Chapter Text
"Fuck!" Olson stumbled forward, his foot yanking free from the pothole. "Stupid fucking road."
Stebbins grinned, pacing himself behind Olson, the pebbles of the crumbling road crunching beneath his feet, "Never gonna make it if you keep wasting your breath."
Olson's eyes flickered from the ground to Stebbins for a few moments before he settled squarely on the cracked and sun-heated road, "Well, what do you know?" Olson muttered. Unable to keep his body from swaying with every step. The sun beat against the back of Olson's neck.
"I know that you're losing it," Stebbins began, his tone seemed disinterested. But Stebbins' eyes locked onto the back of Olson's neck, unwavering despite Olson's unsteadiness. Olson felt a chill run up his spine, knowing that his slowly sun burning neck was vulnerable to the man behind him.
"I'm not fucking losing it!" Olson suddenly turned his head towards Stebbins but kept his gaze on the road. He was unsure why he couldn't quite bear to look at Stebbins in this moment, but the cracks felt more welcoming to stare at than the man looming behind him.
Stebbins stared. He was trying to absorb every detail on Olson's profile. How his eyes looked pulled down from the developing bags that puffed his under eyes. Eye bags formed from the horrors of the inhuman walkers. the glistening sweat on his face that highlighted the heat bloomed blush, how while he walked he attempted at lightening the burden that his own body weight had on his feet. A smile crept onto Stebbins face. Olson's hair stuck wetly to his forehead, his hat doing little for the unbarring heat. Pine, oak and some undefined others that all stretched towards the sun. casting shadows that smaller creatures took refugee in. Everything had some higher power.
Olson tripped, his head snapping back forward, knees and palms hitting the ground, ripping up the parts of his hands not yet calloused from the unrelenting force behind firing guns or work. He sharply inhaled, "Fuck." He stood again, peeling himself off the ground.
"A mule," Stebbins whispered as he slowly caught up to where Olson had knelt, looking off into the tree line.
"The fuck you say?" Olson furrowed his brows, he spoke louder than he meant to, tightening his face as it was now his turn to stare at Stebbins. Nothing seemed funny when you were soaking wet from your own sweat. Sweat sticking Stebbins' tank top to his chest, his hair looking dampened from the sweat on his forehead, Olson's mouth drily gaped akin to a fish on land before he snapped it shut.
The dirty blonde looked back to Olson as he spoke again. "You're a mule," Stebbins pronounced every word. Olson listened silently as Stebbins continued speaking. "You're continuous."
Olson's gaze flickered between Stebbins and the asphalt again, hissing in pain as he landed on his foot wrong, "Feeling more like a horse." He tried to distract, move the conversation to something new.
Olson looked up, in search of something. In the horizon was the city, dismantled and crumbling as roots and moss held together the remaining structures. It looked small and desolate, a piercing reminder of how far they were from any semblance of safety.
Stebbins hand felt burning hot as it landed on Olson's sweaty shoulder, the touch electrifying. Feeling burning hot despite the sweltering heat around them.
Olson shoved him off easily with a fluid jerk, "Man is susceptible to the disease, and the birds fly free. What do you make that, Edgar?" Olson prayed for his bait to be bitten, for his stumbling to be moved on from.
Stebbins went back to staring at Olson silently. Olson stared ahead, he could feel sweat bead in his ass crack. Stebbins stared so god damn much and it was so fucking hot.
Silence overtook them as Olson was desperate to pretend Stebbins wasn't on his heels. The pebbles beneath their shoes crunched. Olson would have to check in with himself every couple of minutes to ensure that it wasn't his ankle finally giving way and snapping 90 degrees. The gap between them grew, Olson walking faster, Stebbins slower.
They were fundamentally different in their approaches. They had a group, broken up by one mistake, one thundering night.
Stebbins wheezed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes narrowed as his body was covered in sweat and rain. He stared mindlessly at the flickering light above him. "Hello!?" Olson violently shook a bright yellow radio with a long gray pole stuck out from the top of it. What was that stupid pole called again? Stebbins wondered as he watched from the corner of his eye, the familiar pulling ache slowly building in his eyes. Olson repeatedly hit the side of the radio with his inner wrist.
"I told them-" Olson muttered, Olson shivered from his clothes being soaked through with rain, his brows furrowed angrily but his eyes were etched with worry, a soft frown on his face. Stebbins was drenched and freezing cold, he felt miserable. His muscles ached, his head hurt. He heard crackling and a loud screech from the radio before it clattered to the floor.
Stebbins let his head lull to the side, watching as Olson sat on the muddied diner floor they'd taken refugee in. The windows rattled with the force of the rain, a muted pounding against it. A cough ripped from Stebbins chest. A tranquil peace washed over him as he laid in silence, watching Olson work on the radio with a quiet sincerity.
"You're never this quiet," Stebbins' voice was weak, quiet, barely audible over the rain. Olson's head snapped to Stebbins, eyes wide.
The sun continued its relentlessly assault. Trees casting a growing shadow over the right edge of gravel and crumbling asphalt, the weathering of rain eroding the roads edge. Stebbins lurked to the shadiest part of the road, taking brief shelter under the temporary shade.
Olson walked along the dashed yellow line. Stebbins kicked a rock forward, Olson's eyes snapping to the new sound behind him. He bit the inside of his lip, fighting the nagging urges to warn Stebbins, before ultimately losing. "According to a recent study released by the Department of Justice, the edges of the road are most prone to attacks-" Olson starts, his rambling lecture cut off.
"I'm aware, I read it." Stebbins stride didn't halter as he kicked another stone, shoving his hands into his pockets in a single fluid motion.
"I warned you, Icarus," Olson scoffed. Turning back forward, frowning as the city looked no closer. His chest twisted with unspoken fear.
The silence stretching between them was unyielding. Olson felt the gnawing urge to say something, the silence uncomfortable. A silence that typically signified death. Olson pursed his lips for a moment, glancing back to check Stebbins was still there.
"Billy is a fucking stupid name." Olson started abruptly.
"Oh yeah? And Hank is much better?" Stebbins immediately countered.
"Fuck yea it is! Your name sounds like you'd wear a propeller hat!" Olson slowed his steps to walk in tandem with Stebbins, a mercy on his crying muscles and swelling ankle.
"Shut the fuck up," Stebbins tone was sharp, but the smile growing on his face spun the tale differently.
"Aw, c'mon! You're a fucking pussy if you can't handle a little teasing."
Stebbins leaned down, slowly, deliberately being condescending as his tone dropped, "I'm not a pussy. You're just a piece of shit." Stebbins lips curled as he spoke.
Olson's mouth loosened and opened just a bit as he stared at Stebbins lips before he mirrored his grin, "Then we're two peas in a pod, cock sucker."
Stebbins scoffed, standing up straight again, leaning his head back as he pretended that his gaze wasn't lingering. Olson locked eyes with him, all his thoughts swirled and fizzled out with his pride as he stared into the endless browns of Stebbins' eyes.
"Fuck!" Olson stumbled again, tripping over his own feet for a few seconds before he continued walking at a rapid pace. The emotions came pouring in suddenly. His heart pounded in his chest, swelling with something unknown while trying to it shrivel with his own pride. Heat spread across Olson's face, stumbling was embarrassing once. But he can't stop stumbling.
With a quick glance, Olson looked back to Stebbins. Stebbins who was looking out into the treeline with a hand over his mouth and squinted eyes. Oh fuck, he was smiling. Olson snapped his head forward, unsure if he was happy or a little humiliated. He didn't know when he started to smile too.
Silence fell, as the sun began to set and the weather cooled. They listened closer. Taking one strap off his backpack, Olson unzipped his pack and grabbed the radio before quickly tossing back on both straps. Both shoulders ached, they had become sore from the steady weight of his backpack. Olson twisted a large dial on the radio till static poured out.
Stebbins' brows turned up, was Olson truly losing it? "They aren't sending signals at night." Stebbins picked up the pace, walking beside Olson again as he steeled his face. Olson continued twisting the dial.
"I'm not looking for contact with the city. I'm looking for Art." Olson spoke with a finality. Stebbins' lips pursed.
"Why?" It came out soft, desperate.
Olson didn't respond, the words dying in his throat as he tried to focus on the weight of the radio in his hands. Stebbins stared. A guttural scream rang out from deep in the forest.
"We should stop somewhere. They're coming out." Stebbins suggested, his gaze flickering between Olson's face and the radio.
"Collie was with Art." Olson stated, his voice low to not draw unwanted attention as the smell of death began to drift down from up wind.
"They're capable of protecting themselves," Stebbins voice was stern, but clipped.
"I never said that," Olson snipped back, "Ray was right about you." Olson picked up his steps. Grunting about his crying muscles.
Stebbins lurked behind. Letting the conversation, if it could be called that, die where Olson left it. The curiosity gnawed at Stebbins' conscious and focus. What does that mean? What it implied. He was a source of conversation.
Stebbins watched Olson's back with unanswered, unspoken rattling questions of why.
Olson suddenly turned, Stebbins eyes looked around. Locking onto the gas station, windows boarded up. Carefully pulling his pistol from the holster it had heavily sat in, flicking the safety off. Olson led the way, the concrete parking lot worn down and cracked. Olson made his way to the front door, glancing over his shoulder to Stebbins. Stebbins swallowed thickly, his mouth dry as the sunset cast a golden hue over Olson's face.
The door was carefully pushed open. Olson searched, eyes scanning. One hand with the softly crackling radio, the other on his own holstered gun.
The gas station shelves were raided nearly completely. Empty cans, bottles and paper littered the floor. A shelf knocked over on top of another, giving a clear view to the backroom, the wooden door sealed shut with two planks. With the sun setting, the remaining light was minimal.
A stitched band on Olson's pack held a crowbar. Stebbins flicked the safety back on his gun and carefully holstered it. Grabbing Olson's shoulder with one hand, and the crowbar with his other. Stebbins' lips felt dry as his hand lingered on Olson's shoulder a few moments too long.
"Hurry up, we're almost out of time," Olson whisper yelled. Stebbins hummed, pulling the crowbar free and marching towards the boarded door while Olson moved to the counter. Stebbins reached the door, as a thud and loud bang rang out. His ears ringing as his head snapped over to the sound, Olson shoved a bloodied man off of him. The man's blood dripping from the ceiling as fragments of skull and brain covered the edge and some of the top of the counter.
He was undead, legs stretched tightly, blackened with sores covering it, "Poor fucker must've had heart failure." Olson wiped his face, spit and blood splattered against his heat tinted cheeks.
"I thought they were dead?" Stebbins asked, tossing the crowbar around in his hand.
"At the hospital we raided… Uhm-" Olson started, wiping his cheek with his sleeve as he tried to explain. "There was documents suggesting they aren't exactly dead."
…
"Oh fuck." Stebbins grimaced.
"Easy. Don't get infected." Olson strolled over to Stebbins, his tone was light but they both knew it was harder than that. They were the same in that way, simply trying to ignore and persevere despite the horrors. Pete repeatedly called them, 'Stubborn to a fault'.
With one quick glance over the store and the street outside to ensure they hadn't or wouldn't alert any new infected. Olson aimed his pistol towards the door in preparation. "Open the door already."
Stebbins swung, latching the crowbar on the top board. With a boot against the door, he pushed and yanked the top nails free. He repeated this for the lower nails, yanking the whole board off. And again for the second board. As soon as the last board was yanked free. The door swung open, a woman's body fell out. Olson shot a single bullet into her skull. Blood and skull fragment flying up, splattering against the wall and doorframe.
Stebbins stepped over the body, walking into the disheveled backroom.
"You think the guy locked her back here?" Olson asked, glancing around the room, the walls and door covered in bloody claw marks.
"I guess we'll never know." Stebbins stared, taking in the horrific sight with Olson by his side for a few moments of silence before speaking again, "Their stories died with them."
"Yeah, well, I've seen enough horrific shit to last a life time." Olson began to work, immediately dragging the woman back into the room. "Get the guy, I don't want to wake up to him eating me. Him jumping out at me was enough once."
Stebbins chuckled by agreed. Once both bodies were in the room, Olson and Stebbins pushed a shelf in front of the door. At the very least, if either of those two reanimated, they'd know. The next shelf went in front of the front door. The building had no power, so the two sat against the back wall. Sitting in front of the last beams of light.
"Is that why we can kill them?" Stebbins hummed. He feels like he always knew this answer, but he held hope it wasn't true.
"Probably." Olson answered quietly. "What a way to go. Suffer a painful death just to wake up again."
"Have you- ever listened to them?" Stebbins asked, it was unusual for him to lead conversations like this.
"Yeah, when the infection first broke out. Clementine spoke to me, but it wasn't her."
"But was it speech?" Stebbins pushed further.
"No, it was a," Olson waved his hand in a circle as he tried to put a word to it, "gurgles? Like she was choking on something."
"They mimic us." Stebbins didn't want to look at Olson. "Art went on a big ramble sometime ago about how this could be punishment for humanity's greed."
Olson let his legs stretch out in front him, "Art was onto something. I'm not too religious, but I am superstitious."
"Well, I'm neither." Stebbins huffed.
"I don't see why I gotta be punished for some billionaire fucker's sins. Can't believe God is also capitalist."
Stebbins turned to look at Olson in the reddening orange light, "What?"
"Collective punishment is quintessentially capitalist, because guess who could afford protection, mass purchasing of supplies and has multiple safe houses? Those rich fuckers!"
Stebbins hummed, not tacting anything more on.
"Its bullshit." Olson mumbled.
"Guess that means you need to kill the rich," Stebbins snickered.
"I'm sure some poor fucker's already tried."
Their conversation died there, a comfortable silence as night took over. The last beam of light falling below the horizon line, swallowing them in darkness.