he had done something to chase Dal away, but she didn't know what. He remembered how awful he'd felt, how terrible she'd made him feel.

He had almost forgotten about the whole incident. He'd only really looked at Dal for a short moment when he'd last been bleeding out in the bathroom. He hadn't stopped to think about how he was going to talk to him again, if he was going to talk to him again. He hadn't paused to imagine that Dal might or might not want anything further to do with him. He hadn't thought of what to say, what to do, how to handle anything.

"You can't just walk all over someone like that!"

The silence that stretched between them was growing to be awkward. Dal looked like he wanted to say or do something. He looked nervous, almost scared. He looked like he hadn't slept well. Nick didn't know what to do. He hadn't expected to be confronted like this. He hadn't expected the kid to just show up like a specter and make a face like that.

"Hey," he finally greeted, his stomach twisting further. "Are your hands steady?"

His head was killing him. He watched as Dal slowly nodded. Nick lifted a hand and beckoned him over, and the kid nervously walked into the bathroom, fidgeting with his hands. Nick didn't think he'd ever seen the kid express as much emotion as he was at that moment. Megan's exercises must've been helping a lot more than Nick had realized.

"I need your help," Nick said when the kid had crouched down beside his legs. "I need to take out these fucking stitches, but I can't get the scissors to cut through them."

Dal nodded mutely, didn't offer any quizzical looks or anything. He looked dead serious, and the nervousness in his expression had faded. He seemed to understand that the situation was relatively urgent. That was a relief and a half. He handed over the scissors and lifted his shirt up again, watching as Dal took the scissors and moved to sit on his knees.

Nick watched, stiff with tension, and Dal carefully slid the scissors under the first stitch. From his angle, he was able to easily snip through the thread. He gingerly grabbed the end of the thread that had the knot on it and pulled it out. The sensation of the thread sliding out of his flesh was odd and painful at the same time. He clenched his teeth hard, not wanting to give Dal the impression that he was injuring the conman, lest he decide to stop out of nerves.

Dal didn't even look up at his face, though. Instead, he moved immediately on to the next suture and did the same thing. It only took him about a minute to get all the threads out, and when he was done, he stood up and got a wash cloth and a small vial of something out of the cabinet. Nick watched him, exhausted from the pain in his head and side, as he poured some orange-yellow liquid on to the washcloth.

Oh, right, we have iodine. He blearily thought around his fatigue and the awful pounding in his head. Dal was pouring iodine onto the wound on his side, and he flinched at the coldness of the liquid. It made the pain flare up worse, and he couldn't help the thin sound of pain he made. Dal still didn't look up at him, following through with his task and pressing the iodine-soaked washcloth to the wound. He pressed down a little harder and Nick groaned, allowing his head to lean back against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut.

Nick was sure he passed out at some point. When he opened his eyes again, it was because Dal was shaking his shoulder gently. The light in the bathroom was bordering on blinding and he didn't want to open his eyes, but he managed to lower his head and force his eyelids open anyway. He could feel the kid snaking an arm around his back and encouraging him to start the slow process of standing up and he really didn't want to, but he allowed himself to be guided, occasionally grunting in pain. His side hurt a lot less, but his head felt like it would split open. He just couldn't win.

He didn't entirely remember the trip from the bathroom to his bedroom, but when he opened his eyes yet again, he was laying down and the throbbing in his skull was already starting to subside as a result. Dal was shaking his shoulder again, and Nick looked over at him, much more out of it than he felt he ought to be. He was definitely getting worse.

The kid was holding up a thick, pink pill, and he had no idea what it was at first. Probably penicillin, he eventually decided, and he took the pill from the kid and stuck it in his mouth. He accepted the glass of water that came next and swallowed down the medication. He then laid back in bed, sighing heavily. His eyes hurt less, which allowed him to open them the rest of the way.

Dal was staring at him, a strange look in his eyes. Nick didn't know what to think of it, but he wasn't sure he could think of much of anything at that point. The kid smiled awkwardly at him and turned away, and with a suddenness that sickened Nick and a surge of awful emotions, he wanted to apologize for chasing the kid away.

"Wait."

Nick's hand shot out and his fingers curled around Dal's wrist, desperation swallowing him whole. He didn't know what to say. And now that he had done something, he needed to say something. He couldn't let the silence hang. He had to apologize. He wanted apologize. He was sorry for hurting the kid, he hadn't meant to chase him away like that. He hadn't thought he had meant that much to Dal. Nick didn't meant that much to anyone.

The kid had frozen, and after a moment he slowly turned back around to face Nick. The conman didn't let go of his hand. His words were so backed up in his throat, he didn't think he would be able to say anything at all. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. How was he supposed to do this?

Where was Megan when he needed her?

"Dal..." He began, his throat tight and his heart hammering. It felt wrong somehow. He didn't know why. He wanted to apologize, but he felt like... he felt like...

No. You can't.

"If you won't apologize, you stay away from him!"

It was like everything was spiraling away from him. He didn't understand why it felt like he was losing so much. It was just Dal. Just another human being. It wasn't like he'd never lost anyone to his stupid personality defects before. It wasn't like he'd never turned anyone away. It wasn't like he'd never been turned away.

But for some reason, it felt like his whole world was slipping through his fingers.

"Just..." He trailed off into silence, and he felt sick. He had screwed up something that he had promised himself he wouldn't screw up. And now that he'd ruined it, he couldn't possibly even think to repair the damage. He didn't want to ruin it again. He didn't want to hurt Dal again. He hated himself for hurting the kid in the first place. He had promised he would protect him. He had made that promise, and what had come of it?

Dal would better off if Nick just stayed away.

Slowly, he released Dal's wrist. The kid was staring at him, he knew, but he couldn't look him in the eye. He couldn't gaze into those bright green eyes and tell the lie. A shock of cold, awful realization spread through him, and it shined a light on the incredible worthlessness of his existence. It showed the depth of his selfishness for the first time. It showed him something he didn't want to see, and he couldn't close his mind to it.

"Never mind," he finally spoke, voice quiet. "It's nothing. Just... let Megan know that I'm sick."

For the first time in his life, Nick was putting someone else first.

...

It wasn't fair.

I miss him.

It wasn't fair that Nick could make Dal feel better and worse in the same breath . It wasn't fair that Nick could do something as simple as grab his wrist to stop him from leaving right away and leave Dal with a stuttering heart and gasping lungs. He felt physically ill (not as ill as Nick). He had already been struck by thoughts he hadn't wanted to hear from when he'd walked in on the conman in the bathroom. Nick hadn't helped by acting meek and not finishing his sentences.

The bastard.

Part of his brain was happy that he had gotten a chance to interact with Nick again. The rest of him was having a nervous breakdown. There was the section that was flipping out because he'd drudged up every single awful thought he'd been repressing and it was filling him with more misery with every passing second (I'm sorry I didn't mean to get sick). Then there was a piece that was melting down like a nuclear reactor over the Nick's wellbeing (its not really fair that you're allowed to get sick and I don't get to be mad at you for it). The guy was sick. His wound was infected. Dal still didn't know who had shot the conman (I'll rip them to bits). It was nerve-wracking to not know.

Nick was so good to me for such a long time.

He tried not to think about all the ways that he was an awful human being ( I still don't know what makes you think you have any right to even think about getting Nick to forgive you you're nothing but a selfish piece of …). He tried not to think about the fact that Nick's anger towards him was justified (I'm sorry). He tried not to think that maybe Nick was over it, that maybe he would come back and he and Dal could pick up where they had left off. He tried not to think of every bad thing he'd ever done to upset Nick. He tried not to think of the things he had done that hadn't been bad but had still upset Nick (I'm sorry).

There were so many things he was trying not to think about, it would've left his head emptier a barren wasteland if he could've succeeded. He couldn't contain the thoughts that were racing through his head. He couldn't still his mind and forget about everything like he had been doing before. Ellis had cracked the dam, but Nick had broken it into a thousand pieces and he'd done it so easily, it was infuriating. Nick had taken down the massive, powerful, football-field thick dam that Dal had been using to hold back the things he didn't want to think about, and he hadn't even been trying.

All he'd had to do was change his mind about saying something. All he had to do was touch Dal, to grab his wrist and hold him back from leaving. All he'd had to do was ask for Dal's help. And the dam was down now, and there was no hope of building it back up. His head was full of a storm of thoughts and he was trapped helplessly in the eye of the hurricane. The only thing he could do at this point was hold the emotions back.

If he could control those, he'd be fine. He was sure of it. Sort of.

He heard the sound of movement from upstairs, shortly followed by a door opening. Judging by the soft creak it made, it was Ellis. Dal wasn't sure if he was still mad at Ellis. He knew he didn't want to converse with the hick very much, and he knew he didn't want to make himself vulnerable for the guy again.

He looked up as Ellis came meandering down the stairs, looking around and spotting Dal posted on the couch. He waved with a small smile, and Dal waved back. He then reached over to his speech board, figuring he might as well tell Ellis about Nick's current condition.

"Nick is sick," he typed. "His wound is infected and I think he has a fever. He's sleeping right now."

Ellis had halted at the bottom of the steps, and Dal looked over in time to see his blue eyes widening. The hick stepped over to the sitting area and sat in the armchair that Megan usually occupied (mom used to sit there all the time). He looked very thoughtful for a moment, and Dal awaited his reply.

The guy didn't seem like the thoughtful type. When Dal had first met Ellis, the guy had been jolly and overexcited and he'd been surprised when he'd seen that Dal was wearing his hat. Then, with a few gestures, Ellis had been the one to decode his message - Nick is waiting for you at the last safe room. Dal had thought he'd seemed sort of stupid, but as time wore on, he'd learned that Ellis was naive like most people who grew up with little adversity. But that didn't mean he was stupid or thoughtless.

It meant that his better qualities hadn't been dulled or obscured by tragedy in his life. It meant that he was compassionate and considerate. It meant that he was honest and trustworthy.

It meant that he was overly helpful and sort of annoying at times.

"Man," Ellis said slowly, "Should I wake up Meg, d'ya' think?"

Dal thought for a moment before replying, "I don't think so. I'll tell her when she comes downstairs."

The brunette nodded, reaching up and tousling his hair, "Sounds like a plan. I'm gonna go make some breakfast. D'ya' want some eggs?"

There was a pause as Dal considered that. He wasn't really hungry. His encounter with Nick had left him feeling rather sick and the feeling hadn't subsided (stupid Nick). So, he shook his head. Ellis nodded, looking only slightly disappointed, and headed into the kitchen. Once again, Dal was left alone with the speech board and his thoughts.

He concentrated hard on the sound of Ellis banging around in the kitchen. He wasn't really banging around - it was obvious he was trying to be quiet, but Ellis was the kind of person who couldn't truly be quiet. He just had a loud vibe. It wasn't really something he could help.

The sound of sizzling eggs had just started to make itself known when he heard another door open. Only a moment later, Megan came down the stairs, looking less awake than Ellis had. She didn't even notice Dal at first, walking into the kitchen. Dal heard the familiar sounds of coffee being made alongside the sound of Ellis' cooking, and he waited. She would come back out into the living room soon enough.

Sure enough, Megan came back out of the kitchen and spotted him. She smiled tiredly and sat down (that's mom's chair), yawning widely. Dal briefly considered waiting until she'd started drinking her coffee before divulging Nick's condition to her. In the end, he decided it'd be best to just tell her as soon as possible.

"Nick's sick," he typed on the speech board. Megan blinked at looked over at him, brows furrowing in confusion.

"What? How? Why?"

"His wound got infected. I helped him get the stitches out. He has a fever. I gave him penicillin and washed out the wound with iodine." Dal returned on the board. Megan looked worried immediately.

"How infected was it? Was there pus?"

"Yea, but not a whole ton," was his answer. "It was mostly just red and swollen."

She nodded, silent for a moment. "We'll have to keep a really close eye on that. It could kill him if it gets really bad."

Dal nodded, deciding that he didn't really have to say anything else on the subject.

"Meg, coffee's done!" Ellis called from the kitchen. Megan looked over at Dal, smiling slightly before getting up and heading into the kitchen again. Dal didn't stick around. He headed back upstairs, taking his board with him, and went into his room. The door remained open at all times, because he couldn't stand being alone behind a closed door. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it even if there was someone in the room with him.

Being behind closed doors by himself reminded him too much of home. It reminded him of his mom (you're a wretched beast for not caring), and how she would drag him upstairs, lock him in his room, and leave him there for days on end. As he got older, the time he would spend locked in his room went from a few hours to several days at a time (she must've had a reason for escalating it like that). He had started squirreling food away in his room (disgusting), because whenever she would come in and he'd still be alive, she'd look disgusted and slightly enraged. He'd gotten the feeling she'd been trying to kill him.

She definitely wanted you to die in there. You have every right to be happy she's dead.

I'm not happy she's dead.

You're a terrible liar.

Dal lifted up his mattress, reaching into the hole he'd made in the boxspring of his bed and pulling out a granola bar. He felt nothing but shame for hiding food in his room like this. He just couldn't help it. He needed to have that security. He knew Nick and Megan and Ellis would never lock him in his room, and he knew that his mom was... was...

Nope.

But he needed to have that feeling of security. He ate in silence, one hand doing exercises while the other held the granola bar. It stirred in his stomach, and he almost felt like he'd be sick, but it passed within a few minutes. Dal leaned his head against the wall, switching hands with his exercises and sighing.

He sat in that corner of his room for what seemed like a very long time, drifting around in his own head. Whenever he caught himself drifting towards places he didn't want to be, he'd pinch himself and concentrate as hard as he could on the sensation of pain. He'd try to describe it in his own head - sharp, throbbing, acute - and that seemed to help some. It certainly distracted him from those other thoughts.

"You're nothing but a mistake."

All he had to do was concentrate on other things. All he had to do was think about something else. Find something else to think about. Name every object in the room.

Lamp, desk chair, computer, clothes, pillow, blankets, pillow-top mattress, boxspring, frame, photographs, mirror, computer mouse, keyboard, monitor, closet, book shelf...

He knew it probably wasn't healthy to be so deep in emotional denial, but he didn't care. He didn't want to feel it. He didn't want to experience it. He just wanted it all to go away and leave him alone. He didn't want to remember that his mom was dead. He wanted to be able to close his eyes without seeing her bloody, battered corpse. He didn't want to think about Nick hating him anymore. He wanted to be able to still his mind without having to fend off bitter memories that he couldn't look at with fondness anymore.

Be still, be still, be still, be still...

"Hey, Dal?"

...

He didn't know what to think.

Megan had told him before he'd left the house that she was going to talk to Dal by herself. He'd been accepting of the idea at the time, but now that he was thinking about it, he was wondering if he had made a mistake. It wasn't that he didn't trust Megan. That wasn't it at all. It was simply that he was worried that Megan wouldn't know when to back out and leave Dal alone. The kid had shut down extremely fast when Ellis had spoken to him, and he didn't know if Megan would be willing to leave the room if Dal did that again. He didn't know if the redhead would give up and leave, or if she'd try to make Dal cope with his problems the way she wanted him to.

Ellis was beginning to think that it would be best if they just left Dal alone. Eventually, the kid would have a breakdown, but that was what the rest of them were there for. To help one another. If Dal went to pieces, he would still have Ellis and Megan to be there for him. Maybe Nick would even come around in such a time of need.

The brunette didn't know what had gone on between Dal and Nick. All he knew was that Dal had assisted Nick in his wound care and gotten him back to bed. He didn't know if Nick had said anything to Dal, he didn't know if Nick had given any clues as to how he was feeling towards Dal, he didn't know if Nick had been grumpy the whole time... he just didn't know how that whole scenario had played out. Dal hadn't told any of the juicy details to him or Megan.

The kid hadn't seemed very upset when Ellis had seen him earlier. He'd looked tired and pretty out of it, but that was it. The hick was guessing that Dal hadn't been getting much sleep lately. It made perfect sense to Ellis. After all, Dal's mother had been murdered right in front of him. Ellis wouldn't have been able to sleep after that either. Especially considering that it wasn't just a broken neck that had done her in - she'd likely been butchered alive.

He dodged around a car that had been sitting in the middle of the road and pulled over in front of the pharmacy. He wanted to get more iodine and penicillin for Nick while he was out. They could probably stand to have some stronger painkillers in the house, too. Glass crunched under his boots as he walked into the building, scattered all over the floor from whenever the windows of the storefront had been shattered.

He clambered over the counter to the pharmacy, searching through the alphabetized drugs for the items he needed. The penicillin was easy to find once he recalled that it was probably labeled as amoxicillin. Finding painkillers was significantly more difficult. He wasn't well-versed in strong painkillers. He couldn't quite recall the name of the ones they used to give Keith whenever he broke a bone (which seemed to happen at least twice a year). He knew it started with a "v." Vi... Viva... Vicious... Visine... Vito... He couldn't remember.

He headed over to the appropriate part of the shelving units, searching through the medications that started with "v." Eventually he was sure he'd recognize one of the labels. And, sure enough, within a few minutes he spotted a bottle labeled "Vicodin." It was the same medication he'd been given when he'd had his wisdom teeth taken out. He grabbed two bottles of the stuff and shoved them into his pockets with the amoxicillin and made his way back out of the pharmacy. It didn't take him very long to find the iodine - which he grabbed a dozen bottles of - and soon enough he was back in the car.

He sincerely hoped he wasn't going to return home after he was done at Walmart and find that Dal had murdered Megan or something. He just didn't think she would be willing to stop at Dal's boundary line. He didn't think she'd know when to quit. It usually took a bit of doing to get Megan to drop a topic, unless it was something she didn't want to talk about. Knowing her, she'd keep at it unless some outside force came in and made her quit. Ellis didn't know if Nick would do that while Ellis was out of the house.

He just didn't know what to think about Nick at this point. So far as Ellis knew, Nick hadn't apologized to Dal, but he had interacted with him civilly. Ellis supposed that counted as progress, but he didn't know if it actually meant anything. For all he knew, Nick had been sick enough that he hadn't been quite himself, and had thus been willing to accept anyone's help at that point. For all he knew, Nick had just been being nice so that Dal would help him.

Nick ought to know that Dal would be willing to jump off a seven story building for him, even now. It was both depressing and sort of infuriating that he didn't. Ellis was sure that Nick didn't realize just how much he meant to Dal. He was sure that Nick didn't understand the depth of Dal's emotional dependence on him. He would actually be willing to bet that Nick didn't know what emotionally dependent even meant, or what it looked like. The only reason Ellis knew about it was because Megan had told him.

Megan and he usually spent a bit of time talking in the living room after dinner. He'd learned a bit about her thanks to that, and he'd taken the knowledge to heart. She brought up the fact that she was a control freak rather frequently, and it had led Ellis to imagine that she had been told that a lot when she'd been younger.

He didn't think for a second that she was proud to be a control freak, and it was becoming steadily obvious that her controlling behavior was going to become a huge problem between her and Nick in the future. It wasn't that he had no faith in her; it was that he was sure she wouldn't think of herself as "trying to make Nick behave like an upstanding citizen." She'd probably just think she was helping him grow as person.

Right up until he punched her, of course.

And then there was Dal. Ellis had been the one to bring up talking to the kid about Nick and his mom, but now he was sorely regretting it. Megan had now taken it into her head that she was going to get Dal to talk about his feelings and cry on someone's shoulder. Only she probably couldn't. Ellis had tried, and he'd gotten absolutely nowhere. He didn't think that his method was at the level of an ex-cognitive therapist like Megan, but he doubted that mattered. Dal didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to feel anything regarding it. He was so completely ignoring the whole thing that Ellis found it positively amazing. He didn't think he could ignore something that completely when it was constantly staring him in the face.

He wished he could accurately predict whether or not he would have to step between Megan and Dal to prevent the latter from becoming violent with the former. Dal didn't have a violent streak like Nick did, but that didn't mean he couldn't hit someone when provoked far enough. He'd only seen Dal angry less than a handful of times, and of those few times, he'd only seen the kid throw a punch once - and that blow had been directed at a wall instead of Nick's face.

Dal was an immoveable object, and while Megan wasn't an unstoppable force, she was certainly stubborn enough to be close. Ellis was sure that, whatever the outcome was, it wouldn't be pretty. He knew that Dal would never hit Megan on purpose - especially because of how strong he knew he was - but he also knew that even the kid had an end to his fuse. He would just have to try and get home before things got ugly.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

24.

Nick didn't know why he had woken up.

He hadn't even been sleeping for very long. According to the clock in his room, he'd only been out for about an hour and a half. Considering how tired he was, there was no reason for him have woken up. At least, not that he was aware of.

He lay there for a while, trying to discern why he had been awakened from his slumber. But with every passing moment that he couldn't fall back asleep, it seemed like the reason for his awakening made less and less sense to him. There were no sounds emanating from other parts of the house. There wasn't a crow sitting outside his window, cawing obnoxiously. No one had come into his room. His side wasn't flaring up. The sun wasn't in his eyes.

He didn't understand why he had awakened.

Normally, when he woke up for no reason, it meant he needed to get up and make a run out the back door (or a window) of whatever hotel or motel he was staying in. Usually, it meant that he was in trouble, or that trouble was on its way and he needed to run. More often than not, he'd wake up and the air would be filled with gunfire within minutes of him opening his eyes.

But he didn't have to worry about that anymore, right? There weren't any sore-loser thugs running around anymore. There weren't any hired guns after him. There weren't any gangs that were out for his blood. He hadn't swindled the mafia lately. There just wasn't a reason for him to have been so rudely awakened, and then kept awake.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He was cold, even though he was burrowed under all his blankets and it was the tag end of summer in the south. It felt like his heart was beating faster than it ought to be, considering that he had barely moved. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, trying to get a sense of his state of wellbeing. He felt worse than he had earlier. His would venture to guess that his fever had probably gone up.

He jerked with a start that sent a flash of searing pain through his side when a loud bang sounded through the house. He placed the noise immediately as coming from Dal's room and found himself upright and moving before he really registered the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He paused momentarily, waiting for the rush of vertigo to fade, when he heard Megan's voice. She was shouting at someone. He couldn't really make out what she was saying through the wall.

She's yelling at Dal.

His fists clenched as a surprisingly high level of rage powered through him. The pain in his side and his head seemed to disappear to the back-burner of his awareness as he stalked out of his room, immediately hit by the volume of Megan's hollering.

He stepped into Dal's doorway, taking in the scene - Megan gesticulated towards the wall, towards something Nick couldn't see. Dal was standing in the far corner of his room, hands clenched into impossibly tight fists, his eyes welled up with tears, and Nick could see the anger in his gaze melting away. He could see the way the kid's lower lip was trembling, the way his whole body was shaking with barely restrained emotion, and he could see that Megan hadn't yet realized how upset Dal was. She was probably reacting to his anger, as most people did, without really pausing to notice that he was on the verge of tears.

"I nearly got killed getting that for you!!" The redhead was all but shrieking, and for a moment Nick couldn't figure out what she was talking about. He didn't know what had happened. He didn't know what idiot thing Megan had done to reach the end of Dal's fuse.

At that moment, it didn't really matter. He stalked into the room, a swirl of fury and disbelief surrounding him, and for a moment he wondered if he was going to hit her. He wondered if he was going to lose it on Megan and punch her square in the jaw, where she had it coming. He didn't always have complete control over his reactions. He didn't always know what he was going to do when he reached the person his anger was directed at.

Dal saw him coming and his tear-filled eyes widened, startled, maybe a little frightened if Nick was reading him correctly. Megan's voice had been blotted out by the whirlwind of anger. He had no idea what she was even saying anymore, if she was speaking at all. She paused in her hollering, seemingly noticing that Dal was looking over her shoulder, and turned around swiftly.

Nick came frighteningly close to socking her in the nose. Barely restraining himself, he grabbed her by the upper arm, squeezing hard because he wanted to leave bruises, and dragged her out of Dal's room.

"Let... go!" Nick ignored her, throwing her bodily out of the room with enough force that she stumbled and had to catch herself on the wall. He didn't wait for her to turn around and come at him, or swear at the top of her lungs, or whatever it was that she might've decided to do. He slammed the door as hard as he could, an exertion to vent out some of his anger.

He hadn't been this angry with anyone since Coach and Rochelle had left. Hopefully, it wouldn't stick. Megan was far too useful with her practical skills and knowledge for him to chase her off.

Nick placed a hand against the wall beside the door, bracing himself against it and trying very hard to calm himself down. After a moment of standing perfectly still, eyes closed, and letting the rage seep to the back of his mind, he straightened up. As he was turning back around to face Dal, he caught sight of something on the floor.

It took him only a second to realize that it was, indeed, the speech board, broken into a hundred pieces on the floor, from where Dal had evidently thrown it with every ounce of strength he had. There was a dent in the wall, and Nick couldn't help but stare at the destruction Dal had wrought upon his speech board. He couldn't imagine how angry the kid must've been to have done that. Dal had been wanting a way to talk to people since probably about the moment Nick had met him. For him to have been angry enough to break his only means of communication...

Well, Nick thought bitterly, I'll just have to get him another one.

He dragged his gaze off the floor and turned his attention to Dal, who had cornered himself further and sunk to the ground. As the adrenaline began to wither away, Nick became starkly aware of how sick he suddenly felt. It seemed like he was getting worse with every minute, whether he was upright or not. His heart was hammering away in his chest, and it was creating a sickening sense of dizziness. He felt weak and shaky all of a sudden, and he couldn't seem to catch his breath. He needed to sit down before he fell down.

Nick made his way over to Dal, ignoring the searing pain in his side and the ache in his joints. The kid had drawn his knees up to his chest and buried his face in his arms. He was still shaking. Nick leaned up against the wall beside Dal and slid down to join him on the floor. His head was pounding, but he ignored it. If he got comfortable and then stopped moving, it would lessen within a few minutes, he was sure.

He was quiet for a while. He wasn't entirely sure what he ought to say. He had sworn to himself that he would keep his distance from Dal, but it seemed like that was turning out to be completely impossible. The protective instincts, the emotional attachment, and the memory of the true absence of that unbearable loneliness made it too difficult. He'd let himself get too attached. He'd allowed himself to get comfortable with not being alone in the world. He'd formed habits specifically for Dal - everything from doing periodic headcounts during travel to offering physical comfort whenever he could. He'd grown into the role of Dal's could-be caretaker. He'd gotten it into his head that he and Dal would just stick together when this mess was over.

He had sort of started assuming that he was going to... adopt the kid, he supposed.

Taking that idea and putting it into words in his head for the first time was sort of like a punch in the stomach. He hadn't ever asked Dal if he had any idea what he was going to do after this mess was over. He didn't know if the kid wanted to hunt down other family, or if he wanted to stick with Nick, despite the conman's inherently flawed personality. He didn't know if Dal wanted to go with Megan, even if she was overbearing and liked to stick her nose where it absolutely did not belong. He didn't know if Dal wanted to follow Ellis, who was annoying and overly helpful at times, but still far more compassionate that Nick could ever hope to be. He didn't know if Dal wanted to go off alone, though he could figure that that option was probably not in the cards. He didn't know if the kid had even given it any thought.

“And if I decide then you're going to be trailing after me like a duckling for the rest of your life.”

And would that really be such a bad thing?

He heard the soft rustling of fabric and slowly opened his eyes, turning his head to glance at Dal. The kid was staring at him, but he quickly averted his gaze to the floor. He had to be waiting for Nick to say or do something. And Nick still didn't know what to say or do. His headache had subsided some since he'd sat down, but that didn't mean it had gone away. He was having some difficulty formulating a complete sentence in his head that could be translated by his mouth into spoken English.

He took his eyes off of Dal, not wanting to make the kid uncomfortable, and instead stared at the dent that had been left in the wall. They sat in continued silence, Nick still trying to figure out what he wanted to say first, how he wanted to word it. He was terrible at apologies, among many other things. Dal was just going to have to wait if he wanted an apology that wasn't the bastard, stuttering child of "uh, sorry."

"I wasn't mad at you," he said after another several minutes of deliberation, his voice quiet. "I was... mad at myself. I was just taking it out on you, and that was really shitty of me. I didn't... I didn't realize I was important enough to you that you'd run away if you thought I hated you. I guess I didn't realize what being important to someone even meant. "

His gaze slid off the dent in the wall and found its place upon his frigid hands. He could feel Dal's eyes on him, the kid slowly unraveling from the curled up position he'd been locked in before.

"I think it's probably about time I... made some changes, I guess." He continued, feeling more raw and exposed now than he had in probably his entire life. He didn't like it. It was uncomfortable. But he supposed he was going to have to get used to it. "So... I'm sorry. For everything."

He heard Dal make a thin sound of emotional distress and reached out to wrap an arm around the kid's shoulders. He pulled Dal over, allowing him to lean the way Nick knew he wanted to, and remained silent as the kid started to cry. It pained him to think that these sobs were stemming from something Nick had done to the kid. He had felt some of that unyielding misery. He had felt some of that agonizing loneliness. He had experienced some of that pain.

He couldn't imagine how it must have felt for Dal.

...

Probably twenty minutes had passed before he made his very slow descent down the stairs to speak with Megan, as he had promised Dal he would. The kid had decided, after crying himself hoarse, that he wanted to sleep for a while, and quite frankly, Nick didn't blame him. He knew he was going back to bed as soon as Megan was done yelling at him.

Hopefully, she wouldn't actually yell. With every agonizing step down the stairs, his side screamed in pain and his head pounded harder. He didn't want to fight with her. He wanted to figure out what exactly she had done to make Dal lose his temper like that, and he wanted to make sure she didn't do it again. He wasn't interested in yelling at anyone. He was far too tired for that.

Nick glanced into the living room when it came into sight, watching resignedly as Megan stood up from the couch glaring up at him. She waited patiently for him to reach the bottom floor before she started her tirade, which he was actually quite grateful for.

"You had no business getting involved!" She snarled, her voice way too loud. "You don't get to play good cop when-..."

"Megan," he cut in, silencing her as he sat down in the armchair she usually occupied. She'd probably positioned herself on the couch so she could see him come downstairs. "Firstly, stop yelling."

"I'm not yelling."

"Next," he continued with a sigh. "What happened?"

He looked up when she didn't respond right away. She still looked fairly angry, but she also appeared to be surprised by his question. She must've been expecting him to come downstairs and start hollering at her. He had probably completely thrown her off guard when he'd asked for her side of the story. Although he wasn't sure why it was so surprising- it wasn't like he could've found out from Dal. If he was going to find out at all, he was going to have to ask the only other person who had been there.

Megan hesitated for a few moments before agitatedly crossing her arms, "I was trying to talk to him," she fumed, her fingers curling around her arms. She was a lot angrier than she ought to be over something that was already beginning to sound relatively trivial in his eyes.

"Kris died and then you dumped him like a shitty girlfriend, and no one tried to talk to him about it." The redhead continued after a beat, never taking her steely gaze off Nick. "He's been bottling up all this crap for days, so I decided I would talk to him and help him work through it."

Nick let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair again. "He didn't want to talk to you, did he?"

Megan gritted her teeth, "Why would he? It hurts, obviously, but that doesn't mean that bottling it up will make it go away! I tried to convince him to talk to me, but he flipped out and threw his fucking speech board at me!"

I doubt he threw it at you, Megan, Nick thought with mild annoyance.

"Did it ever occur to you to just leave him alone? That he might not like you nagging him to do something he doesn’t haveto do?" The conman asked, lowering his gaze as his vision started to swim. He really wasn't up for this. He blinked a few times to clear his sight, pressing fingers against his eyelids briefly before returning his gaze to Megan's. She looked entirely indignant. He wasn't trying to call her out on the fact that she had just done something completely terrible. He really just wanted her to get over herself.

"It..." She started, but then stopped. A few seconds passed, and for a moment Nick was sure she was trying to muster up more anger. He wondered faintly if this was how everyone else felt when he started finding ways to hang on to his fury. Seeing the same behavior like this put a lot into perspective for him. He was going to have to stop forcing himself to remain mad at people. It was a terrible coping mechanism.

"You're missing the point!" She finally exploded, her voice rising in volume again. Her arms came uncrossed, her indignant stance matching her expression perfectly. She was on the defensive, so either she knew was wrong and didn't want to admit it, or she was convincing herself that Nick was attacking her. In either case, she needed to stop. "I was trying to be nice, I was... I was trying to help him! I don't expect a self-centered prick like yourself to understand that!"

Purposeful antagonism. She was trying to rile up him so he'd fight with her. She was way too furious for this to just be about him stopping her from screaming at Dal. He would've thought that, given the circumstances, twenty minutes would've been plenty long enough for her to cool down. There had to be something else going on here. He reached up with a hand and rubbed his eyes again when his vision started blur and swim, letting out a soft sigh.

After a moment, Nick spoke, his voice quieter than he had intended. "People grieve differently. I would expect you to know that already. If he didn't want to talk about it, you should've just left him alone. And please stop yelling."

"I didn't want him to deal with it the same way that I did, because obviously that's not healthy!" she retorted heatedly, completely blowing off his comment about her volume. "If he would stop pretending that his emotions didn't exist, I wouldn't have bothered him in the first place! Dal needs someone to talk to so he can heal! Why don't you get that?"

Control-freak.

This was going nowhere fast. Megan was too angry to listen to reason at this point. He should've given her more time to calm down before he tried to talk to her. Though, he didn't think he would've been conscious in an hour. Either way, he wasn't going to change her mind, and she wasn't going to accept that she was wrong. At least, not right now. He rubbed his eyes again, taking a deep breath to try and reset his breathing, which had been fast and shallow more or less since he'd gotten out of bed.

Slowly, he stood up, his hand seeking out the back of the chair he'd been sitting in as all the blood rushed to his head. He closed his eyes momentarily, waiting for it to pass. When he opened his eyes again, Megan's expression had shifted to a look of moderate concern. He wondered if he'd been swaying, or if his face was as pale as his freezing hands.

He stepped past her, heading for the stairs. He wasn't going to try to have this conversation with her in this particular mood. It was pointless and he didn't have the wherewithal to try any harder than he already had. He was too tired. He was too sore. His head was pounding too much and his side was burning too hot.

"Where are you going?" Megan suddenly said from behind him. She still sounded pretty mad, but perhaps less hostile. She'd probably been thrown off again by how unwell he probably looked.

"Bed." Nick returned tiredly, not even stopping to look at her. He ran a hand through his hair, the action very nearly throwing him off balance. His left hand sought out the banister, and he gripped it tightly, steadying himself.

Halfway up the stairs, he paused. Slowly, he turned to look back at her, meeting her gaze, and spoke one more time before he retired to his room. "Megan," he said, voice quieting again. He could tell that she was listening very carefully, and he was grateful for it. "Dal doesn't have to grieve the way you want him to, so leave him alone about it. The only grieving you should be concentrating on is your own."

Megan didn't say anything in response to that. When he turned back around and continued back up the stairs, she was just staring at him, the fury in her gaze less than it had been. It had been replaced by a look that suggested to him that he might have gotten through to her. That was sort of a relief.

He heard the front door open and Ellis' naturally loud voice reached up the stairs, "'m home! Oh, hey Meg..." Nick didn't head back downstairs to talk to Ellis. No one was going to try and rope him into helping with the groceries. He turned the corner at the top of the stairs, seeing Dal coming out of his room. He had to be heading downstairs to help with the groceries.

Dal's eyes were rimmed with red and he looked like he had been crying again since Nick had vacated the room. He would've stayed longer, but he'd had to talk to Megan and he'd been close to passing out on the kid's floor.

"I don't know if she gets it," Nick said, running a hand through his hair again. Dal eyed the movement, his eyes betraying the fact that he had noticed something was wrong with Nick. The conman didn't comment on it, just continued on about Megan. "She needs time to cool down, but I think she'll come around after she's had time to think. So, I guess, avoid her for now."

He smiled slightly, and Dal nodded mutely. "I'm going back to bed. Wake me if you need me for anything."

Once again, the kid nodded, and they continued past each other, Dal heading downstairs and Nick walking into his bedroom. His head was killing him. He clambered messily into bed, aggravating his side along the way and burrowing under his blankets. His heart was still hammering away in his chest, and his hands were blocks of ice. Even laying down, he felt dizzy and unsteady, and his joints ached painfully.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, wanting to see if he was feverish. His head wasn't warm, though. Instead, it felt... cool to the touch. He wasn't clammy, but his hands didn't burn against the heat of his face like he had been expecting. To him, it almost felt like his hand and his head were the same temperature.

At that moment, Nick decided that it didn't matter that Megan was mad at him. He was a lot sicker than he had thought. He needed to go and ask her to figure out what was wrong with him. He was a lot more unwell that he ought to be. His wound wasn't that infected yet, so it didn't make sense for him to be feeling this ill.

He sat up and was almost immediately hit with a loud ringing in his ears. His head pounded harder than ever, and his vision was overwhelmed with spots. He could feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat as dizziness made him sway in his seated position, and Nick realized belatedly that he was about to faint.

The world spun away into darkness, and Nick collapsed back into bed.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

This time, there was no mystery as to why Nick had awakened. This time, he didn't have to lay around waiting for the source of his interrupted sleep to make itself known. There was no bang or thud, there was no blinding sunlight, and there wasn't a bad feeling in his gut. This time, it wasn't even the powerful, heated throbbing in his side that had caused his sleep to turn fitful enough for him to wake from it.

This time, it was the discomfort caused by his racing heart that woke him.

Nick slowly rolled onto his back, his breathing fast and shallow, and his entire chest feeling like it was held in a vice grip. He blinked rapidly to clear the haziness from his vision and lay there for a long moment, trying to ignore the chills throughout his body, the weakness and pain that plagued seemingly every inch of him. He swallowed hard, fear stealing what little air his lungs were managing to bring in.

Was he about to have a heart attack? Or was something else terribly wrong with him? The heart attack theory didn't really make sense, as his heart had been beating rather fast since yesterday. Not as fast as it was now, sure, but one would think that it wouldn't take twelve hours or more from the onset of symptoms for the actual heart attack part.

You need Megan. Get up.

He slowly sat up, not wanting to faint like he had the last time he'd attempted to get out of bed. His side felt like it was on fire compared to the rest of his frigid body, and every slight movement aggravated the pain. It seemed to have gotten worse since the last time he'd actually stopped to look at it, and the notion that he hadn't been taking care of it sent a brand new shock of fear through him. He had told himself to keep an eye on it so it wouldn't get horrifically infected, so that he wouldn't have to worry about needing IV antibiotics and a hospital.

He hadn't made it more than a few steps across his room before the world slowly started to spin around him. He didn't stop, pushing through the pain that was slowly spreading through every part of him and the wave of dizziness that was filling him with nausea. His hand sought out the wall and he leaned heavily against it to try and steady himself for a moment. As soon as he realized that holding still wasn't helping at all, he started moving again with one hand still ghosting along the wall in case he needed to catch himself.

He was beginning to feel dizzy and extremely light-headed. Nick leaned against the wall, pressing his back to it and sliding to the floor before he collapsed and actually hurt himself. The fear that he'd been trying to push down and replace with cold logic returned with a vengeance, reminding him that he had fainted once already, and that it was beginning to look like he was the kind of sick that would likely result in his demise. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to catch his breath and barely registering the fact that his eyes were filling with tears.

His shallow breathing caught on a quiet sound of distress, and he distantly heard the birds singing outside. It was earlier than he had thought. No one would be waking up for a couple of hours. His let out a small sob that nearly made him choke, his vision filling with spots of darkness. He was sweating despite how cold he was. He felt nauseous.

He knew he was panicking but the knowledge didn't help him to settle his thoughts. It felt like his lips were moving but he couldn't hear anyone speaking. He needed to get to Megan. Or Dal. Or Ellis, even. Someone. He needed to get help from somewhere, and Nick wasn't the kind of person to admit that he needed help in any situation.

His awareness spiraled away into darkness, and Nick fainted.

...

Dal hadn't been able to sleep before the sound of Nick wobbling out of his room had reached him. He'd lain in bed, still and silent. It had been strange to him that Nick was awake. The guy had been sleeping close to nonstop for the past three days. He hadn't woken for anything that he hadn't had to wake up for, and so it had been both odd and worrying that he had risen at seven thirty in the morning with an apparent destination in mind.

Of course, the fact that he had been sleeping nonstop for three days was also worrying, especially since he didn't appear to be feeling any better between the time Dal had taken out his stitches and the time Dal had woken him up by hurling his speech board at the wall.

His confusion at Nick's sudden awakening had turned into concern, closely followed by a shock of panic, when he heard the man slide down the wall and then start to cry. First of all, the fact that Nick had felt the need to sit down after making no more than ten to fifteen steps from his bed suggested to Dal that he was a lot sicker than he had been letting on the previous afternoon.

Second - and most important - Nick didn't cry. That just wasn't something he did. So when Dal heard his quiet sobs start and then suddenly stop after less than thirty seconds, he practically fell out of his bed in his haste to find out what had happened. He crossed his room and pulled his door open from its almost-closed position, searching mostly blindly for Nick. It was always relatively dark in the hall way in the morning, as the sun wasn't at the right angle to reach that area of the house. He groped around for the light switch that sat between his door and Ellis', and flicked it on.

Nick was lying on the floor on his side, completely still. His face was ashen and covered in a sheen of sweat, and Dal could see that he was shivering. He swiftly stepped out of his room and crouched down by Nick's head, grasping his shoulder and shaking him lightly, but the man didn't rouse.

Growing ever more worried, he pressed his hand to Nick's forehead, feeling his heart jump into his throat. Nick wasn't feverish, like he'd been expecting. No, Nick was cold. It wasn't a simple result of the air being chilly. Nick's body temperature was dropping, and if Dal had to guess, he'd say that was a very bad thing.

He grabbed Nick's arm and pulled him up to a sitting position, before turning around and maneuvering him carefully into a piggy-back position. It would've been a lot easier if Nick had actually be conscious and capable of being helpful, but he managed to get the man safely back into his bed within a few minutes and without too much more trouble. Once Nick was lying on his mattress, Dal hastily ripped the covers out from under his legs and threw them over him, noticing that Nick seemed to have accumulated more blankets than he'd had before. At some point, he had been waking up cold and pulling ever more blankets out of his closet.

Dal turned on the lamp in the corner of the room, not wanting to make it too bright lest Nick wake up with a killer headache. Then again, considering how completely unresponsive Nick was, Dal would've been amazed if a bomb going off could wake the man. No one had been checking in with Nick while he'd been sleeping, as everyone had just assumed that the blood loss had left him tired, and then perhaps he was just avoiding everyone after Dal had run away from home.

They hadn't realized he was getting sick, and they most certainly hadn't realized just how sick he was becoming. Dal didn't know what was wrong with him. He didn't have a fever - he nearly had hypothermia, and the teen didn't know of any diseases that would have that effect. He wasn't that well-versed in the medicinal field anyway.

"We'll have to keep a really close eye on that. It could kill him if it gets really bad."

His heart plummeted from his throat to his stomach. He had given Nick one dose of penicillin and doused his wound in iodine once, and he hadn't bothered to check in with him on it since. And sure, he'd been sort of busy censoring his thoughts and terrified of looking Nick in the eye, but he should've at least asked Ellis to keep an eye on Nick. He pulled back the blankets that covered Nick up to his chin, and lifted his shirt so he could see the extent of the damage.

His heart may very well have stopped.

The wound was about thirty times worse than it had been the last time Dal had seen it. The ugly red discoloration had spread probably six inches out from the wound in every direction, spiderwebs of the same discoloration scattering further out. Dark yellow pus that had mostly dried filled the wound itself, the smallest possible patches of what Dal thought looked like dead flesh scattered haphazardly around the edge of the injury. It smelled like rotting flesh, and he gagged, covering his mouth and taking a couple steps back.

"We'll have to keep a really close eye on that. It could kill him if it gets really bad."

His heart was hammering in his throat. This was bad. This was really, really bad. This had to be what was causing Nick's sudden onset of illness, but that didn't tell Dal how to fix it. The best he could do was pour a bottle (or six) of penicillin down Nick's throat and soak the wound in iodine for a hundred years, and even then it might not fix the problem.

He took a few stabilizing breaths, trying to clear his head of the panic. What was the first thing he ought to do? (Megan. Go get Megan.) Right. Megan. He pulled the blankets back up to Nick's chin after returning his shirt to where it had been, and headed down the hall. It wasn't even eight in the morning yet, so Megan probably wasn't awake. He hated having to disturb people like this, but the situation called for it. He couldn't wait until she woke up this time.

He balled up his fist and started banging on her door, hoping with all his heart that she would know what to do.

...

Megan woke with a start when she heard someone start banging on her door as if the house was on fire. She sat up quickly, throwing herself out of bed and wrenching the door open, surprised when she found Dal standing there, his face white as a sheet and expression stricken. Her gut twisted, and she had a feeling she knew who Dal was panicking about.

"Is it Nick?" She asked, and when he nodded mutely with a trembling lip, Megan's nauseating bad feeling only tripled. He stepped aside so she could walk past him, hurrying down the hall to Nick's room. He was in bed, an absurd amount of thick blankets pulled up to his chin. He didn't wake when she placed a hand on his shoulder, and she found her hands clenching with anxiety.

"Nick," she called, but he didn't so much as stir. He was completely unresponsive, suggesting that he wasn't sleeping - he was unconscious.

Dal appeared at her side, and she turned to ask him if he knew how long Nick had been unconscious, but the boy was already reaching for the blankets, pulling them back. She watched, gut twisted, as Dal lifted the Nick's shirt to show her the grotesquely infected wound on the man's side. Her stomach took a page out of her heart's book and dropped clear through the floor, leaving her feeling sick. She swallowed hard, remembering how ill Nick had looked the previous afternoon. Why hadn't she had the sense to put a hold on her rage to ask him if he was alright? To force him to show her his wound?

It could kill him if it gets really bad.

She took in a shaky breath, not knowing what to do. They weren't equipped to deal with this. Nick needed IV antibiotics. Nick needed a clean room. He needed to have the spot of necrotic tissue removed, he needed the pus cleared out and the wound packed with iodine-soaked gauze...

Nick needed a hospital.

And they couldn't bring him to one, because there weren't any. She wasn't a doctor. None of them were doctors. She didn't have a witty solution for a wound this badly infected. She didn't have a quick fix. She didn't even have anything that could potentially prolong Nick's life. She didn't have anything that could help. She was completely useless, and because of that, Nick was going to...

"Wha's wrong wit' Nick?"

She didn't look up. She didn't want to look at either of them.

"His wound is..." so infected that he's going to die and there's nothing I can do about it. Ellis crossed the room, standing at the foot of the bed. She heard him suck in a breath as he caught sight of the damage.

"What d'we do?" The young man immediately wanted to know.

The silence that filled the room was deafening. She knew that all eyes were on her. She knew they were waiting for her to come up with a solution. She wished she had one. Megan moved jerkily, reaching out and pulling Nick's shirt back down, before taking the blankets and pulling them back up to his chin. His face was ashen, but he looked as relaxed as he did when he slept.

She stepped back from his bedside, wrapping her arms around her middle and staring at him. She hated this feeling the most. The feeling of having no control over the outcome of a situation. The feeling of knowing she couldn’t fix this. The feeling of helplessness. She hadn't thought she would be going through this so often after her mom's death. She hadn't thought the world would go to Hell. There were so many things she had no control over now, it was terrifying.

I still haven't gotten a chance to talk to you, Nick.

"Meg?" Ellis' voice reached her, and she slowly looked up at him. She had wondered if her expression would give away the facts of the situation, but now that she was actually looking at Ellis and Dal, she knew. She didn't have to say anything. She watched as their expressions shifted from fearful to shocked. Dal's eyes widened, his whole body seemingly locking in place. She couldn't tell if he was even breathing. Ellis' lips parted silently, and for a moment she thought he was going to speak, but he didn't. She could tell that he wanted to, but there was nothing for him to say. There wasn't anything for anyone to say, except:

"There's nothing we can do." Megan finally said. Ellis' eyes almost immediately started to water, his face taking on a pained look that made her heart hurt. Dal slowly shifted his gaze from Megan's face to Nick's, and she could tell that his mind had completely blanked. She wished there was some comfort she could offer either of them. She wished there was something she could do for them. And while she was sure they would welcome her false comforts with open arms, she couldn't bring herself to offer any.

Not when she was so completely, shamefully useless.

...

Dal had vacated the room because he hadn't been able to bear staring at what he had thought would remain be a recurring nightmare for at least a few years longer. Megan hadn't specified how long she thought it might take for Nick to die. She hadn't told them how much pain he was probably in. She hadn't told them whether or not he would wake up at any point in time. She hadn't told them anything. She had just told them that there was nothing they could do, and none of them had spoken since.

Nick's going to die.

Be quiet.

He was sure the pain would come soon enough. At the moment, he was sinking into his shock and letting it bleed all coherent thought out of him, until his mind was left bone dry. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to consider. He wanted to be empty, and for once he was getting his wish.

Nick's going to die.

Stop.

He was seated in his mom's armchair, curled up in it the way she used to. If he pulled up the dredges of his earliest memories and worked his imagination extremely hard, he could almost imagine himself curled up in her lap. He could almost imagine himself small and helpless like he'd once been, so many years ago. He could almost imagine that she was holding him, comforting him so he could mourn his loss.

Nick's going to die.

Shut up.

His throat ached. It almost felt like there was a huge apple lodged in it. He knew it was the emotions he couldn't feel yet, the ones that were waiting for the shock to pass. He knew that when he stopped being so numb, he would feel the pain a thousand times over, and this time he wouldn't be able to censor his thoughts and hold back the tears. This time, he would start, and he very well might not stop until he passed out.

Nick's going to die.

He had dreamed of it more than once. He had dreamed of Nick meeting his untimely demise, but never like this. Usually, it was something that made sense based on Nick's previous disclosures about his past. Usually, it was something along the lines of Nick's past catching up with him, of someone shooting him in the gut and watching him bleed to death on the pavement. Sometimes, he dreamed that he and Nick would get into a fight and Dal's unrivaled strength would be the thing to end Nick's life.

He had never dreamed of an infected bullet wound being the thing to take out the conman. Part of him wanted to slaughter whoever had shot him in the first place. Part of him wanted to shoot the guy in the same spot and arrange the conditions so he would die the same way.

He still didn't know who had shot Nick. He still didn't know why they had shot Nick.

At this point, it didn't matter. Nick was dying, and there was nothing they could do. Nick, who had been the second person (the first being his mom, ages ago) to show him any level of kindness. Nick had been the first person to threaten to kill him, too. Nick had been the first person to touch him since he was little. Nick had been the first person to stick up for him. Nick had been the first person to protect him.

There's so many things I won't get to tell you.

He hadn't told Nick the rest of his story, and he hadn't heard Nick's story. He hadn't told Nick all of the ways he had saved Dal. He hadn't gotten a chance to explain why he'd freaked out at the prospect of Nick leaving upon their first encounter with one another. He hadn't told him that he wanted Nick to lie to everyone and tell them whatever he wanted to get them to believe that Nick and Dal were family of some sort. He hadn't been able to express to Nick how important he was to him. He hadn't told him that he wanted to stay.

He hadn't even gotten the chance to show Nick that he could call him by his name now.

The apple that had been lodged in his throat seemed to grow in size, until it was practically choking him, and all at once the shock he had sunk into disappeared. The blanket of thoughtlessness vanished, leaving him exposed like a raw nerve, and his bright green eyes filled with tears. He pressed a hand over his mouth, his lower lip trembling as a tsunami of pain slammed into him.

I wanted to stay with you.

Chapter Text

She stared at the names on the wall in the small room she called her own. There were very few personal touches in it. She didn't anticipate that she'd be staying here forever, so she hadn't bothered. A soft sigh escaped her lips, one hand reaching up to gently scratch at the scabbed over lacerations on her face.

One of them was dead. One of them had sent her away. One of them hated her. One of them deserved a heartfelt apology.

And if she ever found those three who she hoped still lived, she'd make sure to tell them all how sorry she was... about everything. She had been cruel. Unreasonable. She had been frightened, but that wasn't an excuse. It hadn't been fair.

She was sure they were alive, somewhere. She couldn't imagine them getting killed by anything. One of them was an ex-hunter who could probably hit a penny with a sniper rifle from a hundred meters away. One of them had a history of criminal activity that gave him experience and skills that were rivaled by none. One of them was practically a Sherman tank when it came to powering through obstacles.

They couldn't be dead. Not yet, anyway.

She glanced at the clock in her room, forgetting yet again that it was dead and needed new batteries. She was probably running late. That was no good. They had a lot of ground to cover, and while the door-to-door part would likely be intensely boring, she knew that her company would make it interesting. It was nice to have another woman to talk to.

She pulled on her black boots and holstered her pistol to her waist. She had been surprised when she'd discovered that any survivors who had encountered the infected and fought their way to rescue were being recruited to help with the "clean up." A lot of the military didn't know what they were dealing with, and when they'd discovered that, they had called upon any willing survivors for help.

She had originally volunteered because there were so few who had and she wanted to be helpful. After everything she'd been through, sitting around and waiting for the authorities to deal with the problem had been agonizing. Now, she had found that the fear she had felt towards the infected was disappearing quickly, and she was thankful for that. There were few of them left, and when they found one, they would administer the cure and hospitalize them so they could recover and receive the appropriate medical attention. Few of the infected had survived, most burning out from a fever or heat stroke, some dehydrating, many beating each other to death or being killed by survivors.

The death toll was immense. So many people had lost so many friends and family. So many mothers and fathers had lost their sons and daughters. So many children had lost their parents. So many people didn't know whether or not their friends and family had survived, and so many had seen those friends and family shot or turned or butchered alive by infected.

So many people had died alone and sick and in pain.

It hurt her heart to think about it.

There was a sharp rapping on her door, "Rochelle! It's time to go!"

She stood up from her bed, "Okay, be right out!" She called back, turning to look at the names she had written on the wall one last time. One of them was dead. Three of them were unaccounted for.

"Here's hoping I see you today," she whispered, walking over to her door and pulling it open, their names ringing in her head as she vacated the room.

Coach, Ellis, Nick, Dal.

...

It had been two hours and thirteen minutes since Megan had delivered the bad news, and it had been two hours and eight minutes since Dal had vacated the scene. It was painfully quiet in Nick's room, the only sound coming from it was the sick conman's fast and shallow breathing pattern. Occasionally, his expression would shift to one of discomfort, but he didn't wake. Ellis didn't know if he would ever wake.

He had gotten the impression that Nick didn't have a whole lot of time. Megan would've been scrambling to try and combat the infection if he did. Well, Ellis was pretty sure she would've. When Dal had been sick, it hadn't mattered to her how sick he got. So long as she could keep him alive for another night, she had hope.

Nick probably wouldn't make it to the next sunrise.

He wondered if the man knew. He wondered if Nick had any idea how sick he was, how close to death he was. He wondered if Nick was panicking on the inside, or if he was blissfully ignorant of his impending demise.

For the first hour, Ellis hadn't been able to handle it. Nick had already died once. He had come back to life that first time, but the scare had been the same for Ellis. He had mourned Nick silently, he had grieved the loss, he had gone through all of it, and managed to find himself on the other side.

He hadn't thought he'd be able to do it again. Now, he felt almost like he could. The shock had faded away, leaving a hollowed, empty sort of misery that he remembered and hated. Megan had been staring at Nick dully, and Ellis knew she was blaming herself. All of them were. They should've been keeping an eye on Nick's injury. Everyone had known that he'd been sleeping for the past three days and somehow it had never occurred to any of them that maybe he wasn't looking after the wound.

If Ellis was the kind of person to genuinely point fingers, he could point them at all of them. And while he felt a certain, painful amount of responsibility for the outcome, he wasn't pointing fingers at himself or anyone else. There was no point in blaming anyone. It didn't matter if it was anyone's fault.

Nick was dying. That, and all the things that it implied, was what mattered.

He heard a soft sound, closely followed by Megan whispering his name, and he lifted his head quickly. He looked to Megan first, but she was staring at Nick as if he were the most interesting thing she had ever seen. He turned his attention in the same direction, eyes widening. Nick's face had grown more ashen, likely a result of him feeling pain as he slowly worked his way towards consciousness. His eyelids were fluttering occasionally, and he was shifting a little under his blankets.

"N-Nick?" Megan spoke up hopefully, looking like she might finally start to cry. Ellis' fists were clenched on his knees so tightly, his blunt nails were digging into his palms. He waited, because that was all he could do. Megan called Nick's a couple more times, and he could hear the mixture of hope and apprehension in her voice. She didn't want him to wake because she didn't want to have to tell him that he was going to die.

But at the same time, they both wanted to say goodbye.

Finally, after several minutes of what seemed like a grueling battle, Nick opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, blinking hard. Ellis swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to contain himself even as his eyes started to fill with tears again.

Nick hummed something that almost made it past his lips, a completely incoherent series of syllables following soon after. Megan reached under the blankets and found his hand, and Ellis figured she was squeezing it to give Nick something to ground himself with. Whatever she had done, it seemed to do the trick, because Ellis could see the deliriousness fade from Nick's eyes. He wasn't entirely, fully operational, but he was more conscious than he'd been.

"Nick," Megan spoke, her voice thick, "Nick, I... I'm..."

"Mm-mm," Nick mumbled, shaking his head a little. "Meg, don'... s'not... your fault." He said quietly, his voice sounding a little hoarse, his words a little slurred. He seemed to be hanging on to his consciousness by a thread.

"Do ... d'ya want me t'get Dal?" Ellis managed around his aching throat. Nick shook his head again.

"Not... 'round... l'nng..." Nick tried to take in a deep breath, and Ellis could see how difficult it was for him. Megan had mentioned when she'd checked his pulse earlier that his heart was beating ridiculously fast, and it had been around that time that Ellis had first noticed had fast and shallow the man was breathing.

"I... never told 'ny... one..." The conman's voice was subdued, and Ellis had to lean in to hear him, "My name..."

Ellis' heart leaped into his throat, and he gave up trying to contain his tears. "Nick..." He whispered, almost disbelieving. He wasn't sure if Nick was coherent enough to be saying what he was trying to say, but if he was...

If he was, it meant that he knew he was dying.

His heart hiccuped in his throat, and Ellis had to swallow hard to get it to stop strangling him. Nick slowly turned his head to look at Ellis, and the hick could see the way his eyes were dilating. He really was hanging on by a thread, whether to life or just to his consciousness was debatable.

"My name..." Nick spoke again, staring at Ellis' tear-streaked face. "I've never told anyone..." He paused briefly, and it was beginning to look like the simple act of giving them his real name was agonizingly difficult for him. The implications of that realization only furthered Ellis' emotional distress.

"What's your name, Nick?" Megan spoke, and Nick turned his head to face her. Ellis looked up at her, seeing her watering eyes and her trembling lip. He knew she was holding Nick's hand, and he couldn't help but wonder if Nick knew.

"Nicholas... James... Anderson..." He whispered, turning his gaze back to the ceiling. His eyelids were fluttering, and Ellis could see that he wasn't going to last much more than a minute longer.

"Nicholas James Anderson," He repeated back, and he watched as Nick's eyes welled with tears that didn't fall. He could see the regret in Nick's eyes. He was probably thinking of everything he hadn't done yet, everything he wished he hadn't done, everything he could've done.

Nick's eyes slowly closed, and Ellis couldn't hold back the sob that made it out of his throat. He lowered his head, burying his face in his hands, and took several stabilizing breaths in an effort to calm himself down. He could hear Megan moving, but he didn't look up.

"He's not..." she mumbled. "He's still got a... a pulse."

Ellis nodded, but it didn't really matter to him. It didn't matter if he still had a pulse. It didn't matter if he was still breathing. It didn't matter that he was still alive. Not really, anyway. He would be dead before tomorrow, Ellis was sure. And if not by then, then surely within another day or two. He didn't know how long it would take for the infection to start eating through his organs. It might be more merciful to just put a round through his head now.

It wasn't like there was any hope left for Nick, anyway.

...

Dal had been on the verge of passing out when he heard a sharp knocking on the front door. For a moment, he didn't move, uncertain about whether or not he was hearing things. Even if he wasn't, he didn't really want to answer the door. He could feel how swollen his eyes were, he knew they were bloodshot and rimmed with red, and his nose was probably tinted pink from the amount of crying he had been doing.

The knocking came again, and he weakly pulled himself up from his mom's armchair. He didn't want to answer it, but he ought to. Worst case scenario, he would have to kill someone. Dal crossed the living room and entered the smaller foyer, grasping the doorknob and opening the door.

Two women stood at the door. The one standing closest to him was wearing an expression that had obviously started as a friendly smile and was in the process of changing in response to how terrible he was sure he looked. She brushed a strand of ash blonde hair out of her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but another voice cut in, prompting Dal to turn his attention to the other woman.

"Dal?"

He wasn't entirely sure what to think. First and foremost, he didn't know who this first, bespectacled woman was. She looked friendly enough, but he didn't know why she was at his home. Confusion wore at him, the weakest possible vestiges of an old grudge trying to worm their way past his misery and mostly failing.

Aside from that, he didn't know how he felt about seeing Rochelle again.

"You know him?" The blonde asked, turning to Rochelle. There was a pause, before she slowly nodded, and the front-and-center blonde returned her attention to Dal.

"Dal, right?" She asked, and he nodded mutely. The smile that returned to her face was still friendly, but gentler. It was evident that she could tell something was wrong, "Hi, my name is Jennifer. I'm one of several doctors enlisted to distribute a vaccine for the Green Flu to anyone alive that I come across. Can I come in? Is there anyone else home?"

"Jen," Rochelle suddenly said, and the woman turned to her companion. "He can't talk. It's... sort of a long story, but he can't talk."

Jennifer turned back to him, looking apologetic. Dal was simply staring at her, his mind having blanked the moment she openly stated that she was a doctor. Everything else she'd said had been mostly obscured by his frozen head, still partly handling his shock from earlier alongside trying to momentarily quell his urge to cry.

She's a doctor.

"Is something-..." Jennifer began, but Rochelle cut her off.

"What happened, Dal?" She asked, and it was evident that she could tell that something terrible had happened. His lips parted, but no sound came out. "Will you... will you show us? We might be able to help."

He didn't know what had happened to cause Rochelle to seemingly have such a change of heart. He would have thought that if she ever saw him again, she would shoot first and never bother to ask any questions. But the fear that had once plagued her pretty brown eyes was gone, replaced with a confidence that he didn't remember her having.

She wasn't afraid of him, anymore.

Suddenly, he recalled that he had been doing something, and took several steps back, inviting them inside and walking into the living room. He turned back to Rochelle, hoping she would understand if he could get the right syllables out.

"Nichk'ssss 'ichk." He managed to, slurring his words together. His throat was still backed up with emotion, so getting his voice out at all was a challenge. But Rochelle's confusion quickly changed as she decoded his poorly spoken message.

"Take us to him, Dal," She said, looking a little apprehensive. He nodded mutely, beckoning them and hastily making his way up the stairs. He could hear the two of them close behind, so he didn't bother to slow down, walking down the hall briskly. Nick's door was mostly closed, as it always was due to the lean of the house, and the door slammed into the wall rather hard as he basically flew into the room.

Megan was standing up, looking confused, her mouth opening on a question. Ellis had jolted upright from where he'd been hunched over his knees. But Dal didn't care. Jennifer was a doctor. She could help. She might be able to fix Nick. She might be able to save him.

He turned around to see Jennifer in the doorway and grabbed her hand so he could pull her along to Nick's bedside. He turned to her, about to go about showing her the wound, but he saw the way she stared at Nick, a dawning realization as if she had seen him before.

He stepped out of her way as Megan was suddenly speaking, "Who the hell are you?" She asked a little heatedly.

"I'm... a doctor..." She said slowly, stepping closer to Nick's bedside and looking at his face around the pile of blankets. "You're... Jason?"

There was an eerie silence that fell over the room. "No," Megan said slowly, "That's Nick."

"Wait," Rochelle's voice came from the doorway, drawing Ellis' attention immediately even as she was stepping inside, "Jason as in, the Jason who shot up our home base to escape, even though you told him you would let him leave in a couple hours?"

"Yea," Jennifer replied distractedly, "Y'know, the one that trigger-happy fuck-nugget Andy shot."

All at once, she went to work, pressing a palm to Nick's forehead and clicking her tongue. She then threw the blankets back and pulled up his shirt, seeing the damage that the wound had wrought upon him. She grimaced, but didn't rear back to gag like Dal had, or shift her expression to one of horror and dismay like Megan had.

"Is the bullet still in him?" She asked, lifting Nick's shirt higher and revealing a patch of darkened skin near his diaphragm. Dal had no idea what it was - he hadn't seen that before, but Jennifer seemed to know exactly was she was doing, as she went about checking his wrists as well.

"No," Megan responded, sounding extremely confused. Dal looked over at her, noting that, despite her confusion, she seemed more than willing to offer up anything that would help, "I had to pull it out for him after I caught him butchering himself in the bathroom."

Jennifer glanced at the redhead, peering at her over her glasses, "Why was he butchering himself in the bathroom?"

"To make the wound big enough so he could fit his fingers in it. We don't have any clamps so we had to use our hands." She explained, looking over at Ellis, who had been remarkably quiet through the exchanges. Dal followed her gaze, finding that Ellis was staring at Rochelle, who had moved to the foot of the bed and was observing the scene with a grim expression.

"Rochelle, radio in. We need an ambulance from here to the nearest fully operational base." Jennifer said. "You know the address here, right?"

"Yea," Rochelle returned, pulling a walkie talkie off her waist, "Andy, this is Rochelle. Come in."

There was a pause before the reply came through, "Hey, Rochelle. What's up?"

"We need an ambulance right this second." She replied.

"Ask Jen what she needs in terms of medical."

"Antibiotics and a stretcher." Jennifer answer, and Rochelle relayed the message.

"Address?"

As Rochelle was rattling off the address, Megan spoke up, "I... okay, firstly, what's wrong with him?"

Jennifer turned to face her, grimacing. "I think he's septic. It means that there's bacteria in his bloodstream. Normally, your blood is sterile, and when bacteria gets in there, it gets to travel to every part of your body, and it causes a lot of damage. If he survives, he's going to be hospitalized for a long time."

"O-okay..." Megan paused, looking doubtful for a moment before she continued. "Where did you two come from?"

"Oh, right, I'm sorry," the blonde said, smacking herself on the forehead, "I'm Jennifer. I'm a doctor, enlisted by the higher ups to go looking for infected and survivors alike to administer the cure and the vaccine. Everybody gets it. Rochelle is sort of like my bodyguard."

Megan stared at her for a long moment. "They... found a cure?"

"Yea," Jennifer said, looking a little apologetic all of a sudden. "It wasn't hard, since they had already done pretty extensive research into the disease before it got out, so they were already pretty close to having the formula for a vaccine. It's... it did take a little bit, but... Well, I mean, it spread so fast, they couldn't contain it. So the higher-ups decided it would be best to just let it run its course on most of the population."

"That's awfully shitty of them," Megan said, her voice strained.

Jennifer smiled weakly at her, "That's what I said."

Dal was doing his best to listen to the conversation in order to keep his mind from wandering. He knew where it would end up if he permitted it, so he wrestled it into submission and paid very close attention. Ellis was still staring at Rochelle. Megan had fallen silent, Jennifer was checking Nick's blood pressure, and then a moment later she was checking his pulse. Rochelle seemed to be purposefully avoiding looking at Ellis, instead observing Jennifer with a very thoughtful look on her face. Dal wasn't buying the act.

He wondered when (or if) Ellis was going to tell Megan that Rochelle was that Rochelle.

"Jen, I'm gonna go downstairs and wait for the ambulance," Rochelle said as she was replacing her walkie, "I don't think this house had a number on it."

"Okay," Jen replied, and Rochelle left the room a little on the hasty side. Dal watched her go, before turning to Ellis. He still looked pretty shocked to have seen her. The guy seemed to feel Dal's eyes on him, because he glanced over at him. The teen could tell that Ellis had no idea what to think, much like Dal had. But after a moment, his expression calmed and he turned back to Nick's unconscious form.

"What're 'is chances?" Ellis suddenly asked. It was the first thing he'd said since Rochelle and Jennifer had walked in the room, and it seemed like it surprised everyone but Dal.

There was a long silence before Jennifer replied, "I don't know for sure. If it's a resistant strain, I'd say twenty percent. If it's one that we can take out with antibiotics, I'd say fifty percent." Her expression turned as solemn as the other inhabitants of the room. Dal's stomach twisted, anxiety eating through him. "He seemed like a strong, healthy person the last time I saw him, so he has a better chance than someone's grandmother, but... but its sepsis. Before the outbreak, it was the tenth leading cause of death in the United States."

"Oh." Ellis responded quietly.

There was hope, but not much at this point. All Dal could really try to count on at this point was Nick's history of turning his luck around. He always seemed to make it out of the worst scenarios alive and kicking. He just had to have a little misplaced trust. He was fairly good at that.

"Ambulance is here!"

All he could do was hope.

Chapter Text

Twenty four hours had passed since they arrived at a hospital on a military base in El Paso, Texas. Twenty four hours had passed since Nick was admitted. Twenty four hours had passed since tests were conducted to confirm Jennifer's diagnosis. Twenty four hours had passed since Nick's doctor, Dr. Mills, had informed them that Nick's chances weren't good because of how late they'd caught the disease. Twenty four hours had passed since the last time Dal responded to anyone or anything. Twenty four hours had passed since Megan and Ellis had spoken last.

Twelve bags of IV antibiotics had been pumped into Nick's bloodstream. Two nurses had been coming in every hour to check Nick's state of health.

Nick's blood pressure had stubbornly stabilized at ninety over sixty-eight. His pulse wouldn't come down from a hundred and twelve. His temperature had skyrocketed from ninety-three point four to a hundred and five point three over the past six hours.

The blood pressure and pulse were not good news, as it meant some of the medications Nick was on weren't working correctly and so he needed a higher dose. The temperature was better news, as it meant Nick's body was finally able to put up a fight.

Ellis had listened, and he was sure Megan and Dal had listened too, but he wasn't sure what kind of emotional response he was supposed to have. So he'd settled for moderate anxiety and occasional bouts of severe depression.

Twenty four had passed since their arrival. Twelve hours had passed since Nick's temperature had started going up. Six hours had passed since the last time they'd seen Dr. Mills. An hour and a half had passed since the last time a nurse came in to change Nick's antibiotics bag.

Time seemed meaningless. Ellis stared at the clock on the wall, keeping track of the hours, the minutes, the seconds. It wasn't time consuming. It wasn't interesting. It didn't keep his mind or his emotions from going off in every and any direction. It wouldn't speed things up. It wouldn't make Nick get better. It couldn't possibly keep him distracted from the conman's pale face for very long, but he tried.

Ellis didn't want to look at him for very long. He didn't want to catch himself staring helplessly at Nick, willing him to wake up and get better. He didn't want to find himself eying the strange, dark marks on his jaw and imagining everything that could possibly go wrong.

He didn't want to try thinking of what might go right, either. He didn't want to give himself any more hope than he already had. He didn't want to be horribly shocked if (when) Nick died. He wouldn't mind being pleasantly surprised when (if) Nick survived. He just couldn't bring himself to put too much stock in a twenty percent chance of survival. Jennifer had said fifty if the disease wasn't a resistant strain, but Dr. Mills had said twenty because of how late they'd caught it.

Dr. Mills didn't really expect Nick to survive. He hadn't come out and said it, but it was evident in the way he didn't seem to worry that much. It was evident in the way he explained Nick's condition. It was evident in the way he didn't check up on Nick frequently.

He was a doctor who would be committed to trying, but wasn't expecting his patient to survive. Perhaps if he had to worry about malpractice lawsuits, he would be significantly more invested. Perhaps if Nick's chances were better, he would try harder. Or perhaps he was trying as hard as he could, but there just wasn't anything he could do but wait like Ellis, Megan, and Dal.

Ellis stared at the clock. Time was meaningless, but he kept track of it anyway.

He looked to the door when he heard someone knock on their way into the room. Two nurses stood there, both with sympathetic looks in their eyes, only one of them familiar to Ellis. He straightened up, staring at them questioningly as they walked up to the side of the bed closest to the door, opposite from their patient's live-in visitors.

Justin, the nurse Ellis already knew, smiled at him with tired eyes, "We're taking him down for a CT scan." He explained, and when Ellis furrowed his brow in confusion, he continued, "It's to check the state of his internal organs. Dr. Mills is concerned about his kidneys, among other things."

Ellis felt the color drain from his face, but he nodded stiffly in understanding. Justin smiled slightly at him before they took the brakes off the wheels of the bed and rolled Nick out of the room. "Shouldn't be too long. If something's wrong, someone will come up to let you know."

Again, Ellis nodded, watching them go. It was even quieter in the room without the frantic beeping of the heart monitor, without the sound of Nick's rapid breathing. He turned his tired gaze back to the clock, trying to remember how many seconds he had left off on, and then trying to figure out how many seconds he had missed.

It was impossible. His brain was fried.

Oh well. He thought, feeling hollowed out and exhausted, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven...

.

He had counted seventy-three minutes and forty-eight seconds before Dr. Mills appeared in the doorway of the room, Nick nowhere in sight. He looked grim, and Ellis' heart dropped into his stomach. He swallowed hard, waiting for whatever bad news he was about to receive.

"His left kidney has shut down," Dr. Mills explained, and Ellis felt Megan and Dal look up beside him. Ellis clenched his fists on his knees, his blue eyes widening a little. The doctor continued, "He's in surgery having it removed right now. The right kidney is still functioning fine, so at least for now we don't need a donor. But I wanted to ask you three for you blood type in case we do at any point."

"AB positive," Ellis answered immediately, glancing over at Megan and Dal.

Megan looked at him briefly before turning back to the doctor she didn't seem to like. He saw her jaw working, saw the way she swallowed. She looked like she felt nauseous. "A positive."

Finally, Dal held up his right with his fingertips to his thumb in a sign for "O," and put his left index finger up next to it.

"Dal's O negative." Megan clarified before Ellis could when they noticed the moderate confusion in the doctor's eyes.

Dr. Mills let out a sigh that sounded both tired and relieved. "Nick's O negative as well." Dr. Mills said, and Ellis glanced over at the youngest of their little group. "So if his other kidney shuts down, we're going to be calling on you, Dal."

The kid nodded, looking completely unfazed. It was odd, considering the circumstances, that Dal could look as calm as he did. Ellis couldn't tell if it was a front or if that was how he truly felt. Megan didn't look as calm as Dal did, but rather she looked hollowed out and exhausted.

He had thought for a while that they were going to arrive at the hospital and spend as much time crying as it took for Nick to wake up (assuming he woke up at all). Instead, they had arrived at their destination, sat down, and hadn't really moved since. They hadn't spoken to each other at all. They had yet to start crying. Even now, while receiving bad news, they all just stared at the doctor with dull, shadowed eyes.

"It'll be a couple of hours before he's back in here," Dr. Mills told them, "I’ll have rooms prepared for you here in the hospital. You should all at least try to get a nap in while you can't see him anyway. I can have a nurse let you know when he's back."

Ellis forced a smile at the offer, "Thanks, doc."

The doctor nodded curtly before he left, leaving them in silence once again. Slowly, Ellis' eyes drifted back to the clock. It was meaningless to count the seconds, but it kept his head clear. It kept him from thinking about things he didn't want to think about. It kept his emotions from running rampant and out of control.

Time was meaningless now, but he counted the seconds anyway.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight...

...

It had been six days and about fourteen hours since they had arrived in the hospital in El Paso. Nick hadn't woken up yet, though Megan hadn't really been expecting him to. At this point, she wasn't sure whether hoping for his recovery made sense. Dr. Mills had been looking rather pleased on the occasions when he came through, but she didn't know if that was because Nick wasn't dead yet or because he was actually slowly getting better. The man never stuck around long and none of the team ever wanted to ask questions, a collective fear of bad news keeping their mouths shut for them.

Ellis was having trouble sleeping. Megan was having trouble sleeping. Dal wasn't sleeping unless he passed out, and he also wasn't eating. The boy hadn't left Nick's room in the six days that they'd been there. Megan had gone to Ellis about it, wondering if there was something they could do, but he had told her rather sternly to leave the boy alone about it. Dal would either cave in and go to sleep at some point or he would continue to occasionally pass out in his chair.

"Ya' worry too much about what other people're doin', Meg. Ya' oughta try thinkin' more about yourself n' what you can do, instead of what ya' think other people should be doin'."

At first, Megan had been utterly unsatisfied with Ellis' response. She'd been insulted for a moment, choosing to abandon their conversation in favor of sleep. She hadn't gotten much, of course, but she'd succeeded in persuading Ellis to leave her to her thoughts. Megan now wondered if the young man had figured out that she'd been angry with him at the time.

Now, she was anything but angry. She'd given Ellis' words a lot of thought, going so far as to recall what Nick had said days ago, when she'd infuriated Dal to the point of throwing his speech board into the wall. Megan knew that she was a control freak. She'd never really been proud of the fact, but it'd been there for a long time, and she'd sort of gotten used to it. Now she understood that she should never have let herself get used to a personality flaw. She should've tried to fix it as soon as it appeared, much like the way she tried to "fix" everything and everyone around her.

Ellis had told her during the duration of their conversation that he had been worried that Megan would try and turn her "fix-it" attitude on Nick, as the conman would surely have grown to hate her, and eventually started trying to chase her out of their lives. His revelation made her glad that she hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Nick yet, because at this point she was sure she would've done just that. She distinctly remembered thinking about it, after all.

"People ain't things ya' can fix. Ya' can't make anyone do anythin' they don' wanna do. That's what my mom always used t' say."

"Excuse me," Megan greeted, walking up to the nurse's station on the ICU floor. The familiar nurse Justin walked up to the counter, smiling his fake, friendly smile that read mostly as "I hate my job."

"Need something?" He asked expectantly.

"Yea," Megan replied, leaning on the counter. "Dal, as I'm sure you know, can't talk and doesn't know sign language. So, I was wondering if you guys had or if you could find a speech board for him. They're just these text-to-speech keyboards. I had one at my speech therapy office in Brookhaven but ... well, he broke it."

Justin was making a note of it on a piece of paper, and she watched him write messily on his pad of paper before he straightened up. "I'll see what I can do." He promised, smiling again. Megan returned the gesture, turned away from the nurse's station and headed back down the hall. She hadn't specified to Dal or Ellis where she was going or what she was doing. They hadn't asked, though, so she didn't feel at all obligated to feel bad for briefly disappearing.

Her stomach rumbled agitatedly, and she slammed a fist into it to try and silence it. She was starving. It was two o' clock and she had yet to eat. She paused in the doorway to Nick's room, noting that Ellis had left.

"Dal," she called uncertainly. The kid slowly lifted his head to look at her. "I'm running down to the cafeteria. Do you want anything?"

He shook his head in reply, and turned his attention back to the unconscious person on the bed in front of him. Megan tried not to frown, forced herself not to look disappointed, prevented herself from trying to persuade him.

"Okay. I'll be back in a bit." She promised, and when he nodded without looking up, she turned back to the hall and headed for the stairs. It both astounded and disgusted her how difficult it had been to keep her mouth shut and not try to force the boy to bend to her will. He might not have put up much of a fight, simply because he was completely exhausted, but it would've further damaged their relationship.

Or lack thereof. She thought bitterly. Nick had been right. She should never have tried to force Dal to talk to her. She should have just left him alone when he'd first asked her to. She didn't know if he was holding a grudge, or if it just didn't matter to him anymore in light of what had happened with Nick. She clearly remembered how startled she'd been when it had been Dal standing at her door. She had thought he would hate her because it was her fault he had broken his speech board. She had thought he would want nothing more to do with her.

But then, with Nick's condition being what it was, he might've gone to her even if he did hate her. She just didn't know.

Megan walked into the cafeteria, peering around in search of Ellis. She spotted him right away, sitting at a table in the middle of the large room. He looked even more tired than he'd looked last night. She wondered if he'd gotten any sleep. He'd already been up when she'd woke up around six in the morning after falling asleep around three, and she hadn't bothered to ask him if he'd slept.

Forgetting that she was hungry, Megan started towards him. Ellis, as young and naive as he often was, had a streak of wisdom that he probably didn't know existed. It usually showed in his relationship advice and the way he was able to understand things that had never happened to him.

Perhaps it wasn't wisdom at all. Perhaps it was just his amazing ability to empathize with other people.

She wanted to pick up their conversation where it had left off last night. She wanted to hear more about what he thought about her as a control freak. She wanted to know if he had any more interesting and very helpful pieces of advice to offer. Perhaps he could further help her out with the whole "control freak" thing.

At the very least, perhaps he could give her some advice on how to repair the damage she'd done to her already tepid relationship with Dal.

"Morning, Ellis."

...

Out of the goodness of her heart (or perhaps because she had been trying to distract herself), Megan had given him a once-over and a new set of exercises to occupy himself with. It was something to do besides staring at Nick's pallid face, and Dal was thankful for it. He didn't know if he'd been able to convey his thanks properly, but he hoped she at least knew he appreciated it, even if it had been for her benefit instead of his.

And so, he hummed.

When the nurses came in, he would stop. He was a little abashed by how bad he was at humming. It was one of those things everyone could do easily, and so for him to be having as hard a time as he was... well, it was both frustrating and embarrassing. Mostly frustrating. It did give him something other than Nick to think about, though.

Of course, the distraction never lasted long. As soon as someone came in to check Nick's vitals, he would be reminded of why he was in this hospital, why he was sitting at Nick's bedside while the man slept away the days. He would be reminded of his anxiety. He would be reminded of everything, and because of it, he held a small grudge against the nurses for coming in. He knew they had to, but he wished they didn't. The distraction of his exercises prevented him from caving in to the emotions that lay just beneath the surface - the ones he held back fiercely.

He knew if that if he let the levees fall and allowed the emotional tsunami to wash over the dry beaches of his mind, he wouldn't be able to hold anything back. He'd likely just go to irrecoverable pieces until Nick got better (assuming he gets better).

Nick would get better. Dal was sure of it (or at least, you wish you were sure of it).

I'm hopeful too, but really, since when does anything ever go right in your life? I'm just being realistic.

Shut up.

He started humming again, having forgotten to restart the song when the nurse left ten minutes ago. It distracted him as much as it could, considering the fact that he was staring at the vitals monitors. Ellis always stared at the clock. Megan stared at the door. Dal stared at the monitors.

None of them had spoken a word to each other for the first two days. They hadn't eaten or slept either. That had stopped (for the most part) on the second evening, when Megan was just too exhausted to go on, and Ellis was willing to follow her example. They had been completely worn out from the emotional roller coasters they'd all been on. On the third day, Megan and Ellis had gone downstairs to forage, offering to bring Dal something. He had declined then as well.

It'd been nine days. Dal had eaten two granola bars and a Dixie Cup in those nine days, entirely because Dr. Mills had been informed by one of his nurses that Dal was refusing sustenance and so he had taken it upon himself to force something down his throat. That had been a battle of wills, and Dal had lost because he really didn't have the energy to fight with anyone anymore.

Megan brought him water, juice, or soda whenever she went to the cafeteria. She'd been doing that since day four, when she'd made her second trip to the cafeteria with Ellis. Dal knew she brought him drinks out of worry that he'd expire from dehydration, and he didn't blame her. If she hadn't been bringing him beverages, he would be drinking as much as he was eating.

He felt a little bad for making everyone worry, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the room, and he really just wasn't hungry. Even when Dr. Mills had brought him that Dixie Cup, it had taken him forever to finish it. It'd been ice cream soup by the time he was done. He hadn't been quite so uninterested in food since his fever had broken. For a short minute, he'd thought maybe his fever was finally coming back.

But no, he'd just not been hungry. He still wasn't.

Dal shifted in his seat, clearing his throat and starting a new song as he finished the last. He glanced over at the mostly closed door to the room, wondering when Megan and Ellis were going to return. Sometimes, they hung out in the cafeteria and conversed for a while before returning to Nick's room. Or at least, that was the conclusion Dal had drawn when they had, at one point, taken two hours to come back. He supposed it was possible that they were talking about him, or discussing something that they thought he might not want to listen in on. It didn't really matter. He wasn't an especially nosy person.

He looked back over at Nick, noting with some concern that his face - which had already been extremely pale - looked somehow even paler. He blinked, slowly standing up. He didn't know if that counted as "worrisome." It was certainly making him worry.

He heard a high-pitched alarming sound that was probably much quieter to anyone else's ears, and turned his attention to the vitals monitors. The first thing he noticed was that Nick's temperature had dropped four degrees, and his pulse had shot up to a hundred and fifteen beats per minute. Then, he spotted the numbers that had set off the alarm in the machinery, and his stomach twisted into a knot.

Nick's blood pressure was dropping like a stone. It had been stable at ninety-four over seventy-two, but now it was down to eighty-one over fifty and it wasn't done dropping. Dal panicked - obviously no one had heard the alarms going off because the door was mostly shut, and he couldn't just call for help. The call button couldn't possibly portray the emergency, and Ellis and Megan were nowhere to be found.

He sucked in a breath and turned to his only remaining option - the Code Blue button. He slammed his palm against it, and instantly the loudest, shrillest alarm he had ever heard went off. He clamped his hands over his extremely sensitive ears, stumbling back until he hit a wall. His vision was filling with spots and his head was already pounding and he was hit with vertigo all at once. That noise was so loud, he could hear it clear as day through his hands. He lowered one hand, regretting it immediately, and felt his way along the wall until he found a corner where he could safely sit down without having to worry about being in anyone's way.

Dal sank to the floor between the wall against his back and the nightstand beside Nick's bed. He felt sick, and he wasn't sure if it was the noise or the whirlwind of panic that was slamming into him from all directions. He felt ill, and dizzy, and there was a terrible, stabbing pain piercing through his skull. That racket was too loud. He couldn't hear anything over it, and he couldn't block it out. Through the floor, Dal could feel people rushing into the room, and he wondered faintly if they were going to notice him sitting there or not.

He lowered his head, forehead eventually finding his knees. Then, he went completely still, trying to remember to breath and shaking all over. He hadn't been at all prepared for that alarm. He hadn't been at all prepared for Nick's vitals to drop, and he most certainly hadn't been ready to handle the panic that came as a result. Dal forced himself to take stabilizing breaths, trying to calm himself down, trying to keep the levees up. If they failed now, he was really going to end up becoming a perfect metaphor for post-Katrina New Orleans.

Dal felt his throat working before he realized that he was humming. It helped. It helped a lot more than he would've thought it would. It gave him something grounding to concentrate on, aside from that awful ringing in his ears. The gentle vibrating of his throat helped to somewhat soothe the pounding in his head, and once the headache was less, the dizziness started to go away as well. His ears were still ringing, but it wasn't as bad as it had been a moment ago.

He felt someone touch his shoulder unexpectedly and jerked upright, startled. He had been expecting Megan or Ellis, but it was neither of them. Rochelle was crouched next to him instead, looking immensely worried. Just as before, Dal noticed the lack of fear in her eyes, and it was a welcome sight. Slowly, he lowered his hands, finding that the alarm had been shut off and letting out a sigh of relief. She moved backwards, standing up and offering him a hand to help him up, which he gratefully accepted.

Immediately, Dal turned his attention from Rochelle's face to the spot where Nick had been a moment ago. His eyes widened when he saw that the conman was missing, and he turned back to Rochelle, hoping that she knew where he was.

"They took him to the OR to find out what was wrong," Rochelle explained to him, sounding a little breathless. "I think another one of his organs failed or ruptured."

Another one? So, Rochelle knew about his kidney, then. How long had she been in El Paso? Had she been avoiding them out of nerves? Or had she just interrogated Justin the Nurse?

He nodded jerkily, still shaken. Potential organ failure. Dal didn't think a failing kidney would cause a sudden dip in his blood pressure. It had to be something more important than that. He didn't know enough about sepsis or the human body to figure out exactly what had happened. He knew a lot about inner workings of the brain and concussions, but everything else in the medical field was beyond his expertise.

He'd just have to wait and hope.

Rochelle stepped further back, indicating a chair, "I think you should sit down. You don't look very steady."

He took her advice, sitting down in the nearest chair. His knees had been shaking and he was sure he'd been swaying. His center of balance had been completely thrown off by the volume of that alarm. The vertigo was still present, though less than it had been when he'd first found himself in that corner. Dal took in a shaky breath, trying to settle himself and only partially succeeding.

Rochelle took a seat next to him, turning her chair towards him a bit and reaching for a backpack that sat on the floor by her feet. "I have something for you." She said quietly, opening the backpack. Dal wondered if she was being quiet because she could tell that his ears were bothering him. He didn't know how much she knew about the infection and its permanent effects.

His eyes widened some when she straightened up, pulling a new speech keyboard out of her bag. She handed it to him, and he took it from her gratefully. He had figured that Rochelle had gotten over her fear of him, that she had moved past it and grown into a better person, but he hadn't imagined for a second that she would do something like this for him. He could've imagined an apology towards himself and Ellis, but he hadn't thought that...

"I'm really sorry about... everything from before, Dal," she said softly. He could hear the sincerity in her voice, and it made his heart ache. He'd been wanting to make amends with Rochelle and Coach since the moment he'd met them. He'd wanted their recognition. It had mattered to him so much because Rochelle and Coach hadn't cared for him. Coach had despised him and Rochelle had feared him, and he'd craved their recognition because to him, it would've meant that maybe he could change his mom and dad's minds, too.

It's a bit late, now, but...

"I was really scared, but that isn't an excuse." Rochelle continued, looking up and making eye contact. Dal didn't look away, but he could feel his eyes heating up. He tried his hardest to hold on to his self-control, but it was exceedingly difficult. "I didn't think that you might be hurt by my fear. I didn't think of how you felt at all, and that was really awful of me. I hope... I hope you'll forgive me for being an idiot."

He couldn't find his words, even with the keyboard sitting in his lap. His eyes were starting to water, and he couldn't find the words to express how happy he was that she was willing to apologize. He couldn't find the words to tell her how long it had taken Nick, so she didn't have to feel badly about the delay. He couldn't figure out how to tell her that he understood, and he had done some pretty stupid things because of fear, too.

Rochelle watched him silently as he lowered his head, trying to contain himself. He couldn't let the levees break. He couldn't let the levees break. He couldn't let the levees break. He had to hold on. He had to. If he lost it now, he'd probably never be able to get back in control of himself.

Rochelle reached a hand over and placed it gingerly on top of his own. She was obviously hesitant about offering him comfort, and he couldn't really blame her. Rochelle and Coach had left because she'd been afraid of Nick and Dal, and she knew now how much that fear had wounded him. But he could tell that she was trying, that she was really putting forth an effort. She hadn't had to follow them to El Paso. She could've gone on with her work in Brookhaven and wherever else she wound up and just decided to never see them again.

Instead, she had followed them so she could apologize. And it must've taken a lot of courage to do so. He could tell in the way she hesitated before touching him, the way she had purposefully avoided making eye contact with Ellis. He could tell in the shakiness of her voice as she apologized, in the spark of nervousness that shone in her eyes.

Mindful not to spill his new keyboard out of his lap, Dal leaned over and rested his head against her. He didn't lean as heavily as he liked to with Nick, but with that, he knew that she would know he had forgiven her. He heard her take in a shaky breath, allowed her to free her arm so she could wrap it around his shoulders.

"Thank you," she whispered thickly.

Dal wasn't always good about refusing to forgive people who didn't deserve it. He knew he was too willing to forgive people for wronging him. He forgave Nick, after all. He just didn't see the point of holding on to painful emotions and anger. He didn't like to feel things that hurt, so he almost pathologically avoided them.

Rochelle had done plenty of things that couldn't have been easy to earn their forgiveness. If anyone deserved it, it was probably her.

Nick's in surgery.

Would you shut up? !

%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

Nick's spleen had developed a blood clot, which had basically turned into an aneurism and ruptured the artery supplying the organ with blood. The surgeons had been forced to remove it, and according to Dr. Mills, Nick's chances of survival had dipped to an all-time low of ten percent "at the most." The doctor had explained in few words that the spleen played a large part in the body's immune system, and without it, Nick would have to rely even more heavily on the antibiotics if he was to survive.

So the dosages were increased and Dal, Megan, and Ellis were back to waiting.

Seven hours after Nick had come out of surgery, Dal's head was still aching and his left ear was half deaf. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone, as he didn't really want anyone prodding about in his eardrum to see if he'd ruptured it. That would require him to leave the room, he was sure, and that was just not happening.

Megan and Ellis had been surprised when they'd returned from the cafeteria in a rush and found that Dal had been gifted with a new speech board. They'd been even more surprised when Dal told them that Rochelle had been the one to deliver it. That had been the moment when Megan found out that Rochelle was that Rochelle.

At this point, however, they had returned to their stillness and silence, sitting vigil over a comatose conman.

It had been a long day, and it hadn't yet ended. Dal hummed more frequently, deciding that he didn't care if Ellis and Megan heard him. Stress was pretty much eating him alive at that point, and so he needed all the relief from it he could get. Humming helped a lot. He didn't know if it was the mild distraction or the sound or the soft vibrating of this throat, but it helped.

And so, he hummed. When Ellis and Megan knew the song he was humming, they started humming with him. To an outsider it probably looked like they were serenading Nick.

Nick.

His blood pressure was still low. His temperature had gone up a little a few hours after the antibiotics had been increased and his pulse had come down some, but he remained sickly and pallid. Dal didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think. Nick had a ninety percent chance of dying, and if he did...

No, he couldn't even think of it.

He had originally been permitting himself to sleep if he found a comfortable position in his chair and passed out. Now, he wouldn't allow himself even that much. He wouldn't rest until Nick woke up or at least started showing signs of recovery. If he'd been sleeping when the monitors had started beeping, no one would've been around to hit the Code Blue button. Nick would've died.

Dal wouldn't leave that up to chance. If anything else happened, he would be conscious to respond to it. Even if it wouldn't make a difference if he was awake or not, he couldn't take the risk. He couldn't. Nick could die if he wasn't around to tell everyone if something went wrong. And so he wouldn't rest. He just wouldn't sleep. He could probably last a while without sleeping. He didn't know when he'd start hallucinating, but he would stay up for as long as he could and then sleep for as short a time as possible. Screw the dangers of insomnia.

Nick would just have to get better and he would have to hurry up with it.

Dal didn't know what he'd do if Nick died. He couldn't even think of the possibility. It was too much for him. Nick had to live. He just had to. He had to because Dal wanted to stay with him, and he wanted to conman to know.

So, Nick couldn't die. Not yet. Not for a long time. Some people deserved to live a long, happy life, and others didn't. Nick probably went under the category of people who didn't really deserve to keep on living, but Dal didn't care. It didn't matter to him that Nick had done awful things. It didn't matter to him that Nick was a murderer and a bastard and lived off other people like a very mobile parasite. If Nick died right now...

No, he couldn't even begin to think of it.

...

He didn't know how long it had been, but he wanted to wake up.

Occasionally, he would hear a song. He didn't always know what the song was, but he heard it nonetheless. Often times, it was so quiet he had to strain his ears to hear it. Then, there were times when it was louder, and sounded like it was being sung by more than one person. Not a chorus of people, but maybe two or three.

He called it singing, but he could never make out words being sung. It sounded more like humming, actually. Sometimes, his mind would supply the words of the songs he knew. Usually, it didn't bother. The voice that sung to him sounded familiar, and he wanted to hear it, so he muted his thoughts and listened.

He didn't know who it was, but he wanted to find out.

Nick was the one who found her.

Even as young as he was, he knew what he was looking at as soon as his eyes saw her lifeless form in the bathtub. She was fully dressed, drenched in blood, wrists slashed open. Her eyes were closed. There was red everywhere, and for a long moment Nick just stood there and stared at her.

His older sister had been his only salvation in this Hell he called home.

And just like that, she was gone.

There was pain at all times.

Sometimes, he could've sworn it was from a beating at the hands of his father, or that a gang had caught up with him, or he'd been shot, or Scott was trying to practice his skills with the little pocket knife he'd gotten for Christmas. At times, it was a sharp, awful pain that would centralize in one spot - his lower back, his side, the underside of his ribs. Other times, it would be a dull ache that spread through every nerve in his body, sharper in his joints, but hurting all over.

He didn't know why he was in so much pain, but he had gotten fairly tired of it.

That had been too close.

Nick spat out a mouthful of blood, wiping what had dripped down his chin on his sleeve. His ribs were fractured, but that seemed to be the worst of the damage. He hissed when his body tried to take in a large breath of air and aggravated his ribs. He needed to leave. God only knew if those thugs had reinforcements coming.

He stared down at the four bodies laying haphazardly on the floor, dropping the crowbar he'd been holding. It clanged loudly against the pavement, and he had to refrain from wincing at the noise.

Nick turned away from the scene of his latest crime and escaped into the night. He needed a change of scenery.

His dreams came and went like flashes of lightning. He barely remembered them as they raced by, leaving only a metallic taste in his mouth and the familiar feeling of blood on his hands. He let those dreams flit by as they pleased, not particularly interested in hanging on to any of them.

The world around him was a vast, empty darkness. There was nothing around him, beneath him, or above him. There was nothing. Just a massive void that seemed to fill every part of him. It seemed to mock him. It was a joke of a metaphor regarding his cold, empty heart.

He didn't know why it was so dark on the inside, but he wanted to get out.

"Da-al." The strange Hunter croaked, and for a moment Nick had no idea what it was trying to say. After it swallowed hard, it repeated itself more clearly, "Dal."

His stomach dropped as he realized what it might be trying to say. Still trying to hold on to the idea that this Hunter was nothing more than a slightly-smarter-than-average infected, he slowly responded, "Dal?" He repeated back to the Hunter. "What's...? Is that your name?"

When it nodded at him in response, he frowned. He knew this was what he wanted, but he didn't like it. He didn't like how easily this was panning out. Either this Hunter was smarter than Nick was willing to give him credit, or he was a complete idiot.

"I'm Nick," he finally replied.

This is what you wanted, Nick. Just play along.

It felt like it had been a long time since he'd opened his eyes. The darkness that enveloped him was neither warm nor comforting. It was a cruel, cold, unhappy place. He didn't know why he was having such a hard time getting himself to leave. He was just so incredibly tired, he hadn't wanted to wake up, and then it seemed like it had gotten harder and harder as time went on.

He didn't know how long he'd been sleeping, but he needed to wake up.

With the memory of one of the few times he'd heard Dal speak still fresh in his mind, he was met with a realization that hurt and comforted him all in the same breath. With a sharp intake of air, he looked up at the night sky above him. He was tired, but he couldn't sleep any longer.

That humming he'd been hearing was Dal.

Wake up!

.

And so, he woke up.

He didn't get the luxury of getting gently adjusted to the bright, loud, smelly world around him, either. No, instead he was rammed into by a car-sized amount of sensory information that left him reeling with a powerful, throbbing headache. He shivered against the frigid cold, his whole body aching and sore, and waited for the worst of his fresh migraine to fade into the background noise, which seemed to be dying down as he became used to it.

Once the noise had quietened some, he was able to pick out specific sounds from amongst all the racket. A soft beeping that seemed to be in time with his heartbeat, footsteps striding up and down a hall somewhere to his left, distant voices engaged in heated conversation, and the soft sound of humming.

The humming was very quiet this time around. Quiet enough that he had to strain his ears and blot out the rest of the noises around him to hear it properly. He knew the song. He wasn't entirely sure what song it was yet, but he knew it. The tune was sort of ambiguous without all the instruments playing together, but part of his brain knew that he would recognize the song in just a moment.

On the black rock is where I spend my time...

Nick wasn't a particularly musical person. There were very few songs he listened to, and even fewer artists. The number of albums he had owned over the course of his entire life could be counted on one hand. He didn't really like music that much. It was usually background noise at bars and clubs and casinos. He didn't listen because he was too busy swindling.

There was only one song in existence that he could listen to on repeat. So, the fact that Dal knew the song... no, the fact that Dal was humming it beside him at the moment he decided to wake up was a little bit amazing. He wanted to hold his breath and continue to feign slumber so he could hear the kid hum the whole song. At the same time, he wanted to start humming with him, though he wasn't sure his parched throat would be able to utter so much as a hiss.

So he settled for simply waiting and listening. He didn't bother trying to figure out where he was. He knew he wasn't at home anymore, but that was as far as his knowledge went. At the moment, he didn't really care anyway. He wanted to enjoy this, for once in his face-paced life. He wanted to be able to enjoy more of these kinds of moments. Living the life he had lived thus far had been good fun and all, but the past several days he'd been living with Megan, Ellis, and Dal - even with the fighting and the drama - had been beautiful and comfortable in their simplicity.

With any luck, he wouldn't lose out on those simpler things in the future.

Dal concluded Black Rock with a sigh, and Nick could hear him shifting around in his seat. His lips quirked up in a very slight smile and he parted his lips, trying to operate his sand-dry vocal cords and failing. He closed his mouth again and swallowed several times, before trying again.

On his second attempt, he managed to croak out his message: "Mor..." His throat caught on itself midway through the word, forcing him to swallow once more and try again. "Morning."

He heard a sharp intake of breath, and he couldn't help the way his smile broadened. He turned his head slowly, ignoring the pounding in his skull, and cracked an eye opened. The window was covered by blinds, thankfully, but that didn't stop the fluorescent lights above him to blind him entirely. He blinked hard several times, attemping to move an arm to rub at his eyes. It was a lot harder than he felt it should have been, but after a moment of real effort, he managed to accomplish his task.

Finally, with his vision returned and the lights less blinding, he took the time to take in those who had been posted beside him for... however long he'd been sleeping.

Ellis was staring at him, looking like he wasn't sure whether or not he ought to cry or smile. He appeared to be somewhere in between, disbelief and joy coloring his blue eyes brighter than usual. Megan looked startled, her eyes wide and her red hair pulled back into an unusally messy ponytail. Her eyes were already starting to water, and Nick was beginning to get the impression that he had been a lot closer to death than he'd realized.

Finally, he tilted his head up a little so he could actually see Dal, who had been posted closest to his head. The kid's eyes had never been wider, his face had never been paler, and he most certainly hadn't looked quite so terrible. The shadows under his eyes were as dark as bruises, his face was gaunt, and he definitely looked like he had lost all the weight he had put on after his fever had broken.

How sick had he been? How long had he been sleeping? What in all hell had happened while he'd been unconscious? He was beginning to feel bad for falling ill. He could tell that it had put his friends through an emotional wringer. He hadn't actually realized that getting (extremely?) sick would have that kind of effect on them. Apparently, Dal's opinion of him wasn't the only one he'd underestimated.

No one was saying anything. He felt like a deer in headlights. The three of them had to all be thinking that they were hallucinating, because he really couldn't think of any other reason for them to be looking at him like he had literally just risen from the dead. He felt almost like he had disturbed some kind of mood or moment, and that perhaps he should just go back to sleep. He was certainly still tired enough to sleep for a month or two.

"N-... Nick?"

He stared, for an excessively long time, at Dal. How long had he been asleep?

"Jeez," he said, "I must've been out for a long time if you're talking now."

All at once, the tears were flowing. Megan immediately started to rub at her eyes in what was likely an effort to conceal her tears. Ellis had started to laugh, sounding close to hysterical. Dal punched him in the arm with unfair harshness, crying uncontrollably. Nick wasn't at all prepared for that reaction, and he helplessly rubbed at the spot where Dal had hit him, staring at all of them in utter confusion.

"You ass!" Megan suddenly exclaimed at him, angry all of a sudden. "You almost died!"

He blinked, alarmed. How close to death was "almost?" How long had he been sleeping?! What had happened? Before he could start pelting them with very confused questions, he noted Megan and Ellis looking past him, towards where he was now guessing there was a door. He turned his head, ignoring the increasing in pounding in his head. A nurse stood there, looking alarmed for a moment before surprise overtook his expression.

"I heard you yelled and..." The young man smiled at them, looking pleased. "Well," he continued, "I'll go and get the doctor."

"Thank you, Justin," Megan replied thickly, clearing her throat and looking slightly embarrassed. Justin nodded and turned away, heading back down the hall from whence he had come. As soon as he was out of sight, Nick turned back towards his friends, seeking out the button that would sit him up somewhat, as he was relatively sure he wasn't going to be able to sit up on his own. He wanted to, but just by how difficult it had been to lift his arm, he could tell it was impossible.

Ellis, who had only just come out of his laughing fit when Justin had appeared, suddenly spoke when Nick had gotten about a third of the way to where he wanted to be. "Nick, wait, your missin' a kidney. If ya' sit up too high, it's gonna hurt a lot."

Nick froze, his finger coming off the button, and looked up at Ellis. There was a pregnant pause as the information sank in. "I'm missing a what?"

"A kidney," another person spoke that Nick didn't know, and he turned to look at the intruder. A man stood in the doorway, wearing a white lab coat. The nurse from earlier, Justin, had followed him into the room and approached Nick's bedside to take his vitals. Nick allowed him to do his job, instead choosing to size up the doctor. He didn't appear to be too much of a threat. He looked exhausted, but pleased at the same time, if not a little astounded.

"A kidney." Nick repeated.

"And your spleen," the doctor continued, walking further into the room and stopping at the foot of the bed. "You're extremely lucky."

The conman's face drained of color. "How lucky is extremely lucky?"

"You should be dead," was the offhanded answer he got from Justin the Nurse. It was completely unsatisfying.

However, right when he was about to start asking more questions, the doctor continued, "Nick, once you lost your spleen, it was generous of me to guess that you had a ten percent chance of survival."

The doctor glanced at a chart as Justin the Nurse handed it to him. He frowned slightly, but shrugged and went back to speaking to Nick. "You had severe sepsis, which is basically when you get an infection in the normally sterile environment of your blood. The cause was the gunshot wound in your side, and your lack of care for it."

Nick forced himself to be quiet long enough for the information to sink in. Severe sepsis. Lost kidney and spleen. He'd had a ninety percent chance of dying. He was beginning to see why Megan, Ellis, and Dal had been hysterical at his awakening, and why he'd gotten punched. He looked over at the three of them. Dal was still trying to get hold of himself. Ellis was working extremely hard to not smile. Megan was glaring at him. He felt kind of bad for making them worry so much.

The silence stretched for a good minute before the doctor finished reading the chart he'd been handed and spoke again, "I'm going to schedule another CT scan and a full blood panel for tomorrow."

He grunted an affirmation. The doctor nodded curtly and left with Nurse Justin, the two talking about something irrelevant on their way out the door. Nick's glare faltered. He really had almost died. It'd been a while since he'd been standing on death's door, and it was for such a stupid reason. Infected bullet wound. If he had taken a moment to stop sleeping and taken care of the damn thing, he wouldn't have wound up in his current predicament.

He looked over at Dal. The kid's arms were wrapped around his middle and he was hunched over his lap, shaking like a leaf. Nick's heart ached. He felt terrible. Not for getting sick, no. He felt terrible because he was pretty sure he knew exactly what kinds of thoughts had been going through Dal's head while he sat vigil over Nick. He had a feeling Dal hadn't slept through the night in days. Nick didn't know how long he'd been out. He didn't know how long Dal had been waiting for him to wake up. Nick had waited for only a couple of days for Dal to wake up when he'd been sick, and those days had nearly destroyed him.

"Dal, come here," he said. The kid didn't seem inclined to look up. Or move, for that matter. Nick wasn't having any of that, though. He leaned over, barely managing to contain himself when a sharp, piercing pang shot through him, stemming from his lower back and left side, which must've been where his spleen and kidney were removed. He gritted his teeth and grabbed Dal's shirt, leaning back to his original position and yanking the kid along with him. Dal looked for a moment like he was going to hit the floor, but he caught himself and allowed Nick to pull him over.

He didn't have to tell the kid to hug him, which was a relief because there was no way he would've been able to say something like that out loud. Ignoring the pull of the stitches in his side, he hugged Dal back, pushing down the discomfort and the visceral desire to push the kid away. Ellis and Megan fell very, very quiet, though Ellis didn't stop grinning. Nick glared at him from over Dal's shoulders, daring him to say something at any point in time. Ellis ought to know by now that he'd kill him if he wanted to.

The pause seemed like a lengthy one. Nick was sure it didn't last more than a minute or two, but it seemed like an eternity. He really didn't like affectionate physical contact. He was sure a psychologist would cite his childhood or something, but the reason for it didn't matter to Nick. He'd never had to worry about it because no one had ever really craved physical attention from him beyond sex or a knuckle sandwich.

Now, however, it seemed that he was going to have to get used to it.

Eventually, Dal pulled away on his own accord, and Nick let him. The kid sank back into his seat, looking so incredibly drained, Nick thought for a moment he was going to fall asleep right in his chair.

"Dal," he said, and the kid looked up at him. "Geez, you look terrible. When's the last time you slept?" Dal shrugged unhelpfully at his question, and Nick had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Is there somewhere you can go and sleep?"

For a moment, he was sure he was going to be resisted. But he put on his best stern-face, knowing just by Dal's reaction to his question that there was somewhere he could sleep. "Go take a nap. You can come back when you wake up. I don't care if you only sleep for an hour, kiddo. You look like you haven't slept in days."

"That's because he hasn't," Megan muttered. The look Dal gave her was one of such utter betrayal, Nick couldn't help chuckling. The kid looked at Ellis helplessly, but the hick only smiled at him.

"E's right, Dal. We'll all still be 'ere when ya' wake up." Ellis paused briefly before continuing. "Well, me n' Meg might be in the cafeteria, but Nick'll still be here, and that's what ya' really care about, right?"

Dal's face fell. He looked impossibly defeated. "I'll still be here, Dal." Nick reassured as gently as he could make himself sound. "I promise."

The kid looked like he wasn't sure he could believe him, but nonetheless he slowly stood up and made a wobbly trip out of the room. He swayed all the way out the door and around the corner. Nick watched him go, listening carefully for a good minute after he was out of sight in case the kid collapsed in the hallway like he looked like he might.

"The room is right next door," Megan spoke up. She seemed to sense his concern. "He'll be fine."

Nick nodded silently, frowning. He looked back over at the two of them. Ellis' facial muscles were finally starting to relax, though he still looked just as happy as he had when Nick had finally caught up to the hick, Coach, and Rochelle in the swamps. Megan had stopped glaring at him, her gaze gentler than before.

"I have two questions," Nick finally said after a lengthy pause, watching them with an even gaze.

"Shoot." Megan replied with a nod.

"First... where the hell are we?"

Ellis was the one who supplied the answer this time, looking a lot calmer than he had earlier. Nick was glad the moment had passed. "We're on a base in Texas. Uh... El Paso, I think."

"Yea, El Paso." Megan confirmed, glancing at the younger man only briefly.

Nick frowned at that bit of information. He'd only known about their exact location for ten seconds and already he was itching to get off the base. By base, they had to mean a military base. That meant military in general. Officials of the law. Nick had always and probably would always have a problem with the law and "authority" figures. He didn't mind doctors too much, so long as they weren't completely dicks, but police, military, and those of the world who had anything in common with them? He'd rather die than be confined by their walls.

Nick had spent six months in juvie when he was fifteen. Rather than learning not to break the law, he'd learned not to get caught, and that the "authority" should be fought and otherwise hated. It had not been a good experience, but he had learned a lot from it. Sure, he'd learned all the "wrong" things, but he'd still learned and that counted to him.

"And..." He looked back up at them, "How long was I out?"

Ellis and Megan exchanged a glance, the latter grimacing while the former looked uncertain. Nick's brow furrowed. They had to know he was going to ask, but the little moment they were having seemed to tell him a lot by itself. He had been out for a long time.

Finally, they turned back to him, and Megan answered his question. "You were out for sixteen days, Nick."

The world seemed to come to a sudden, screeching halt around him. Sixteen days?! For a moment, he was sure they were joking, but the serious look on their faces was enough to tell him that they weren't. He had been out for sixteen days. Nick took a deep breath. That probably constituted as a coma. He'd been in a coma. It was no wonder that the three who had been sitting vigil over his bedside looked so worn.

"Dal hasn't left your side for anything," Megan spoke again, sounding like she had just realized she could let go of a large load of stress. "He wasn't eating. He wasn't sleeping unless he passed out in his chair. The only reason he didn't dehydrate to death was because I've been bringing him soda and juice and water whenever I come back from the cafeteria."

He wasn't sure if she was trying to inflict guilt upon him or if she was intending her comments to explain just how good Dal was to him. He didn't really need either. He felt guilty enough for robbing the kid of his sanity for sixteen days, and he already appreciated every aspect of Dal and their relationship.

He nodded mutely, not really having anything to say to that. He felt both terrible and bitterly overjoyed. He supposed this must've been how Dal felt when Nick started showing him affection for the first time - those early days when simply worrying about the kid would make him cry. Nick was more important to Dal that he had ever been to anyone else in his life.

People had been dedicated to trying to fix him. People had been kind in various ways to try and get him to behave in certain ways. The only other person to ever care about him was his sister, but that had been more about her feeling the need to protect him because she was the oldest and he was the youngest.

Dal honestly, truly cared about Nick. Not because he wanted anything. Not because he felt the need to. Nick didn't actually know why the kid cared about him so much. He didn't know what he had done to deserve to have such a good kid walk into his life. Maybe he hadn't done anything. Maybe it was just his time for redemption.

Ha-ha, very funny.

If Dal did accompany him, he would likely return to his life of swindling and conning, and simply add a partner in on his crimes. He didn't know if Dal would permit that, or if the kid would just hang back at whatever home base they established while Nick got into every kind of trouble he could find.

The again, he didn't actually know if he would return to that lifestyle. Perhaps he would just settle down somewhere with Dal and try for a minute to make an honest living. The kid was fifteen - he probably ought to finish school. Nick could easily lie and say that he was nineteen, since Dal looked a lot older than he was, but he didn't know if the kid would want that. He didn't know anything. His future was completely up in the air at the moment.

Perhaps Dal would be the one to finally domesticate him. And would that really be such a bad thing? He'd get to listen to the kid hum - or sing, once he could talk properly. They could listen to O.A.R and Dave Matthews Band and whatever interesting things Dal listened to. They could have road trips, or they could stay at home. They could just enjoy each other's company. They didn't have to live a complicated, scary lifestyle.

The days he had spent living with his friends in that house in Brookhaven had been the best days of his life, even though they had taken place during a minor apocalypse and there had been fighting and drama and Dal getting sick. He had never been so comfortable, so happy with where he was and what he was doing.

His friends. He'd never had that before. Before, he would never have allowed himself the luxury of friends. Friends were dangerous. Friends meant returning to a place on a semi-regular basis. Friends could be used as leverage. Friends were too risky. Now, he had three, and he was surprised to note that he didn't mind having them. Even if they were somewhat annoying. Even if they didn't understand him or themselves. Even if they cried a little too much.

He supposed this new life forming in front of him didn't look all that bad.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

Nick looked a lot better than he had, that was for sure.

He was still quite pale, and the dark spots on his jaw had yet to completely fade, though they looked a lot better than before. He was still incredibly weak, and had a hard time moving when he first woke up in the morning. Sometimes, he had some difficulty keeping his food down. Sometimes, his joints would flare up and he'd start cursing until someone gave him a shot to dull the pain.

He wasn't better, but he was getting better, and that was what mattered to Dal.

He continued to hum, knowing that it was helping to strengthen his throat muscles and well aware of the fact that Nick enjoyed the sound. Megan had given him another exercise to start once she had found out that he could pronounce Nick's name with little difficulty. Now, he was sounding out individual vowels and consonants, all the way through the alphabet. Some sounds were harder to make than others, but he kept at it. Megan had told him that, at his rate of progress, he might be able to pronounce full sentences with minimal errors within a couple of weeks.

"Maybe even before Nick's out of the hospital."

He didn't let his hopes get too high, but he was excited at the prospect. So he diligently did his exercises, making sure not to do them too often, lest he strain something. It was kind of hard to hold back like that, but he was disciplined. Forcing himself to be completely silent for eleven years had done enough to discipline him.

Megan had encouraged him to talk as much as he could. She seemed really excited about his progress all of a sudden. He supposed that Nick's impending recovery had put her back into high spirits. Occasionally, she would sink into thought and look extremely depressed, and Dal would ask her if she was alright, and she would tell him she was fine, and he wouldn't really believe her.

Once he had finished humming and occasionally singing Black Rock for Nick, he looked up at the conman. The man had personally requested that Dal hum the song for him, and Dal had obliged. He was a big fan of the song as well. He owned the album. Though he didn't know if his room was still intact. His parents had probably turned it into a study before the infection hit.

His gut twisted at the thought of his mom, and he pushed those thoughts down like his life depended on it. Concentrate. Hum some more. Look at Nick. Talk to Nick. Try talking in general. You haven't done it yet today. Go ahead, it's fine. Just relax and do something to distract yourself for a minute.

He picked up another song and started humming again, occasionally singing a line or two. He sounded terrible. It was as if his vocal cords had forgotten how to speak. And for all he knew, they had. That might've been the reason for the humming. He hadn't asked Megan for specific details on his current condition yet. He ought to do that later.

Very good. Keep at it.

He looked out the window, staring across the base they were on. It was expansive, and there were people everywhere. It didn't look like any of them were armed. They were just milling around.

Rochelle had come by a couple of days prior to tell them that she had secured a four bedroom house on the base for them to stay at when they left the hospital. She'd handed Ellis the key and told him where the house was and what it looked like. From the third story window in the room, he could see it. It was the only house with a black roof. All the rest had tan or red or copper roofs, with cream-colored walls. Apparently it was typical of houses in the desert.

There we go. Its gone. Back to Nick. You wanted to talk to him, remember?

He did want to talk to him. And as soon as he recalled that fact, his stomach filled with butterflies that almost felt like nausea. He was terrified that Nick would turn him away. He knew, logically, that Nick would likely agree with him to some extent or another, but the knowledge wasn't comforting. Sure, the two of them had made up and everything was back to normal, but Nick wasn't suited for relationships and he knew that as well as everyone around him. Nick had said out loud that he would try to do some damage control on himself, but Dal didn't know how successful he'd be.

He wasn't sure if Nick really wanted to change. He wasn't sure if Nick would become noble all of a sudden and decide that he wanted to remain alone so that he didn't hurt Dal again. He wasn't sure if Nick wanted Dal to stick around. There were too many things he wasn't sure about. He didn't know how to start this conversation.

It was becoming harder and harder to speak. He hadn't managed to get a single word out. He felt that the task set before him really shouldn't be as difficult as it was turning out to be. Dal swallowed the lump building in his throat and took a deep breath. It did absolutely nothing to calm him. If only he knew how to still his mind and meditate.

He finally looked up from his lap at the conman. Nick looked up at the exact same moment, and their eyes met. Dal was sure Nick could see the tempest of emotions in his eyes. The way the man was staring at him gave that away entirely.

At the same time, however, Dal was sure he could see some kind of caged emotions in Nick's eyes as well. It didn't show much at all. The man really did have a perfect poker face. Dal was sure that Ellis and Megan wouldn't have seen it. He wasn't even sure how he was seeing it.

"Um..."

"So, hey..."

They both spoke at the exact same time, and they both stopped at the exact same time. It became sort of like a Mexican standoff. They were both waiting for the other to speak, trying to see who would break first. Dal was relatively certain that Nick could wait until the end of time for him to speak.

So, rather than waiting for the end of time, he swallowed the lump in his throat that seemed to have grown exponentially in size, and began: "I..." He had to get it out all at once or he was never going to get it out at all. He took in another useless deep breath.

"I wwwaanna... wanna... ssttay... ssstay. Stay." His throat locked up even as he was repeating words in an effort to pronounce them properly, and he swallowed the lump down again. Speaking around the apple in his throat was a bit painful. It felt like he was going to choke on his own tongue.

This was turning out to be really, really difficult. He had diverted his attention to his lap, afraid to look Nick in the eye at that point. He couldn't speak anymore. It felt like his throat was being held in a threatening vice grip, and for some reason he wanted to cry. He smothered the feelings as best he could, trying to summon the rest of his courage out of thin air, and started to speak again.

But, before he could utter a single syllable, Nick spoke up, "You want to stick with me?" His voice was quiet, subdued. He sounded dulled, but when Dal looked up at him in surprise, he could see that Nick felt anything but dulled. His eyes were bright with surprise, joy, apprehension, and a whole slew of other things that Dal couldn't pick out.

Realizing he'd been asked a question, Dal sheepishly replied, "Eeyyess. Yyes. Uhghk. Yes." He had to say it three times before he got it right. Megan had told him that, when he messed up a word, he should backtrack and repeat it until he got it right. It was incredibly annoying.

Nick was silent for a long time. Dal watched him carefully, his stomach being very unhelpful with its constant gymnastics in his abdomen. He couldn't tell what the conman was thinking. He could feel the first vestiges of panic start to settle in the forefront of his mind, and all of a sudden he was bombarded with anxiety and fear and self-consciousness, and he felt like such an idiot.

Why would Nick want him to stick around? He was a conman. Dal would only get in his way. Dal would be a liability. Dal would slow him down. Nick couldn't afford to have baggage like that. And aside from all of that, they had already established that Nick wasn't suited for relationships. Dal wasn't worried about Nick hurting him. Not really. Either he would or he wouldn't, and there was nothing he could really do to change that. He could be forgiving and he could try not to get on Nick's bad side, but that was as far as he could go with it.

"And if I decide then you're going to be trailing after me like a duckling for the rest of your life.”

Nick probably wouldn't want Dal to follow after him...

"Are you sure?"

Dal blinked, confused momentarily by the answer. He hadn't been expecting such a response, and so he didn't know how to take it for a long moment. Finally, he nodded, unsure of where Nick would take the information.

"Dal... I'm not really... I don't know if you would really want to do that. I'm not... suited for longterm relationships. We've already established this. I ... don't want to hurt you again, but knowing me I probably will. A lot. You'll be miserable." Nick spoke in a subdued tone, but his words came out in a rush. "I mean, why would you want to stay with someone like me, anyway?"

Dal stared at him.

"I duuhooon'... don't hghgaaare. Care. I don't care out'... about sat. That. Abou' sszzat. I don' caaare a'out sthat." He managed to say, his eyes starting to water. "I jus' wwwanna ssstay wif... with hhyyou. You. Wisth you."

Nick took in what looked like a shuddering breath, turning his gaze away from Dal. He stared instead at his hands, and Dal wondered what he was thinking about. Was he considering his options? Was he trying to think of how to best say "no?" Was he trying to think of how it would work if Dal did stay with him?

The conman chuckled suddenly, shaking his head slightly. Dal watched him carefully, waiting with bated breath for Nick's answer. The silence stretched on, the only sound being from the monitors and the hustle and bustle of hospital life on the other side of the closed door.

"You're really sure you want to stick with me? Even though I'm an ass?" Nick asked, his voice even quieter.

"I'mm ssshherr. I'm sure." He replied sincerely, leaning forward a little bit in his seat and planting his palms on the chair between his knees. He felt like a child trying to persuade his parents to take him to Disneyland. Nick turned his gaze back to Dal again, looking both resigned and overjoyed and bitter and excited and apprehensive all at once. At first, Dal was simply surprised at how much of Nick he was able to read in that moment. Then, he realized what had happened, and his heart swelled.

Nick had dropped his poker face, for just a moment. And in that moment, Dal could really see him. There was so much that the conman hid from the world. He hadn't realized just how strongly Nick censored what the world saw of him. He must have been doing it for years, and yet now he had allowed himself to be vulnerable, for just a moment.

Maybe he'll change a little bit after all.

"Well," Nick finally spoke, a smile gracing his features. Dal had never seen him look as happy as he did in that moment. He had never seen the man look so relaxed while awake. He had never seen him smile so genuinely, with nothing bitter or angry hiding just below the surface.

"Alright, I guess," the conman continued quietly. "You can be a duckling if you want."

“And if I decide then you're going to be trailing after me like a duckling for the rest of your life.”

For just a second, he almost didn't believe what he was hearing. Then, his heart swelled and the lump in his throat came back with a vengeance and a tsunami of joy and relief hit him. His eyes were watering, but he couldn't stop smiling. He laughed, sounding a little on the hysterical side, and slumped back in his chair.

He was surprised at how relieved he felt. It was like the biggest load of the century had been lifted off his shoulders. He almost didn't know what to make of it all. It was sort of overwhelming. He had genuinely expected Nick to refuse him. He had expected to be rejected. He wasn't sure why he'd expected to be rejected, but he had. He'd been so afraid of that rejection, he'd been putting off this conversation for almost three weeks now.

He supposed he should've known better. Nick cared about him. Nick worried about him. They hadn't known each other for very long, but it felt as thought they'd known each other for years. They didn't know a lot about each other, but they knew enough. And over time, they'd learn more.

He didn't know why he'd been expecting Nick to wholly reject him. The man had yet to decide he didn't want Dal around and then stand by that decision. And Dal knew it was possible that one day, they really would go their separate ways. Someday, Dal might decide that he didn't want to live the way that Nick did anymore. Someday, Nick might decide that having a partner wasn't worth the trouble. Someday, they might have a huge fight. Someday, one of them might get murdered. Who could say for sure?

Right now, though, everything was fine. He was happy. Nick was happy. Everything was fine. He didn't need to fret about the future or the past. All he was going to do was relish in the bliss that had come with his relief. He didn't have to be alone anymore. He didn't have to be afraid that he'd never find a place where he belonged. He didn't have to think about those things anymore.

He could just be happy with what he had.

I can stay!

...

"So, I have to ask the question that's been hanging over us all day," Megan spoke after a long period of silence. They'd been enjoying each others' company in the living room of the house Rochelle had secured for them. The rooms were all furnished and supplies already lined the cupboards, refrigerator, dressers, and everywhere else.

Nick had been released from the hospital that day, after a total of five weeks. Megan had been paying close attention when the doctor went over all the post-release information. Nick's eyes had glazed over as Dr. Mills spoke, and she knew immediately that he was going to be a terrible outpatient.

"Which question would that be?" Nick asked in reply. At that moment, Dal came downstairs. He glanced over at Nick briefly, waved at the three of them, and went into the kitchen. He'd been napping, as he had been almost every day after Nick woke up. The boy had a lot of sleep to catch up on, and the rest of them had all been encouraging Dal to sleep whenever he felt tired. He'd been happy to oblige.

"What are we going to do now?" Megan asked, snapping her book shut and straightening up in her seat a little. She looked directly at Nick, and then over at Ellis. The two men stared at her, both seemingly lost in a train of thought regarding her question.

Dal chose that moment to return from the kitchen with a glass of water and a pink pill, both of which he handed to Nick. The conman didn't seem particularly interested in remembering when he was supposed to take his medication, and so Dal had taken up the responsibility of making sure Nick took three pills a day until he ran out.

Nick sighed heavily, but he received the cup and pill and obediently took his medication. Dal nodded in satisfaction, sitting down beside the conman and getting comfortable.

"Meg wants to know what we're doin' next, Dal. What d'you think?" Ellis asked as the boy settled down. Dal stared at the young man for a moment, seemingly uncertain of how to reply. He glanced at Nick briefly, who was looking away and didn't turn his attention to the boy. He then returned his gaze to Megan and Ellis, the corners of his mouth tugging into a slight frown.

"I 'unno." He replied, slurring his words only a little. His speech had improved in leaps and bounds since Megan had found out he could say Nick's name without much trouble. She had almsot immediately gone into physical therapist mode and started conjuring up things to do that would strengthen the muscles in Dal's mouth while improving the dexterity of his throat and tongue.

Now, the boy could speak and be understood fairly easily. Sometimes he slurred his words, sometimes he couldn't wrap his tongue around a syllable or a particular letter, but he could correct himself on the second try and make himself understood.

"That's helpful," Megan said with a teasing smile. Dal shrugged, smiling back. But it wasn't his usual smile. He looked like he had a lot on his mind. Nick and Dal had been shut up in Dal's room ealier that day, apparently having an important, very private conversation. Since then, the kid had been in the clouds and never seemed to be quite present. Megan's smile didn't waver, even though she desperately wanted to know what was wrong.

I could help, I bet.

No, it's none o' your business. If he wanted t' tell ya', 'e would.

She had somehow managed to invoke The Power Of Ellis within herself. Now, she had an inner hick to tell her to mind her own business.

“What do you want to do, Megan?" Nick asked, sounding only mildly curious. Megan opened her mouth to reply with some smart comment on her plans, but she stopped herself. What was she going to do? She had been assuming all along that she would return to her little apartment in Brookhaven, that she'd find her sister and the rest of her family and find out who was still alive and who had died. She had been assuming that when this whole mess was over, she'd split up with the rest of her current little family (because that's what they are to you; family) and try to stay in touch but probably never see them again.

Now, she wasn't so sure. She wanted to go home, yes. She wanted to return to her old life and put this whole thing behind her, yes. But she didn't want to split up with Dal, Nick, and Ellis. They were like her brothers now, and even though they fought sometimes, they were family. At least, they were in Megan's eyes. She didn't know if the rest of them felt the same, and she didn't know if they would want to stay in touch, or stick together, or whatever.

"I..." She began hesitantly, staring at the floor in before the coffee table. "I'm not sure, I don't think." Megan looked up and met Nick's even gaze.

"Why not?" Ellis wanted to know. Megan chewed her tongue for a moment, uncertain about whether she wanted to suggest that they stay together or if she wanted to tell them that she would return to Brookhaven and pick up where she left off.

"I mean... you guys are like family to me," She finally admitted after a lengthy silence. "I want to go back to Brookhaven and pick up where I left off, but I don't ... I don't want to never see you guys again."

Something flickered in Nick's gaze, and she wasn't entirely sure what it was. His expression seemed to darken just slightly, and after a moment, he diverted his attention to the floor, before briefly glancing at Dal. The kid made a face, and Nick smirked at him before looking back to the floor again.

"What about you, Ellis?" Megan asked, deciding that she'd save Nick for last. "What do you want to do?"

Ellis smiled, though his eyes held a hint of sadness in them. "I'm in pretty much the same boat, Meg. I wanna stay wit' you guys, but I wanna get back t' Savannah, too. I wanna see if I can find Keith, n' Dave, n' Paul, n' all o' them."

Megan nodded in complete understanding, "It sucks that we're from such different places. I might be able to maintain contact via telephone, but I'd never have the money or the time to travel up to Savannah, let alone hire a private detective to find Nick so we could have lunch or something."

Nick let out a breath of laughter, "There isn't a private detective in the world who could track me down. I move around too much."

"Are you gonna go back to conning and scamming people?" Megan asked with a sly grin.

The conman smirked back at her, "Knowing me? Probably. I don't know if I could stay away from it forever." He replied easily, as if the fact that he murdered and swindled and was generally awful to people on a regular basis wasn't a big deal.

Nick didn't come across as sociopathic, just by virtue of the fact that he was capable of experiencing normal human emotion - even though he did an amazing job hiding it from everyone - but sometimes Megan couldn't help but wonder what did go through his head when he thought about how many people he'd killed, how many lives he may very well have ruined.

It's none o' your business.

I know, I know! I'm just curious. I won't ask.

"You just be careful," she replied after a brief pause in their conversation. "I don't like that you're an asshole, but at the same time I don't want to hear on the news that you were arrested or shot by a cop or anything like that."

"I'll be fine, Megan." He reassured, smiling with a ridiculously confident gleam in his eyes. She gave him a half-smile in return. She glanced at Dal, who had been extremely quiet through the exchange. He was staring at his hands, looking very thoughtful. Megan wondered what was going through the boy's head at that moment. He seemed to be very deep in whatever thoughts he was sifting through.

"So, I guess..." Megan spoke again, trailing off briefly before standing up. She went to the back of the living room, where there was a bookshelf filled with many things that were not books. She dug around in the shelves for a moment, eventually finding what she was looking for - a notebook and a pen that wasn't dead. She returned to the armchair, opened the notebook once she had sat down, and started writing out her home address. She wrote it on three different sheet of paper before sitting up.

"Here," She tore the sheets out and ripped them in half so they weren't as large before handing them to the others. "This is my address, and my home phone. I have a cell phone but I'm not sure if it'll be working. If you give me a way to contact you, I can text you or something when I've figure out what's up with my phone."

Ellis grinned, holding his hand out for the notebook, "Yea, Meg, I got a home phone I can give ya'." He scribbled it down messily, writing his name beside it. His handwriting was a train wreck, but she could read it. She took the piece of paper from him with a smile.

"I gather you two don't have a way for me to contact you yet, but when you do you should call me or come find me," she said to Dal and Nick, who both nodded in agreement. "So I'll be waiting to hear from you."

Dal smiled, but the expression looked strangely meek, "I'llll dg.. de... fini'ely ghk-call. I'll... gh-...definitely call." He managed to say, though it seemed to be more difficult that had been the norm. It looked like he was holding tension in his throat, and she didn't know why. Was the whole incident with his mom catching up with him? Or was something else going on that she didn't know about?

None o' your business, Meg, Inner Ellis spoke up in a sing-song voice. Megan sighed, leaning back and yawning. She glanced over at the nearest clock, taking note of her rather intense fatigue. It was only nine - normally, she didn't get tired until closer to eleven or midnight.

"I think I'm gonna head to bed, guys." Megan said. "Sorry to cut the conversation short. I'm exhausted. We can talk more tomorrow, if any of us care enough to bring it up again." She added with a grin.

"Alrighty," Ellis replied, "I'm thinkin' I'll head up in a minute, too. I wanna get a snack first, though."

"You had a huge helping of that macaroni and cheese, Ellis." Nick scolded, "You're gonna get fat."

"Nah, I got great metabolism," the young man retorted with a playful grin as he stood up and headed to the kitchen. Megan rolled her eyes, smiling all the while.

After receiving a chorus of "good nights" from the rest of her little family, she headed up the stairs, turning down the hall and into her room. She closed the door, stripping out of her t-shirt and sweatpants, and clambered into bed.

She was exhausted, and so, even though her mind was buzzing with depressing thoughts of the impending separation of her and her family, Megan fell asleep easily for the first time in a long time.

...

Ellis woke up feeling amazing. He felt refreshed, he felt well-rested. He felt generally awesome. He hadn't slept that well in a while. Even after Nick had waken up, the fact that the conman had still been pretty sick for quite a while had continued to wreak havoc on his sleep cycle. Now, he could sleep in and he could sleep well. He'd only been in this house for about thirty-six hours now, and already he was feeling much better now that he was out of that hospital. He rolled out of bed, grabbing the nearest pair of sweatpants off the floor and pulling them on..

He glanced at the clock briefly, noting that it was much earlier than he had thought it was. It was eight in the morning. He had thought it was closer to noon because of how well-rested he felt. Although, considering how early he'd gone to bed, he supposed it wasn't that bad. He'd gotten ten or eleven hours of sleep. That was actually a lot more than enough. Normally, he would have waken up tired and sore because he'd slept too long.

Well, he supposed today was as good a day as any for a small miracle. He headed for the dresser on the far side of the room, fishing out a t-shirt and pulling it over his head. Today felt like it would be a good day. He leaned back and stretched for a moment before turning towards his door.

He had just started turning the doorknob when he heard Megan holler up the stairs, "ELLIS!" Her tone didn't sound urgent, but he didn't want to make her wait if she was yelling for him. He opened his door hastily and started down the hall, heading down the stairs.

"Where are ya'?" He asked a little loudly, and then waited for a response.

Megan didn't take long to reply. "Kitchen," she said, sounding a little distracted. He noted that she sounded a bit upset, too... or maybe a little annoyed? He couldn't really pick out the tone of her voice. Deciding that he ought to not keep her waiting any longer, he strode into the kitchen, looking around briefly and spotting her immediately. She was standing by the dining room table, holding something in her hand.

Ellis stepped over to her, "What's wrong, Meg?" He asked uncertainly, looking around the kitchen for more clues. There weren't any, though. He didn't know what to think. He was becoming anxious about whatever it was that was wrong. What if it was something terrible? Had something happened? What happened? What was he supposed to do about it?

Just as he was starting to get extremely nervous, she spoke.

"They're gone." Megan finally replied after a period of silence. Ellis froze, confused at her words. They're gone? Who's gone? Nick and Dal? Where to? Why? He opened his mouth to speak, but Megan chuckled suddenly. Then, she threw back her head and laughed and laughed and laughed. For a moment, Ellis thought she had gone insane.

After she had gotten a hold of herself, Megan turned to Ellis and handed a piece of paper to him. He stared at her for a moment in confusion before looking down at what he now saw was a letter. He read it over twice, a strange feeling settling in his chest. He looked at the two names scribbled at the bottom, before a smile grew on his face.

"He's such a dick," The older woman said, wiping at her eyes. Ellis' eyes were starting to water as well, even though he was grinning like an idiot. He didn't know how he ought to feel about this development. He wasn't sure if he should be laughing or crying, so he had more or less settled for both.

Nick and Dal had taken off into the night, leaving only a good-bye letter on the dining room table for whoever to find. They hadn't stayed to say their goodbyes in person. They hadn't mentioned where they might go first. They hadn't left any important details for Megan and Ellis to use to find them later.

They evidently had no intention of ever seeing Megan and Ellis again. And while that notion came as a stab to the heart, it wasn't as though Ellis thought that Nick and Dal hated them. It hurt to think that the two of them had decided it would be worth it to ditch, but he was sure that, even though their two missing comrades likely had no real intention of it, they would probably see each other again. Maybe not all at the same time, but they would see each other again.

"What do you think they're gonna do with themselves? I mean, seriously?" Megan asked, her voice quiet, subdued. She seemed to be a lot more upset about Nick and Dal leaving than he was.

His eyes found the signatures at the bottom of the letter once again. Dal's was terribly messy. Nick's was straight-up chicken scratch. But he could still read them. He wondered where they might go first. The country was in shambles. The continent was in shambles.

Ellis looked up from the letter, meeting the redhead's gaze. "Well," he said with a grin. "It is Nick, ya' know. I'm sure they'll find somethin' worthwhile."

%MCEPASTEBIN%

Chapter Text

Megan and Ellis,

Sort of sorry for spiking your drinks last night. Also sort of sorry for not sticking around long enough to say a proper goodbye.

Me and Dal are off to find something new.

Best of luck to you both.

Nick

Dal