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Chapter Text

 A couple of days have passed since your daring escapade to your neighbour's house. The little girl had cried her heart out at the sight of the photograph, but the desperate hug she threw around your waist was all that was needed for you to know things would be okay.

 You don't require her thanks, that's not why you did it, but her growing warmth both to you and the world made risking your life worth it.

 It surprises you to find you'd do it again, in a heartbeat. You might even willingly kill a FEMA agent if one ever demanded to take her. The growing protectiveness towards her was both familiar but also strange – how long has it been since you cared for another?

 More than that, you found yourself more willing to bring others in. Saftey in numbers, you told yourself. But even if you didn't want to accept the warmth of company; others in this house needed it. You were now up to seven occupants and a cat, and your house is the busiest you've seen it in years.

 You never threw out the ballerina either. It had become quite obvious she was a visitor, but she kept to herself and had yet to harm anyone. Maybe you were becoming soft, maybe the all consuming fear had blurred the lines between threat and non threat; because if she was a willing and happy occupant of this mad household, why throw her out?

 She wasn't your most concerning thought, however. You had begun to find yourself re-checking the windows and peep hole through out the night, a restless energy within you that you keep telling yourself is because of the rising tensions of the ongoing apocalypse.

 You refuse to acknowledge that it's because you're nervously waiting to see him again.

 He hasn't made himself known since the night you stepped outside, though the increasing number of dead FEMA agents signals he's never strayed far.

Tonight was turning out to be no different. You sit on the edge of your bed, waiting for an inevitable knock from possible friend or foe. The cat had taken its spot next to you, and you pet it's soft fur gently as you sit in the silence.

 As if on que, a loud banging that you've come to know as FEMA's signature knock rattles throughout the house. You take in a breath, contemplating not answering, but the knocking only increases in urgency.

 You pick up your shot gun as you swiftly move towards the door, dread settling in your stomach as you fret about what they want now.

 "Yes?" You answer gruffly. Peering out the peep hole because you refuse to open the door to the agent. The eyes of the man are hardened behind his mask, and you know you're in for a fight.

 "We require more test subjects from you." There it was. You knew it was coming. "The sooner we get them, the better."

 "Bring back the ones you took first!" The man narrows his eyes, but you're fed up with his agency's intrusions.

 "You are in no position to make demands!" He snaps back. You feel adrenaline begin to take hold, muscles buzzing with the certainty of this going south. You cut him off before he continues his tirade.

 "Do you not see the growing pile of bodies?" You're still uncertain as to why the pale visitor killed those agents for you, but it was currently a point in your favour. "This place is cursed, you should stop sending agents."

 The man shuffles on his feet, you see his eyes glance to the left to take in the bloodied fields. Then he squares his shoulders as he turns to you, and your internally groan at the defiance in his eyes.

 "Did you kill them?" You almost scoff at his question.

 "No." Your gaze flicks to behind the man, hoping you'd catch a sign of your stalker. But he's still yet to be seen. 

 "We need people." He pushes, deciding you're not a threat. "Two, to be precise. It'll speed things up. This is all for the best."

 Two?! You grip your shot gun so tightly you feel your knuckles hurt.

 "Leave." You've had enough, your tone cold. "I'm not giving you anyone."

 The agent turns to his right, motions with a flick of his hand, and two more agents are suddenly in your field of view. They ready to break your door down, so with a grave growl you unlock it and throw it open.

 "Two. Be quick." You step aside, posture taut as you perpare for them to unsettle your household.

 They storm in. You watch as the first pulls the Stoner out of your bathroom, and you look at the man with a restrained expression of apology.

 He shrugs in the agents grip. "It's cool man. It was getting pretty chummy in here anyway."

 He's lead out of the door, and you nervously wait for the next eviction.

 Please not the little girl.

 There's a wailing. And an agent moves quickly around the corner leading the ballerina out. The cashier girl you let in a few nights ago is sobbing, following behind the pair. You step in their path.

 "Kitty safe with you, yes?" Ballerina looks to you, seemingly unphased. You fumble for words, so you manage a nod instead. "Then all is well." The agent continues to lead her out. 

"No please wait–" You watch in growing horror as the cashier reaches out to pull the Ballerina away. These two had become close in the few days since they'd met. Warmth at the end of the world, your heart breaks for the shattered companionship these two are enduring.

 "Step aside." The agent pushes her out of the way, and you step in to steady her as she stumbles. She shakes you off.

 "I'm coming with!" Everyone freezes at her demand.

 "Not safe. You stay." Ballerina nods at her companion, an order.

 "No! I'm coming." She looks at you. It's a terrible idea, your heart thrumming so hard in your chest you feel like you're going to be sick. But you barely know her, you can't deny what she wants. You look to the FEMA agent, who's remained quiet.

 "Bring back that other guy." You demand. "Just these two."

 "No." He pushes Ballerina out of the door and into the humid night air. "Him and the woman were our pick. She is choosing to come outside of orders."

 You run a hand over your shortly cropped hair as he leads the pair of them off into the night. Your hands shake at the interaction, and you watch as they all move off towards the city and into darkness.

 And just like that, you were down to four people.

 You step outside and sit down on the steps of your porch, shakily taking in the warm night air. It doesn't help to calm your nerves.

 It's deathly silent. Not a breeze, not a soul. It's dangerous out here, but what threats were left now that FEMA has left? He doesn't seem to be around, and your bitterness surprises you – his help is an oddity, and not a guarantee.

 You duck your head down, hands covering your face as you attempt to steady your heart rate. It wasn't fear, the feeling was a deep routed helplessness, and there was nothing you could do about it.

 You stay like that, not wanting to head back inside just yet, but the snap of a twig has your spine snapping up straight as you whip your gaze towards the noise.

 The sight of a man makes you stand up and back towards your house, readying your shot gun in your hands. His expression is hard, eyes locked onto yours; but what sets you on edge are the necklaces of fingers and teeth, and the large rifle he's wielding.

 "Keeping your distance, huh?" He doesn't step closer as you step away, a small mercy. "Good. That improves your odds of survival... Unless you're a visitor."

 "Who are you?" You're not letting this man in your house, something feels wrong.

 "Someone who's here to clean up the filth." A wannabe FEMA-type, perhaps? "My neighborhood's dealt with. You don't need to know nothin' else about me."

 You reach the threshold of your house, and step backwards to step inside. 

 "What's with the gear? Is that supposed to make you Visitor-proof?" 

""Visitor-proof"? Oh, you mean this necklace?" He glances down to himself briefly with a huff of a laugh. "That's a good term. I'll have to start using that. It's a reminder– So I don't forget how many houses and how many towns I've purged. I pull a single tooth from each Visitor. They're the easiest trophies to take." Yea, this man has lost it. "And if one really leaves an impresson on me... I might just take something else."

 You don't care to find out what that something else is, your fingers find the edge of your door. "So why are you here?" 

 "Hold it. You already asked your questions. Now I'll ask mine." The man scowls. He gestures with a sharp nod to the outside world. "Anything going on in this neighborhood? Any threats I should keep an eye out for?"

 That question makes you pause. Threats were in abundance, and you don't feel inclined to keep him talking.

 "FEMA's been taking people, no clue if they're coming back." The man looks at you with open scrutiny. He knows that, of course he does, but you find yourself reluctant to tell him about the pale visitor. 

 "They know what they're doing." He responds after a pause. "They've got their ways of spotting Visitor signs. Why would you bring them up... Suspicious." He looks you up and down, and you freeze under the calculating look. "I've got someone I need to check on. I'll be back later... You've piqued my interest."

 With that, he turns and walks back down the path and into darkness. He hadn't asked to come inside, and that leaves you feeling curious, but not curious enough to engage him further. You slam the door shut, locking it and re-checking the lock, before heading into your bedroom.

 You slump onto your bed, not bothering to change out of your clothes. Tonight was rough, and your fingers still tremble from your frayed nerves. You could do with a drink, but the girl and the new teenager are taking up residency in the kitchen.

 The cat settles on your chest, pawing at the fabric of your jumper as it rumbles with a purr. It's soothing, like the animal knows you need to relax, and it's attention soon lulls you into sleep.

__________

 You're awoken by the feeling of sickly heat, and you remember you fell asleep with your jumper on. Groaning, you push yourself up to sit and scrub away the exhaustion from your face.

 Your dreams were plagued with stories of you facing down the barrel of the rifle the vigilante wields, over and over like a sick time loop. In some, he pulls the trigger and you die, and in others, that tall pale visitor swoops in and snaps the man's neck.

 Saved. Like you're some damsel in distress.

 The strange protection he had given you has never left your thoughts. It's only human, you suppose, that your mind clings to something resembling saftey within this hell. But he wasn't safe, and despite your minds draw to him; you don't want to see him again.

 You begin your morning by showering and donning a new jumper. Despite the heat, you find saftey in being fully covered. A fear of being known, in any way.

 You check on the two youngsters briefly, and they seem fine enough after the ordeal of last night. The bar guy in your living room tries to strike you up in conversation, but he eventually leaves you alone after a few short responses from yourself.

 You don't want to grow attached. You don't care to ask for these people's names, nor to hear their backstory. Either FEMA or death will claim them, and it doesn't serve you to upset yourself when they're inevitably taken.

 The final guest proves to be an issue. The Gravedigger. No one had died last night, but he fails two tests. Despite your previous musings, you're reluctant as you bring up your shotgun and take aim.

 "Well... let's see if there's somethin' on the other side." The man says in a forlorn voice, looking at you with sad eyes. 

 You take the shot. The saftey of the children were priority, so sacrifices had to be made. 

 Bagging up a body was a morbid affair you don't think you'll ever be able to scrub from your mind, as was being on your hands and knees and scrubbing the blood from the floor. Mercifully, the youngsters don't come out to see what the commotion was, but you startle when the bar guy crouches next to you and starts helping with the cleaning.

 "Another one, eh? Too bad." You watch as he starts scrubbing, the confusion must be evident on your face when he stops to look at you. "What? Never had a helping hand? That's bleak. You seem tense, so I'm helping, though talking about it would help more."

 Ah. Nosey then. But he seems sincere enough, so you continue cleaning as you think about your words.

 "FEMA took two, a third willingly left, and now I've had to kill a Visitor." You sigh, keeping your gaze down on your task. "We're dropping in numbers."

 He makes a noise of acknowledgement. "We're in fucked up times, my good man. I doubt any of us have much longer to go."

 That makes you pause. Not because he isn't right – you agree with his assessment, it's probably a matter of days now – but the carelessness gets to you.

 "They're children." You nod your head slightly in the direction of the kitchen. "I can't condemn them."

"You didn't. The world did." The man shakes his head, gathering up the cleaning supplies now the job is done. "But… I can see it haunting you. My word means little in this hellscape, but between you and me, we'll give them our best shot of survival. Hm?"

 There isn't alot of hope in the man's expression, but you can see the sincerity. You nod once, appreciating that he's willing to help protect them too.

 Neither of you say anything more. He takes the supplies back to the kitchen, and you clean your hands before heading back to bed. 

__________

 A loud banging at your front door wakes you up. The house was in darkness, and you had slept through the whole day despite not taking a moment to eat; but at least it's cooler at night.

 The knocking is familiar in pattern, you know exactly who it is. You snatch your shotgun up from the floor, but either fear or stubbornness makes you decide to keep him waiting. 

 You take a look out of each window. Eerily, you note nothing has changed from the last night, and there are no signs of life bar the one rattling your door.

 You suck in a breath, readying your nerves to confront him. As you step up to the door, the banging immediately stops – as if he knows you're there, though you muse he most likely does. You lean against the door, one hand coming to press against it as you peer out the peep hole.

 The pale visitor stands with his hands clasped infront of him, grinning cheerily as his gaze somehow bores into yours. Your heart starts to hammer at the sight, and he tilts his head as if he can hear it.

 "You feeeeeel that?" He almost purrs, leaning in closer. "Change is haunting you... So am I. You've had to kill one of us, yes, and you lost three more – I saw that too."

 "What do you want?" You grit your teeth to keep the stammer out of your voice. He thumps a hand against the door, over where yours is pressed.

"You." His grin turns sharp. 

  You pull away, and ready your shotgun, pressing the business end against the door. Your hands tremble, and you're thankful he can't see that.

 "You're struggling." He hums, maybe trying to mimic a human tone of sympathy. It sounds wrong. "I can help."

 "You can leave." You shoot back, but he only chuckles. A grating noise of genuine humour.

 "No. You need me." He leans in, and you fight the urge to back off from the peep hole. "That vigilante. Oh yes, he'll be returning. And he's after one of your own."

 One of yours? Your voice doesn't ready quick enough to ask, and the strange visitor is already continuing his tirade.

 "Let's try something new." He pushes off the door, and straightens up to his full height. "You won't let me in, and I've had a taste for seeing you in the flesh. Come outside, and I will make sure that vigilante doesn't bother you again. A deal, if you'd like."

 You run cold as fear grips you. You'd like for that vigilante to stay away, but was it worth his death? It certainly wasn't worth you stepping outside.

 "No deal." 

 The visitor slams a hand against the door with a vicious growl, you nearly topple over as you scramble backwards.

 "You have a body to dispose of. I can smell it." His voice is back to a sing-song almost pleasant tone. You don't approach the door again, your heart feels like a bird trapped in a cage. "I'll remain out here allllllll night, so why not make it worth your while?"

 His tone makes you shiver. You really need to take those bags out, you can't have the body festering in your house any longer. He's not going anywhere, and if he hadn't killed you last time…

"Fine." You force out before you can stammer. 

 You don't wait to hear his response. A thought has you pause outside of the rooms; you won't be able to carry your gun if you're carrying the bags. You look down at your weapon, it wouldn't stop him anyway. Tentively, you lean it against the living room door – the bar guy can have it if you don't return.

 You quickly gather the bags, they're heavy but the adrenaline makes them easy to lift. There are no sounds within the house, and you're thankful for the small mercy that they're all asleep.

 Back at the front door, you drop the bags so you can unlock it. The sounds of the lock are loud against the thrumming of fear in your veins, you brace yourself for whatever happens next as you swing the door open.

 His smile grows impossibly wide at the sight of you, though you curiosuly note he's stepped off the porch and given you space. You haul the bags out, and don't give him a second glance as you head down the path.

 "Allow me." You flinch when he's suddenly beside you. His cold fingers brush yours as he takes the bags with ease, and lifts them as if they weighed nothing.

 Bagless and weaponless, you're unsure what to do with your hands. So you clutch the one he touched to your chest. 

 "This way." A morbid dumping ground lies off to the side of the path ahead, where FEMA supposedly come to collect the bodies. They've been slacking.

 "Why so… tense?" You glance up at him when he speaks, and that was a mistake. You can just about make out his features in the darkness, and it only makes him seem far less human than he already is. You quickly look away.

 It's a stupid question and he knows that.

 "You're here." You mutter. You stop at the edge of the dumping ground, and he all but throws the bags onto it. There's a sickening sound of bones cracking and you cover your mouth as you stomach turns.

 Your task is now complete, which leaves you with the realisation that whatever it is he wants is now to come. You turn and start quickly heading back to your house, but you're stopped by a large hand to the shoulder. He pulls you back sharply.

 "Why the rush? The night is still young." He sounds far too conversational. You try to shake his hand off, and surprisingly he relents. You breathe a sigh of relief at the loss of contact.

 The last time you were out here you were chased, and now he's after what? A domestic stroll through the night?! The abnormality of the request is worse than the certainty of being chased.

 "You'll sort that vigilante out for me?" You keep your eyes locked onto your house as you approach. You wonder if he'll let you go once you arrive. 

 "Yes. No harm shall befall you." You believe him, though you still doubt you're safe with him. You wonder if that temper of his will return, but you're learning quickly that he remains calm if you do exactly as he wants.

 You reach the edge of your porch, and it makes you pause. You really, really, don't want to ask, but there's a reason you're out here after all.

 "Is this all you wanted?" You keep your eyes trained ahead, though you can almost feel him directly behind you. "You've seen me. Can I go now?"

 The silence that follows is thicker than the humid air, it feels suffocating.

 "Why won't you look at me?" You feel his breath against your ear, and you tremble. His tone is hard to decipher, but there's a dangerous edge to it. "Look at me."

 You freeze. It's a simple request, in the grand scheme of things, but you can't bring your muscles to move. 

 His patience seems to run out, and he snakes a hand around your front and grips your waist. With a flick of his wrist that sounds like bones grating on each other, he moves you around to face him. His grip doesn't relent, and you feel jagged fingernails poke through the fabric of your jumper.

 "There." He leans down, close enough that wisps of his dark hair tickle your forehead. "I ask for so little."

 Maybe it's familiarity now, but you're getting used to his appearance. Ghastly, bones and skin all in the wrong places, but your minds need for saftey is dulling the fear – and you sickeningly feel a spark of comfort.

 He seems to read your realisations, and his grin grows brighter. He seems pleased. A bony finger reaches up and traces the side of your face, and along and under your jaw. Your breath trembles in both anxiety and something you don't want to name, and he juts the tip of his finger under your jaw to push your head further up.

 "Don't fight it." He almost whispers, like it's a secret. You sneer, but it doesn't have the effect you hoped for. "I've long since claimed you human, you'll do well to accept that truth."

 You're not even going to confront that truth, nor attempt to understand why he thinks he can lay a claim. You squirm, trying to get away from him… he let's go.

 You stumble backwards, looking at him as he clasps his hands in front of him. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was looking at you with adoration.

 "This was fun." His tone cheerful. "I'll hold up my end of the bargin. Though if you want anything else… meet me out here, I'm sure we can come to an arrangement." He near purrs. "Rest well. You will not be bothered by another soul."

 Then he turns and leaves, leaving you dumbstruck outside your house. 

Chapter Text

The next day goes by without issue.

 You find the bar guy in the kitchen helping the kids to cook up food. You never expected to see that level of engagement from him, but you have been neglecting to get to know him – so how could you pin point what was 'normal' behaviour?

 The neighbours daughter pleads for you to stay to help, a rare smile on her face that nearly makes you say yes. But the teenager keeps shying away every time you step into the room – she doesn't know you, you haven't given her the opportunity to, so why would she be comfortable around you? – so instead of adressing the elephant in the room, you tell the little girl you have errands to run.

 Which is the truth. Though you don't bother to listen to the radio or the TV, after the ordeal of last night you decide to give your nerves a rest. Instead you place food down for the cat, and call in for a delivery for more food for the animal. 

 The For Rest employee on the other end of the line stutters when you give your address over.

 "Apologies, sir." The man on the other end mumbles, sounding almost shocked. "FEMA have been upping patrols in your area, and access is limited. We'll keep your request logged, and a delivery will be sent out when access can be granted–"

 "Upping patrols?" You cut the man off, clutching the phone tighter. "What for?"

 "I don't know." The man sounds exhausted. You feel a twinge of sympathy, you know it's not been easy for this company to operate in this hellscape. "I'm sorry– that's not information I can give."

 "I understand… Thank you." You let the man go, ending the call on your end. It wouldn't be for him to know, and you wouldn't take your frustrations out on the poor employee. You take a deep breath; you should have listened to the broadcasts earlier.

 So much for giving your nerves a rest. FEMA have turned out to be more of a pest than the Visitors, and the thought of them taking any of your remaining guests makes your stomach hurt. 

 You sit on the floor, and the cat comes bumbling over to you. You pay it little mind as your mind races with thoughts. The employee had said the restrictions were localised to your area, was there something you missed? A growing threat you failed to notice?

 No. You realise. You've been encouraging the threat. You wonder if the crackdown is because of the pale visitor, and the growing number of deaths he's been causing. Still, you couldn't be blamed for that, despite his insistence that he does it for you. And you don't plan to engage him further, he's gotten far too close as it is.

 You're pulled out of your musings by the kitchen door opening, and the little girl peaks over at you with an excited smile.

 "I made you breakfast!" You can't help but smile at her enthusiasm, and she comes over to take your hand. She has no strength behind her pull, but you let her pull you up and into the kitchen. "Come. It's yummy! I promise!"

  Breakfast with your little group is probably the brightest thing to have happened to you since the apocalypse kicked in. And maybe before that too. Eating infront of others, and especially with the scrutinising gaze of the teenager, is an odd feeling; but you don't give into the itch to retreat to your lonesome, you should allow yourself some positive interactions.

 "Will there be more people coming here?" The little girl looks at you with curious eyes as she continues her meal.

 "Maybe." You say almost shyly, trying to shake off her gaze as you continue your own food. A plate of unknown meat scrappings, but the three of them have cooked it tastefully. "If they're human, and they need help, I won't turn them away."

 She seems happy with that answer, and the bar guy gives you a knowing but understanding look. The teenager, however, hardens her gaze at you. If she were an adult, you'd question her attitude; but you needed to be more delicate with children, so you elect to ignore her gaze.

 "FEMA are tightening patrols in this area." You say in a flat tone, pointedly speaking at the bar guy. You haven't bothered to keep your guests updated, believing they'd fend for themselves, but if you want the man to protect the girls in your absence, you realise you should start being more open. "For Rest can't deliver right now. But we have enough food to not be concerned."

"Hm." The man toys with the remainder of his food, deep in thought. "Do you know why?"

 Yes, perhaps. "No." Is what you say instead. The teenager sighs, and pushes her chair back with a huff. You and the man exchange confused looks as she dumps her empty plate in the sink, and heads towards the kitchen door.

 "No, don't get upset." The bar guy calls out to her. "We won't let them touch you." 

 She pauses at the door, turning to look at him in what you read as confusion. Before casting a dark look your way.

 "Not FEMA, nah." She grumbles. "… I'm going to find some drawing materials." The door slams behind her, and you hear a distant sound of her rummaging through your storage closet.

 "Bah. She's tense." The bar guy collects the remaining dishes. "Can you blame her?" 

 You shake your head. No, you understand her emotions. With an awkward thanks to the remaining two for the breakfast, you head back to your room to give the teenager space to return.

 _________

  You're thankful for the night when it comes, it's peaceful to be the only one awake. No knocking echos down the hallway, so you take your time peeking out of the windows.

 Each fortell the same thing: FEMA are now out in swarms, and they're rounding up stragglers whether they're human or not. The second window makes you pause, you watch as an agent pokes at the gruesome necklaces of the Vigilante, the man was nowhere to be seen but his accessories had been left as if on display.

 He's been dealt with then. The thought almost makes you feel guilty.

 You shut the blinds, and make sure no lights are on around the house – the thought of attracting their attention makes your fingers tremble.

 You nearly fall back asleep waiting for any signs of life, but a weak knock soon makes itself known. You grab your shotgun, and head to the door.

 "Hey." The voice drops off into a coughing fit as you peer at the disfigured man from behind the peep hole. "Can you let me in, pal?"

 "What happened to you?" You don't raise your shotgun, the man appears to be barely able to stand on his own two legs. His face is a picture of agony, both in expression and charred melted features.

 "I got caught in the midday sun," He splutters, taking a moment to regain his breath. "… While putting out forest fires. I'm the only one left from my squad. The rest, they... The boss just wouldn't let them leave. Now they're on shift eternally."

 "Why aren't you at a hospital?" You wince at the story. He seems genuine, you doubt the Visitors could create such a life-like story as his.

 "A hospital? There are no more hospitals, pal. When the Visitors came, the whole point of hospitals went up in smoke. Hard to get treatment if you can't trust who's treatin' ya." He hugs his chest, as if stabilising himself, and then shifts to lean against the wall of your house. You have to shift your angle to look at him. "FEMA are operating too heavily around these parts anyhow. I don't have much time left, figured I'd just be curious around these parts until the moment comes."

 You prop your shotgun against the wall so you can unlock the door. You sharply nod towards the house's interior.

 "Come in."

 "Thanks, pal." He gives you a weak smile as he steps inside, you lock the door behind him. "I don't think I'll be in your hair for too long."

 "I can have a look at your injuries. I'm no medic, but I have some supplies." You gesture to your bathroom, but a stern shake of his head stops you in your tracks.

 "I appreciate it, but there ain't much you can do. I'm just grateful I won't have to die alone in the dirt." You pity the poor man, but you feel he wouldn't appreciate the sorrowful emotions. "Got a place I can crash?"

 You nod, leading him into the room where the bar guy has taken up residency. You're surprised to find him still awake, he sits up straighter at the appearance of the new guy.

 "Good heavens man, take a seat." The man shoos the firefighter onto the chair he hadn't claimed. The two dissolve into introductions and stories, but you remain awkwardly poised by the door until a lull in the conversation allows you to butt in.

 "Do you know what's going on with FEMA?" You ask. The man had made it past their patrols, he must know something.

 "Somewhat." He coughs, then heaves in a wheezing breath as he settles to divulge information. "This area is cordoned off. I overheard some talk about a tall pale visitor, mighty dangerous by the sounds of it. But I've seen nothing."

 Your muscles seize up at the confirmation of your suspicions. But your sudden sharp intake of breath must have given you away.

 "Have you seen that visitor?" The bar guy looks at you quizzically. Maybe with a hint of suspicion. You swallow thickly.

 "Yes." You breathe out. You can afford some honesty. "He… loiters around these parts. I've seen him outside. The FEMA deaths… that's all him."

 "Well shit, man." The bar guy runs a hand over his head, and the firefighter curls in on himself more. "Let's hope FEMA kills the damn bastard, one lot of good they could do."

 You force yourself to nod, to agree. But the growing pit in your stomach echos your anxiety; you realise you don't want him dead.

 He only ever threatened you, along with his weird lay to claim over you. It was all you. He left your guests alone, while FEMA proved to be a bad omen for them. No, you don't want talk to him again, but you also don't want him to be killed – you could take the heat, if it meant keeping the strange saftey he granted.

The living room lapses into a depressed silence, so you quickly bid goodnight and head to your bedroom. No one else seemed to be coming tonight, so you allow yourself to sleep before the thoughts consume you further.

 _________

 You keep out of the way through out the next day, keeping to your room lest anyone's able to read your worries. You don't fret about checking the firefighter for signs of being a visitor either, everything so far had pointed towards him being human.

 You spend the day dozing, in and out of sleep, as you worry about the future. The next time you blink awake, night has already shrouded the house in darkness.

 Checking the windows all foretell the same signs: FEMA are out in a less intense force, more sporadic and with alot more deaths that the current agents are gingerly stepping around. You wonder if that means he's close.

 The night ticks by quietly. FEMA don't approach, For Rest still has yet to deliver, and no stray humans or visitors come knocking on your door. Its peaceful, but also deeply eerie. It sets you on edge.

 After the fifth round of pacing through the halls checking the windows, you snatch up a cigarette from your hallway table in an attempt to calm your nerves. You could go outside, it would most likely summon the tall visitor and then you could get your answers, but you settle for opening the window by the front door – you don't want to encourage his interaction.

 You lean against the window ledge as you lean out, lighting your smoke and breathing it out into the night air. You keep the lights off so FEMA don't notice you, but they're far enough away that you can't even hear their chatter.

 It helps. The growing tremor in your hands eases with every pass of the cigarette, as does being present in a space that isn't the same familiar interior of your house.

 Peaceful, until a large hand deftly plucks the cigarette from your fingers and tosses it to the ground. 

 An undignified yelp leaves you as you scramble backwards away from the window. It terrifies you to realise you hadn't heard a singular sign of the pale visitors approach, and now he's leaning in through the window looking around your hallway with far too much curiosity.

 "Those are not healthy." He admonishes with a wide smile, you fumble for your shotgun that you left leaning against the wall. The visitor let's out a sigh that sounds like a growl at the sight of the weapon. "We are beyond this, are we not?"

 "Why do you care?" That was your last cigarette! You clutch the shotgun in both hands, but you don't raise it at him just yet.

 It was the wrong thing to say, his smile vanishes and leaves behind a scowl. You take a step back, keeping your distance.

 "Put the gun down." His eyes bore into yours as a tight smile forms on his features. He sounds conversational, but there's a dangerous bite to his words. "Did you see the gift I left you? Is this how I'm thanked?" 

 You tense up, gun still lowered. Despite his large stature, you wouldn't put it past him to leap through that open window with ease. Of course you saw the sign that he'd dealt with the vigilante, along with the continued murders of FEMA agents.

 He could kill you too, but he hasn't. Whatever game he's playing, it won't be concluding tonight. With a tremble that you try to disguise, you place the gun on the floor.

 "Yessss. Much better." He purrs, bright grin back in place. He settles against the window ledge, bony elbow propping himself up. His gaze rakes over you, and you feel you're being studied. It's an awful feeling.

 "I hear FEMA are hunting you for sport." You quickly shift the attention, tone careless though the thought amuses you.

 "Ah yes. They're fighting a losing battle, but haven't they always?" You imagine he's having the time of his life out there, and the sparkle in his dark eyes seem to agree with your assessment. "Do you wish for them to catch me?"

 You nearly scoff at the question, disguising it as a cough. That's a loaded question, one that doesn't have a clearly defined answer. You sit on the chair beside your door, mulling over the options, and he waits patiently for your answer.

 "I never told the Vigilante about you." You settle for those words instead. "He asked about possible threats around here, I only told him about FEMA." It's a non answer, but you hope he can read between the lines. You don't want him around, but you've chosen him over FEMA. The realisation was obvious, but it still surprises you.

"I know." He twists unnaturally so he can look at you better, you look away when your stomach twists at the sight. But he seems to be pleased with your answer, if the softer note in his voice is any indication. "I am your only salvation. You understand that now."

 Yes. You lean forward on your elbows, dropping your head into your hands, the realisation making you feel sick. He's played you right into his hands, and you fell for every step.

 "FEMA are imposing a stricter lockdown on this area, you understand. Stragglers of both my kind and yours are few and far inbetween, your delivery's can't make it through the barricades, and…" You don't look up as he hangs on a pause, but you fearfully hang onto his every word. "There will come a time that even I must retreat."

 You freeze, every muscle in your body pulling painfully taut. You let out a murmur of fear before you can clamp your mouth shut with a hand. Why does that upset you? FEMA are longwinded in the way they kill people, but at least they're human. Somewhat predicatable. You were finally being shown an out with this pale visitor, the guarantee that you won't ever see him again. You should be pleased.

 But you only feel terror.

 "Does that upset you?" He purrs. He's not taunting, and that feels worse. "Even I can only hold back so much, it's dangerous even for my kind out here. Though… perhaps we could come to an arrangement."

 You drop your hands to press your knuckles against your lips, you school your gaze into something you hope is emotionless as you look at him again. He's leaning quite heavily inside the house now, closer to you. You know what he's going to ask before he speaks.

 "Let me in, and we both get the saftey that we want. An alliance, yessss?" He's playing you like a fiddle, but you have to remain strong.

 "No." His smile drops. "I'm not alone, and I'm not kicking my guests out." 

 "Is that your only concern?" His chest trembles as he wheezes, and you realise he's laughing. You scowl at him. "Then I extend my offer of saftey to them, if that would ease your mind."

 "It wouldn't." You've had enough, your nerves have been played with so much tonight you feel lightheaded. It's all sweet promises, that he knows sound good to your ears, but that could all change once you're trapped in here with him. You stand, and take the edge of the window by your fingertips. "Leave. We're done for tonight."

 "You're growing braver. I like it." His hand is around your throat before you can register his movement. Not squeezing, not painful, but a warning. Disbelief overcomes your fear.

 "You're offering yourself as saftey, but then you do this?!" Both of your hands find his wrist and grip harshly. He pays no mind to your grip, but your words make his features go slack in realisation. His grip loosens, but he doesn't let go.

 "Consider my offer. We have a few nights left to decide after all." He finally let's go, and you grab the egde of the window in your hand as you heave in a breath. "You will need to travel out to stock up. Perhaps I will accompany you tomorrow night to protect you on your journey?"

 "Sure, whatever, just go." In a moment of boldness, you press a hand to his chest and push him away. Surprisingly, he allows you too, his gaze lingering down at himself where you touched him. You slam the window shut, and his vicious bright grin is back at your measily agreement.

 You huff as you pull the blinds down, cutting off contact with the strange visitor. The reality of what you've done douzes you in icy cold terror, and you quickly grab your shotgun and flee to your room.

 You don't notice the kitchen door quickly shut, too consumed about how abrasively you spoke to the creature that's plotting to kill you.

Chapter Text

 The next day you wake with a plan. The tall visitor was right, you needed to head out to For Rest before you ran too low on certain supplies – and certainly before these blockaids get tighter.

 The teenager doesn't look at you as you enter the kitchen, and you wonder if you're doing something wrong. As you grab yourself some food, you make the decision to ask the bar guy for some help sometime… after the request you're going to make.

 You take your food into the living room, and find the firefighter and the bar guy talking. The charred man seems less wheezy now that he's rested, but you notice a sluggish movement to every twitch he gives. 

 Sitting silently next to the bar guy as you eat, you let the casual conversation of the pair wash over you. You nearly finish your food when he turns to talk to you.

 "You look rough." His lips down turn at the sight of you. You can't bring yourself to argue against his assessments, not with what you need to ask. "What's gotten you so glum?"

 You look between him and the firefighter who's looking at you curiously, you take a deep breath as you place your empty plate on the ground.

 "I need to ask a favour."

 The bar guy actually looks shocked. "Well damn, things must be dire. Spit it out, I'm sure you can put me to good use."

 His exclamation almost makes you laugh, but you clamp down on the amusment.

 "FEMA are tightening patrols, and For Rest can't deliver. I need to head out tonight to collect supplies." The bar guy looks ready to object. "This might be our last chance to stock up, I need to take it. While I'm gone, I need you to look after the household – and answer the door."

 He's silent, features twisted in a frown. But thankfully he doesn't object.

 "I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I? Ah dammit, fine, of course." He sits back against his seat with a sigh. "I'll look after the house, just be quick. What would you like me to do if someone comes 'a knocking?"

 "Use your initiative, I trust you. Send them away or let them in, what ever you feel is best." You just have to hope FEMA won't stop by. "I'll leave you my gun, use it if you have to."

 "Woah man. Won't you need it? Out in that hell hole?" He gestures sharply to the outside world with a hand.

 "I'll need to keep my hands free for the supplies–"

 "He'll have help." The teenager is suddenly stood at the doorway, arms crossed over her small form, looking at you accusingly. "Isn't that right?"

 Your heart thuds in your ears as the two men turn to look at you in confusion. You can't bring your voice to work.

 "I heard you! Don't deny it!" She raises her voice. She's scared, you reason, of course she is. "I heard you speaking with that half-naked visitor! I don't know what's going on, but he," She brandishes a finger in your direction. "Is friends with that thing! They're going to go out together, and he's even thinking of letting that thing in here with us!"

 "It's not– that's not what happened." You stammer. She over heard, you wonder how long she's known about this visitor, and the two men are looking at you in open shock. You feel small and powerless under the scrutiny. "It's not like that– he's not my friend!"

 The bar guy raises a hand to shush the girl before she starts another tirade. "Then explain yourself, man. What's she talkin' about?" He asks in a sharp tone.

 You clasp your hands together in front of you to disguise the shaking, your blood pressure is so high you can barely hear the world around you. Would they kick you out of your own house for this? You probably deserve it for falling for his tricks.

 "He–" You swallow, willing yourself to talk. "He stalks me, ever since the start of this cataclysm. And he keeps killing FEMA agents and other threats for some forsaken belief that he's doing me a favour. He wants to get in here, he wants to kill me – he's not my friend. I didn't ask for this!"

 The room lapses into silence at your outpouring, and only your heavy breaths can be heard.

 "He insists on following me to For Rest – what can I do? Bullets won't work." You cover your mouth, unable to say more.

 "Are you sure he wants to kill you?" The bar man speaks up after a moments pause. "He's had his opportunity, perhaps the bastard is after something else."

 "I agree." The firefighter wheezes out, you can't bring yourself to look at either of them. "He has FEMA terrified, if he wanted to get in 'ere and kill you… well, you'd be dead already."

 That's a point that's been haunting you from the beginning. He could break down the door and kill you, or he could have killed you outside – or yesterday! When he grabbed you by the throat.

 "I don't know what he wants. But he's obsessed with me. That's all he'll say." You say in a hush, voice trembling against your will.

 "Listen, my good man." The bar guy places a heavy hand on your shoulder. You flinch at the touch, but it grounds you. "I can see you're genuine, that fucker has you terrified. Letting him in ain't a good idea, and I fancy you know that already – but if he's willing to protect you, for whatever godforsaken reason, maybe don't question it. Gotta take our luck no matter the form they come in, hm?"

 That was… suprising. It's enough to break through the haze of terror thrumming through your veins.

 "Are you nuts?! He's going to get us killed!" The girl speaks up, looking between the pair of you in horror.

 "I won't let him touch you." You murmur, the girl scoffs.

 "Sounds like you've got no say in the matter–"

 "Let's calm down…" the firefighter raises his palms shakily. "These aren't great circumstances, but that's the way o' the world now."

 The teenager goes to protest, then drops her hands down on a huff, and then storms back out of the room. You hear the kitchen door slam shut, and you pray she doesn't poison the little girl with her temper.

 "I'll go. We need supplies. I'll either make it back or I don't." You breathe. "Talk amounsgt yourselves when I'm gone, if I come knocking… I don't know, turn me away if you think I'm a danger. I'll listen."

 You stand and walk out of the room, the bar guy calls out after you but you can't bring yourself to return. You slump onto your bed, feeling more alienated than you have in a long time, and sleep comes blanketed in fear.

________

 When night comes, you don't give yourself time to think. You rifle through your storage closet for bags, clutching them tightly in hand as you make your way to the living room, stopping to snatch up your shotgun on the way.

 The two men remain awake, and the firefighter looks at you in sympathy as you enter. You take your shotgun in both hands and hold it out to the bar guy. He takes it gingerly.

 "You can back out of this, man." He hoists it into the crook of his arm. "No hard feelings, we don't judge you. You accepted me in despite my attitude, I can trust that you mean well by this household."

 "I… appreciate it." It's more heartfelt than you're used to expressing, it's a little uncomfortable, but not unwelcome. "But I need to go. He hasn't showed up yet, I'm hoping I can get there and back before he catches up."

 "So be it then, and good luck." He pats your shoulder. You both head out into the hallway. "I'll keep this house running, don't you worry. I'll be here when you knock."

 You nod once in thanks, unsure of what else to say in this trusting moment. You unlock the door and step out into the humid night air, turning to him one final time before setting off into the night. You hear the door close and lock behind you, and you make your way down the path.

 FEMA are sparce again tonight, you hope you can dodge them. And the tall pale visitor doesn't seem to be around just yet, part of you feels like you should wait for him.

 Though you needn't had bothered to worry, as you feel a heavy gaze settle on your back. It makes your hair stand on end, but all you do is stop and turn to face him.

 "You came." You wait until he falls into step beside you before you continue walking. You shouldn't be so casual with him, but there wasn't a point in your life that wasn't tense anymore, and you find yourself clinging to this faux-saftey he provides.

 "Of course. I would not let you brave this world without my help." He smiles unnaturally wide, shadowed by the lights of the approaching city. If it was anyone else, you'd think the words were sweet.

 "Listen." In or out of the house, your luck was running out. You might as well set some ground rules. "I don't trust you. But I appreciate what you do for me – though you've yet to explain why."

 "I did. You don't listen." You feel a hand press between your shoulder blades, not pushing but just touching. You shiver. "You. You're my human, I have laid claim to you. Even the other visitors understand, they listen when I say not to harm you."

 Only harm your guests, you think miserably. But you've yet to be harmed by a visitor, his words ring true. You clutch at your bags more tightly, if only to have a sensation to focus on thats not his hand.

 "No I heard you." You don't shrug him off, you need him in a good mood. "But what does that mean?" You glance at him briefly, and he's kept his unblinking gaze locked onto you, you turn away awkwardly to look ahead again. "Claim me for what? As your trophy? To kill? To eat?"

 He's unusually quiet for a moment, you both walk silently in step with each other, and as he mulls over his answer your nerves start to unsettle.

 "You're so easily… unsettled. Do you think it wise to hear that answer right now? Or maybe I have underestimated you, do you think you're ready?" No, you don't. But you doubt you'll ever be, so you just need to hear it so you can decide your next course of action. "I had planned to make you one of my kind, but I have come to enjoy your humanity."

 That makes some sense. What better way to spread the Visitor epidemic than to turn others? 

 "Then what is it? I'm ready." He said he's having second thoughts, so something else must be tying him to you. 

You suddenly feel him pull you back by your sweater, and you look ahead and spot the FEMA barricade.

"A discussion for later, yes? For now… " You're unceremoniously pushed to the ground and behind a dead bush. You nearly squawk in protest, but he places a boney finger to his lips. "I will go no further. Allow me to draw them away, and I will be here when you return."

 He stalks off towards the barricade before you can utter a word. You keep your head down as he plucks a FEMA agent off the ground by their neck, and you can't peel your eyes away as you watch on in horror as he tears the agents head off with little effort.

 The sight is sickening, but it does its intended job. The other agents all close rank around each other and start shouting angrily at him. He tosses the corpse to the ground, and as one agent begins to fire at him, he flees into the dark woods. They all give chase, leaving the barricade unmanned.

 You shakily stand once they're all gone. The sounds of gun fire echo behind you as you make a sprint for the barricade, and you refuse to look at the bloodied mess he's left behind.

 You don't stop running until you make it through the deserted streets of the city, and come to a dimly lit For Rest. You quickly step through the door.

 The shop is sparce. You mostly relied on deliveries for years now, but the sight of a near-empty shop just settles the helplessness of reality deeper into your bones. There's only a couple of shoppers, all looking anxiously at you as if you might start a fight.

 You keep your head down, and start plucking some tins of food and drinks off the shelves, pausing by the medical supplies before taking a few items too, mindful not to take too much.

 Once you've gathered an armful, you step up to the counter.

 "I ordered some cat food a couple of days ago." You speak quietly to the cashier, not wanting to unsettle the nervous hush over the store.

 He takes your details, before scurrying off to find your order. He returns with two tins, and then looks at the items you have gathered.

 "I'm sorry, sir. We're on strict rationing. Either the food or the medical supplies, it can't be both." He looks apologetic, but it's not his fault.

 "My place is being barricaded by FEMA." You plead quietly. "I'll pay anything, please."

 "If it was up to me–" He shakes his head forlornly. "I'm sorry."

 You sigh. It's not ideal, but you won't give this man more grief than he's probably been subjected too. You gesture towards the food quickly, you'll find a way around medical supplies somehow.

 He quickly rings you up, and the prices have sky rocketed. You pay it without fuss, what use is money if the world is on fire? You load up your bags, and with a quiet nod of thanks, you head back out into the night.

 You're thankful the streets are devoid of life, the last thing you need is to be robbed. Though with your hellish guardian angel watching your every step, any potential attacker would be meeting an unfortunate end.

 The sounds of gunfire has ceased, and as you return to the barricade, you find the pale visitor leaning against a vehicle with a proud grin. Not a scratch on him.

 A fond appreciation for him creeps up on you without warning. The sight of him so effortlessly drawing away danger for your sake leaves you with confusing emotions. Has anyone ever risked themselves for you before? All you've ever been is harmed through out your life, not protected. It almost makes you feel powerful, the most dangerous threat in the land looking at you with unbridled joy at having killed people for you.

 You forcefully squash those emotions down as you come to stand infront of him.

 "All good?" You ask monotonously. His grin stretches wider as you both start walking back to your house.

 "They presented no threat to me. Did you worry?" He asks in that eery sing-song voice you've come to know as him being in a good mood. You scoff. He trails a finger down the side of your face, and you fight the urge to squirm away.

 "I wouldn't go that far." You keep your eyes ahead. You don't want to express your appreciation in words, but you hope he can tell anyway.

 There's a laugh-wheeze coming from him, and then a heavy weight collides with you and sends you tumbling to the ground. You slam heavily with the ground, dropping your bags so you can catch yourself before your face meets hardened mud. You twist around, and are promptly shoved to the ground by a hand to the chest. He settles over you, far-too-wide grin still in place.

 "The hell are you doing?! Get off!" You grip his wrist in both hands, but he only presses you down more firmly. Any warmth you strangely felt is replaced by a cold terror, is this it?

 "You wanted to know about my claim, yessss?" He dips his head lower, until you're almost nose to nose. Your sharply turn your head so you don't have to look at him, but his hand travels up to grip your jaw and force your attention back.

 "Get. Off." You grit out. But no amount of shoving is going to make him move, you're going to have to hear him out while kept in this pin. Ever fond of the dramatics, though you curiously don't sense his usual hostility.

 "You're starting to understand this dynamic of ours. You're accepting change." He appraises. "A good start. But the end waits for no man or dog, it's time to get with the times. I do not intend to kill you, not anymore, you must have realised that by now."

 You force a nod against his strong grip. You don't understand his reasonings, but he's proven that he has no intentions of hurting you… Despite the rough handling.

 "Good." He purrs. "I have grown a… fondness, for you. As it odd as it may seem. I lay a claim because you have claimed me without realising. Allow me in, so we may remain together in the end times." 

 You pause your struggling, hardening your gaze as you look into his dark eyes. Was he saying– no, surely not. That's ridiculous. You resume attempting to push him away, both your hands on his chest.

 "I can't make that decision without consulting my guests." You huff in irritation. He doesn't budge. Will he keep you here until the sun rises? That's one colourful way of intimidation. 

 But you suppose there's one way to test your suspicions. 

 You tentively move one of your hands, your fingers trembling as they make their way to their target. You just hope if you're wrong, he doesn't break them. Copying his own moves, you trace a shaking finger down the side of his face before cupping his jaw in your hand. He appears to stop breathing.

 "Get. Off. Me." You breathe, unable to hide the fear at his possible reaction. He's cold to the touch, you realise you haven't noticed that until now.

 His smile sharpens, and he becomes animated again as his hands move off you. He sits back on the heels of his feet, an odd angle with how his face is still in your hand, but he sits fully back when you pull your touch away.

 It worked. A new dawning horror settles in your stomach – but this is preferable to being threatened.

 A small part of you whispers that you don't mind the attention either.

 You scramble away, pulling yourself backwards until there's space between you again. You quickly gather your bags, and stand up to start walking home again. You don't look back at him, you don't have the strength.

 He falls into step beside you soundlessly.

 "You understand now." 

 Unfortunately, yes. Of all the things. Again you ask the universe: why you?

 The following minuets is filled with awkward silence, but the visitor beside you doesn't seem to mind. He's looking at you as if he was just given a puppy for Christmas. It's infuriating.

 A singular shot is heard up ahead, you recognise it as your shotgun. You start running, and you're nearly bowled over by a large furious man.

 "Don't go that way. The homeowner is a gigantic pissbaby with an anger problem. Fucking heartless bastard—" He freezes when he locks eyes with the tall visitor over your shoulder. "I told that fucking asshole–"

 He screams when he's lifted off the ground by a grip to the throat, and you duck out of the foray and race to your front door. You bang on it as the screams stop, and the sound of a thump that's starting to become too familiar signals his body has been discarded.

 The door whips open and the bar guy stands there looking wild. 

 "Can I come in?" A sincere question, you wonder if they took your suggestion to talk while you're gone. But the morbid humour of the scene isn't lost on you.

 "Good god man, I had hoped you would have got here sooner." He steps aside, a signal for you to enter, you drop your bags at the threshold as you both pause by the open door. He's looking out at the tall pale visitor, who stands at the bottom of the steps of your decking. "Nothing prepares you for this sight." He mutters. "Is this him?"

 "Yes." You glance back at the visitor, and he seems quite content watching the conversation go down. You see the bar guy tense up at the scrutiny. "He killed that angry man, did you have trouble?"

 "Oh him? Yea." He takes a step away from the door, and points the weapon at the ground. "He wouldn't get off the property. Seemed completely off his rocker. I've seen his type frequent the bars, it never ends well." He nods towards the visitor, but doesn't look at him again. "Good riddance too. He would have brought FEMA down on us again."

 "Again?" You feel your heart seize painfully. Please, no.

 "Came knocking for test subjects. Wanted two." You hear wood creak, and your eyes dart to the pale visitor who seems to be reeling off your own emotions. "Don't worry, he only took one. The firefighter. They tried to take the teenager, but he put on a big ol' struggle and made it difficult for them to move him. So it took all three agents to haul him off. A shame, he was a good man, right to the end."

 You cast your gaze down. You feel guilty for not being around to stop that, but what would you have been able to do? So you focus on being thankful for the dying man, a child was saved because of his selflessness.

 "They said they were coming back to collect the second. It's been about half hour… I hope they won't bother." He scowls, looking out over the darkness. "They spoke of quarantining this area, and a possible cleansing – whatever the fuck that means. But it don't sound good."

 You follow his gaze, as does the pale visitor. The pale man shakes his head, before craning his neck back to face you both.

 "I do not sense their approach." He flicks his eyes towards the house, a far away expression on his face. "But one of my own sits in your house."

 You look at the bar guy quizzically, and he looks back sheepishly.

 "I figured he was a visitor, he kept complaining that he was cold. Cold! I tell ya." He shakes his head. "But he promised not to be a bother, and I pitied him. It's not much in these times, but if this strange fellow is doing some good by you," He gestures with the tip of the gun towards the pale visitor. "I thought: Well, why not give this guy a chance too?"

 You find you have no argument towards that, not when the most dangerous visitor you've come to know is slaughtering for the sake of your saftey.

 "He is wise, lissssten." The creak of a step has you looking towards him as he slowly steps up and onto the decking. "Let me in. FEMA will not bother you under my watch."

 You take in a deep breath, torn between two choices. You still don't trust him, not completely, but if there's a chance FEMA are returning to take the teenager…

 "Desperate times call for desperate measures 'nd all that." You look to the bar guy as he speaks. "I wouldn't trust him for a lick of salt, but if he's our best shot against what FEMAs plotting… it's your call, my man. I'll trust you."

 Indecision paralyses you. The last you saw of the teenager, she seemed terrified. But FEMA taking her would be worse. Bad decision and even more bad decisions, so you decide to take a gamble on the supposed hold you have over this strange visitor. You snatch the gun from the bar guy, and levy the weapon at the pale man.

 "You don't talk nor ever be in the same room as the children, and my guests are to be included in the protection you give me. You will also make sure that this new visitor of ours doesn't upset the peace." Your finger is kept off the trigger, but you need to make a show that you're serious with your terms. "You protect us, and we'll give you shelter from what is to come. Are those terms acceptable?"

 He clasps his hands together in front of his chest, sharp grin growing far too large for his features. He wore you down, and now he's won.

"Those are acceptable, my human."

Chapter Text

 The visitor had locked the door behind himself, and the tense atmosphere had skyrocketed at the piercing sound. You were making a mistake, but you couldn't let your guests sense your trepidation, so you quickly jump into action.

 "Guard the door." You order the pale visitor. "Deal with FEMA or visitors if they turn up, but leave the humans to me. I need to talk with my guests. Stay here until I say otherwise."  

 "If it would ease you." He's kept that eery grin on his face, all far too pleased with himself. But it works in your favour; he turns to lean against the door, hands bracing against the wall as he peers through the peep hole. It's almost similar to how you would hold yourself, and you wonder if this is mockery.

  But it's not important right now, so with a concerned look that both you and the bar guy share, you head to the kitchen.

 The bar guy halts you before you enter, a hand to your shoulder gently that you almost don't feel it, and then he says in a quiet tone;

 "She's scared, but she respects you. We had a good chat while you were out, just go easy on her." Respects you? That confuses you. But you nod your understanding, and he pats your shoulder before you both head in.

 The little girl is curled up asleep on one chair, and the teenager glances up tiredly from hers when you enter.

 "He's inside, isn't he?" Her tone weary, and you feel guilty when you nod. "Better than FEMA… I guess."

 You stand there sheepishly. How do you impress that you let a dangerous creature in just to keep her safe? The bar guy stays quiet, looking to you, and you suppose this is your chance to make amends. But how?

 "The firefighter… I've never had an adult protect me like that. All they've ever done is hurt me, but he gave himself up just so FEMA couldn't take me…" She lapses into a whisper, and you almost don't catch her next words. "I'm not sure if I deserved it."

 The words startle you, why would she doubt that? But you get it. It's taken you so long to realise it, but you finally see it; she's a younger version of you. 

 "Of course you deserved it. You were worth it in his eyes – he never hesitated, don't doubt that." Your mouth goes dry, being open with emotions was tough. She had shared brief anecdotes about her past, and the abuse she'd faced; it all rang uncomfortably familiar. It was a morbid bridge to make, but maybe she'd understand you better if you were more open. "My father only ever hurt me too… these, supposed guardians of ours, have a way of making us feel like the world is against us. I get that. But… you're not alone here, and we'll make sure you're safe." 

 Her eyes widen at the confession, and the vulnerable expression makes her seem much younger than she is. She quickly scrubs her face with her hand, nodding vigorously as she hides herself behind it. You take in a deep breath at the sight, and the next decision comes easily.

  "You and the little girl, you can have my room. There's a TV and the door locks from the inside, it's… not alot, but it'll be more comfortable than the kitchen. Come on." The bar guy claps you on the shoulder, and the proud expression on his face makes you feel like a lost child all over again. It was warming.

 "Really?" The teenager tentively stands up, as if you might suddenly rescind the offer. The bar guy steps around her to scoop the little girl into his arms. "What about you?"

 "I've got guests to tend to." You quietly lead them out of the kitchen, shielding the teenagers view of the pale man who peers over his shoulder at you. "You two need the privacy more."

 The bar guy gently lowers the little girl onto the bed, and the cat bumbles over to settle next to her. The teenager pauses, before flinging her arms around your chest. You freeze at the contact, but an encouraging gesture from the bar man has you lightly placing a hand on her back.

"I don't hate you." Such an awkward teenage expression, but you can read between the lines. 

 "Thanks." You smile at her as she pulls away, she keeps her head ducked shyly. "Shout if you need anything, and lock the door once we're out."

 You feel lighter when you step back into the hallway, and the lock clicking into place behind you fills you with comfort. The children were safe. Maybe things will be alright.

 Giving up your one spot of safe refuge does make you feel a little uneasy, but it was worth it. And this intruder was your problem, you couldn't hide away to leave your guests to deal with him. 

You sigh. Two visitors to deal with now. 

"You did good, my man." The bar guy is smiling fondly at you. "I knew you had it in you."

 And there's that vulnerability again, it fills you both with warmth and unease. 

 "Thanks, for…" Everything. For protecting the house, for speaking to the teenager, for believing in you. But your throat closes up and doesn't allow you to speak.

 "I know. Anytime." He nods, then gestures to the living room. "C'mon. He ain't so bad, let's introduce you."

 The sight that greets you in the living room is almost pitiful. The visitor sits curled into himself, shivering despite the many layers. He uncurls when he hears you enter.

 "Y-you're the homeowner?" You nod in way of greeting. "I-I hope you don't mind. I just needed a quiet place to rest. I won't be a b-bother."

 "You're a visitor." You state matter of factly. His eyes widen, and you think you see fear.

 "M-maybe. I think so." He hugs himself tighter. "I mean no harm. I just want to rest… and ma-maybe find some warmth."

 Visitors could lie easily. You believe his chills, he almost looks unwell from how cold he seems, but how far could you trust his well wishes? Not any further than the maniac guarding your door, you reckon.

 "I've got 'im." The bar guy speaks up beside you. "Maybe I could burrito him up like people do with cats at the vet, got any blankets?"

 The picture that springs to mind is almost amusing, but none so more than the next words of the visitor.

 "I'd like that." He smiles. The promise of warmth rises above all dignity.

 You open your mouth to speak, but a loud growl and the sound of your door being nearly ripped of its hinges makes you flinch.

 "Storage closet." You answer quickly, before running out into the hallway and into the night.

 The sounds of screaming hit you before you reach the steps of your decking, and you freeze at the sight. Three FEMA officers, two already dead and littered on the ground, and the third being held up in the air like a toy by the pale man.

 "Just kill them, stop playing around." He turns to look at you when you speak, frowning at you for ruining his fun. But he, remarkably, does as he's told. The last agent has his neck snapped, and then he too is tossed to the ground carelessly. You feel sick, and you wonder if the sight will ever get easier – but would you really want it to?

 He stalks past you soundlessly back into the house, you follow after him with a quiet;

"Thanks." For protecting the house. For honouring his word.

 Your appreciation doesn't go unnoticed. The moment you lock the door, he has you gripped by the under arms and hoistered into the air. Your head thumps against the ceiling, and you scowl disapprovingly. But you're only met with a vibrant grin, his dark eyes gleaming happily.

 "I do this allllll for you, my human. No need for thanks, though I relish in your appreciation of me." The way he looks at you is intense, and you want to protest that your appreciation doesn't run that deep – but you're starting to think you'd be lying to him, and yourself.

 "I'm putting you in the basement." You deadpan, serious. Though you might have been planning that since last night. 

 "Yes. You gave up your bedroom." He frowns. Of course he heard, but wait– no, he hadn't seriously thought— you fluster, of course he would. Boundaries weren't his strong suit.

 "Put me down." You order, squirming against his grip like you've seen the cat do. He does, lowering you down until your feet meet ground.

 "We've got a lot to work on." You mutter, ignoring the strange giddiness you feel.

________

 Sleep hits you like a brick, and waking up is slightly disorientating. You had taken your spot on a sofa in the other room, away from the others, but after years of waking up in the same room it was odd to wake to a different sight.

 Still, you had slept surprisingly well, but you quickly rise and straighten your clothes. You hope no chaos unfolded while you slept.

 The hallway looks as it should, and you stop by your bedroom first. You knock, and recieve a faint "hm?" in answer.

 "Is everything okay?" You call through the wood.

 "Yeah." A faint grumble, sounding half asleep.

 You smile to yourself at the sleepy grumbling, at peace that they came to no harm.

 Next you stop by the living room, slowly opening the door to find your two guests sitting and eating.

 "I made soup. Not much of a breakfast food, but he won't stop shivering!" The bar guy shakes his head, and the coat guy looks sheepish as he quietly eats. "There's enough for everyone, help yourself." 

 You nod your thanks, intending to take up that offer. But for now you leave your guests to eat, stepping back out into the hallway and snatch up the radio. Then with almost tentative steps, you make your way into the basement.

 He's already awake when you enter. You step in, and sit on the lower steps, fiddling with the radio. 

 Getting him into the basement had been easy enough, he seemed to like being surrounded by the earth, but leaving him down there had lead to protests. He had really believed you'd stay with him! But you had vehemently told him you were still learning to trust him.

 Yet, he'd caused no problems throughout the night. A point in his favour.

 "I told you I'd come down the moment I woke up." He grinned brilliantly at your words, standing and walking over until he towered over you.

 "I heard you wake, your heart beat always grows stronger when you do." You internally wince at the idea of him having been listening in before, though it doesn't suprise you.

 You decide to shove that conversation aside, and look up to meet his gaze. He seems more human in the warm low light of the basement, less pale and the hard edges of bones softened. You wonder if he was handsome as a human, though you don't find yourself shying away from him as he is now.

  The radio blares to life in your hands, and you both startle and look down at it.

 "Emergency broadcast: Government ranks have been infiltrated by the Visitors. To ensure the saftey of citizens, FEMA will be seizing control of all government operations–

Just a moment. News has been received from the barricades.

 This just in, FEMA barricades have been breached by fugitives. For the sake of your saftey, a lockdown is being placed with immediate effect: remain indoors, and cover your windows.

 FEMA will be tightening patrols, and ramping up neccessary weapon deployment to curb these latest issues—"

 You switch the infernal thing off, and grip it tightly in your hand as you sigh.

 "All the signs were there." You say quietly, voice far away as you think about the last couple of days. "God sake." Well, at least the basement might finally come to some good use. You're deep in thought about how to plan for this, that you startle when a heavy hand settles on your shoulder. You look back up at him when you're pulled back to the present, you don't shove him away.

 "This is what you were talking about. What about the rest of your kind?"

 "Our orders have ceased, and we are free to shelter as we please. Will the others find refuge? Burrow back underground? Or die at FEMAS hands? It matters not." There was very little loyalty to his kind heard in his words, but then he always seemed like a loner.

 "Right. Either way, it looks like we've got our own refuge to worry about." Without thinking, you place your hand over his that still sits on your shoulder. A silent truce to focus on saftey against the end times. 

His grin lights up his whole face.

________

 Despite the rising heat, you didn't sleep that day. You focused on boarding up the windows, and ransacking your storage closet for anything that would be useful to be sheltered with. 

 You spoke to your other two guests, not the children just yet, about what was happening. The coat guy seemed fearful, and the bar guy didn't seem surprised, but they offered their help to start packing up the other rooms and the kitchen.

 As for your pale visitor, he had taken to rearranging the basement off his own accord. The sound of collapsing shelves had startled you to his movements, and you found him grumbling about how little space the place had.

 You had laughed at that. He'd near begged to get inside this house, and now he complained! It was a sight to behold. You told him to mind his temper or you'll throw him out to meet the midday sun, but the sound of your laughter seemed to have been enough to pull him out of his bad mood.

 By evening, you'd had the essentials from the storage closet and the spare room packed into the basement. The other places could wait until night or tomorrow, you were starting to feel sick at the exertion in these temperatures.

 But still you pause, looking out over the ransacked storage closet, and seeing the boxes of items that belonged to your father.

 "Something troubles you." A smooth voice sounds from behind you, concerned. If it weren't for the exhaustion, you would be on the ceiling in fright. Even now, he's still so quiet!

 "Old memories." You sigh. You should go through it all, but you can't bring yourself to. Not even at the end of the world. "My father's things."

 "The one who hurt you?" Right. He had over heard the conversation yesterday. You nod, and his tone drops into a low growl as he clamps a heavy hand down onto your shoulder. "I will kill him for you. He won't harm you again."

 "You're a couple of years too late, he's already dead." You snort. Though, morbidly, it was the most charming thing he'd said to you. After all the pain you faced, it was nice to know he had you're back. If only you'd met years ago.

 "Pity." He grumbles. 

 The silence stretches on, and you wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. You could do with a shower before you pass out.

 But the pale visitor has other ideas. You're suddenly scooped into his arms and cradled against his chest, he's grinning down at you and it makes your rising protest grow sharper. He starts carrying you down into the basement.

 "Put me down!" You let out an undignified yelp. Struggling in his hold, which he only grips on tighter to.

 "No." He descends down the stairs, pausing to close the hatch behind you both. "I have listened to your every protest, but I will not relent today. You will rest."

  He moves to sit against the far end of the basement, dropping sharply to a sitting position and propping you up and against his chest. You squirm against his hold, but he only tightens his grip. 

 "You've worked too much, I can hear the way you breath changes with exhaustion. Rest." He sing-songs smoothly in a murmur. Still, you fight it; he's too close, and you can feel the way his ribs dig into your back.

 But he doesn't relent, placing a heavy hand on your head. He smoothes your shortly-cropped hair with a bony finger, and the affection is as awkward as it seems foreign for the visitor to give. But regardless, it still has your face heating up.

 "Thereeeee, that's better." He takes your freezing as giving in, but you're so tired that your protests start to die.

 It doesn't take long for you to drift off, and the last thing you hear is a pleased rumble.

________

 The next day and a half is a blur. No wandering humans or visitors reach your door, which is just as well as you've reached a point where you think letting someone new in would unsettle the fragile balance you have. And FEMA are oddly silent in the area – and that somehow feels worse than having them loitering around the place.

 But your house is too busy to worry. The remaining rooms are packed up, along with furnishing the basement to make it more comfortable. The final to be packed up was the kitchen, and the bar guy had kept the girls busy with cooking and canning the perishables.

 Despite the pick-a-mix of guests you have, and despite your own anxieties, things were going warmly. Maybe it was the rising tensions in the world, and maybe it was the end times that were drawing closer, but you found yourself relaxing into it too.

 After the first night that the pale visitor kept you in his arms as you slept, you found yourself going back to him every time you wanted to rest. You keep telling yourself it was just the need for saftey, finding a strange comfort in the odd creature that was fascinated with you — but that wasn't entirely true, and how long ago did your feelings shift?

 You all pile down into the basement on the third night on from the announcement of the FEMA take over and the fugitive uprising. The bar guy – Yesenin, he had insisted you learnt his name – had found a couple of pack of cards within your storage. Your fathers, but seeing them bring joy to your guests was overwriting the hard feelings associated with them.

 The little girl didn't understand most games, though Yesenin had joked that they had enough time to teach her them all, so you were all now playing snap.

 The cat was dosing on the coat guys lap, who had become rather smitten with the feline in recent days. He places a card down, the teenager following suit, and then the pale visitor slaps down an identical card without much triumph. You quickly place yours down on top.

 "You just won." You elbow him lightly in the ribs. "But you didn't call out snap, so you forfeit your win." The resounding growl of annoyance has you smiling, as does the laughter from Yesenin and the little girl.

 "You are supposed to support me." The visitor grumbles from your side. Human games didn't seem to invigorate him, but he played to humour you. 

 You'd found an easy camaraderie with him. He struggled to show affection that didn't come across as almost hostile, and you struggled to show appreciation outside of snark and banter. But something was clicking into place.

 "More wins for me then. Snap!" Yesenin slaps down a card with a cheer.

 "Right before my turn!" The coat guy huffs.

 "Hey, like he said, you are supposed to support me." The coat guy shyly ducks down into his coat at his words. 

 The pair were growing closer, and it was warming to witness. Their own unique bond also made you feel less shy about your growing feelings for your strange companion.

 "So. When the world gets back on track – and it will." Yesenin points at the teenager with a smile. "And the sun packs up its inferno, what is the first thing you all plan to do?" He gathers the cards and shuffles them again.

 "B-buying a heater. Or maybe ten cats, he's so warm." The coat guy smiles, and Yesenin laughs as he nudges his arm.

 "I'm going to look for my family." The little girl says quietly. "Maybe my uncle." That makes you wince. "But hopefully my nana."

 "We'll help you. You'll find them, I promise." You give your best shot at a reasuring smile. Your words and expression are recieved well, as she beams happily at you.

 "I don't wanna find my family. Dunno what I'd want, I'd just be glad to see the end of this misery." The teenager sighs, though she's remarkably more relaxed these past few days.

 "Cheers to that." Yesenin raises an imaginary glass. "Just to be outside again would be wonderful."

 He looks to you expectantly, curious to your own answer. You take in a deep breath. What do you want? Besides seeing the back end of this cataclysm. You glance briefly at the pale visitor, who's gaze is locked onto you with open curiosity.

 "I…" You pause, glancing down at the floor in an attempt to ignore the looks. "I just know I don't want to be alone again."

 "You won't be, my good man." Yesenin says in a soft tone. "Tough luck tryin' ta get rid of me after this! Me and you are going for a good couple of beers once all is well, my treat." You smile at that, you hope that you'll remain in contact with him, and the others, for a long while yet.

 "Wait. Me too! I'm joining." The teenager brightens up.

 "Ah- no!" Yesenin splutters and you almost laugh. "I'll gladly buy you your first coming-of-age pint. For now, well… you can still tag along, but you're on the soft drinks!"

 "Bunch of bores." The teenager complains, but the smile on her face lessens her faux-posturing. 

 "What about you big fella?" Yesenin gestures to the pale visitor. "What do you want after all this?"

 "I already have what I want." He sneaks an arm around you and pulls you into his side. Fucking sap! You blush furiously, and that only seems to spur him on, he's doing this on purpose. Yesenin is cackling, and it's definetly at your expression. "Though, I've always wanted a dog. That's the only remnant of my humanity that I remember."

 "I thought visitors were dogs?" You throw his metaphor at him. Though you look at him humorously; maybe that metaphor came from a place of fondness.

 "Even more reason to have one!" He grins sharply at you, and you roll your eyes before thumping your head against his shoulder. He laughs brightly, a strange sound, his grip on you tightening.

 At the start of the cataclysm, you almost welcomed the end. So used to being alone. Bar your late wife, you'd only ever been surrounded by people who hurt you. But now? Now you hope it all clears up, that there will be a tomorrow and a next year. You had found your people, all of whom had forcibly entered your life in varying manners, but you couldn't imagine a life without them now.

 As the others settle to play another round of snap, you reach up and brush a strand of inky black hair off the tall visitors forehead. He looks at the gesture with confusion, before breaking out into a soft smile.

 You'd known from the start you were destined to lose to his whims, how could you ever hope to fight back? The smug bastard always knew he'd wear you down. But you find that in the end, you wouldn't have it any other way.