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"𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬; 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲."

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.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Lincoln sat in the back of the truck, legs swinging as they rolled down the deserted highway. His hands were busy with a Rubik's cube he'd "borrowed" from Eugene's pack earlier that day. Well, more like swiped when Eugene wasn't looking.

"Why you always got these weird science toys, Eugene?" Lincoln smirked, turning the cube. "You know there's an apocalypse goin' on, right?"

Eugene, seated beside him with his usual serious expression. "That's a complex puzzle designed to enhance cognitive—"

"Enhance this," Lincoln cut him off, tossing the Rubik's cube into the back of the truck with a mischievous grin. Eugene's eyes went wide as he watched it bounce off into the dirt.

Abraham's deep chuckle came from the driver's seat. "You got him good, kid." He glanced over his shoulder with a grin, the kind Lincoln had come to expect from the man who took him under his wing.

Rosita, sitting shotgun, rolled her eyes but there was a hint of a smile there. "Stop messin' with him, Lincoln," Rosita said, her tone firm but with that underlying warmth she always had. It was a tone Lincoln had grown to appreciate—like the way his mom might've sounded, if things had been different. "You know Eugene's got enough to worry about."

Lincoln leaned back, the picture of innocence. "Hey, I'm helpin'. Keeps his brain sharp, right?"

"Real sharp," Rosita replied with a raised eyebrow, shaking her head. She looked back at Eugene. "You okay?"

Eugene huffed, brushing dirt off his pants and muttering under his breath. "Quite alright. Despite attempts at juvenile provocation, I remain focused on our mission to Washington."

Lincoln's smirk widened as he turned to Abraham. "He says 'juvenile' like I'm not the one keepin' us entertained."

Abraham shook his head, but there was pride in his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, you're a regular comedian."

"Gotta be good at somethin'," Lincoln quipped, feeling the warmth of his new family around him. It was different from before he met them, different from the cold nights he spent alone. They felt like home, and even though things had been tough, being with them made it all a little easier.

The 13 year old wiped some sweat off his brow, looking out at the road ahead. "So... when we hittin' D.C., huh? Gonna see the President? You think they got McDonald's still open over there or what?"

Rosita laughed, and even Eugene cracked a tiny smile despite himself. Abraham just shook his head again, but his voice was warm. "Maybe, kid. Maybe."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Nearly two years had passed since Lincoln first found himself with this group—his family, though he'd never say it out loud. But that's what they were, even Eugene.

The group used to be bigger, a lot bigger, but the road had a way of whittling them down, loss after painful loss. Each time they buried a friend, the weight of it grew heavier, but Abraham's mantra was always the same: keep moving forward. And so they did.

In those two years, they'd spent most of their days on the road, hopping from one broken-down car to the next. Lincoln liked to imagine they were on some kind of top-secret spy mission, the kind he'd seen in movies before everything went to hell. 

But this wasn't a movie—it was Eugene's "mission," something far less exciting and far more desperate. Eugene had claimed early on that he held the key to stopping the apocalypse, that he had vital information that could end the whole thing. Apparently, he was some kind of scientist.

The only problem? Washington D.C. seemed like it might as well be on another planet. From Houston to Georgia, they had been grinding their way north, but the road felt endless. Just when they thought they were close, something would push them back. Washington was still out there, a distant, almost unreachable goal.

Lincoln wasn't exactly sold on the idea that Eugene could really end the whole "dead coming back to life" shit. It seemed impossible—like this was just the way the world was now. But honestly, he didn't care all that much. Whether Eugene was a genius or just full of it didn't really matter to him. What mattered was that he had a place with these people, and that was enough.

He wasn't just tagging along because of some grand plan to save the world—he was there because this group had become his home. Sure, Abraham barked orders like a drill sergeant, Rosita was a bit too protective at times, and Eugene was, well, Eugene. But they were his people. They made him feel like he had a place in this nightmare of a world.

Besides, what other options did he have? Running off on his own? No thanks.

As the truck they were in bounced along the torn-up road, Lincoln leaned back, casting a glance at Abraham who sat up front with a determined scowl, eyes scanning the horizon for trouble. He turned his gaze to Rosita, her eyes steady and sharp, always watching out for the group. Then there was Eugene—nose in a map, mumbling about the best route to take.

Lincoln smirked, shaking his head. "Hey, Eugene. You sure you're lookin' at that map right? Last time we listened to you, we ended up in the middle of a damn swamp."

Eugene didn't even look up, muttering something about 'optimal terrain routes' and 'long-term strategic advantages,' which only made Lincoln chuckle.

Abraham, overhearing, gave a low laugh. "Kid's got a point."

Lincoln didn't mind the teasing—this was his life now. Traveling with these people, dodging the dead and whatever else the world threw at them.

The truck came to a sudden halt, the engine rumbling ominously before falling silent. Lincoln felt the familiar jolt of disappointment wash over him; they'd broken down again. He braced himself against the dashboard as the last vibrations settled.

"Great," Lincoln muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. He was used to this sound, the sudden stillness that followed the engine's sputter, a familiar prelude to another round of trouble.

Abraham hit the steering wheel with a frustrated thud. "Mother-dick!" he grumbled, his brow furrowing as he stared at the dashboard like it had personally betrayed him.

"Language, Abraham," Rosita chided, half-smiling despite the situation. "We're trying to maintain some semblance of civility here."

Lincoln leaned back, crossing his arms and grinning. "Civility? You mean like how you always fuss over us like a mom? Or how Eugene practically begs for a map?"

Eugene finally looked up from his map, eyes wide. "That is a scientifically sound method for navigation! I assure you, my expertise—"

"Yeah, yeah," Lincoln cut him off, laughing. "We know you're a 'scientist.' Just hope your 'expertise' isn't what caused this mess."

Rosita rolled her eyes, already opening the door and climbing out. "Great. Just what we need—more car troubles. Let's see if we can't fix this before the dead decide to join the party."

Lincoln hopped out after her, taking a deep breath of the stale air. The roadside was littered with debris, remnants of the world that once was, and he could see the outlines of abandoned vehicles in the distance.

Eugene was still poring over the map, oblivious to the commotion outside. "Statistically speaking, this is only a minor setback," he said, his voice full of unearned optimism.

"Minor for who?" Lincoln shot back, casting a glance at the engine, smoke curling out like a bad omen. "Do you think the dead care about our statistical inconveniences?"

Abraham stepped out, eyeing the engine with a furrowed brow. "Let's just hope this isn't one of those 'minor' setbacks that leaves us stranded for days. We need to keep moving."

Lincoln nodded, feeling a twinge of anxiety. This was always the worst part—waiting for the next wave of trouble to come crashing in. But he pushed it aside, determined to stay focused. They'd handle this like they always did.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

They had been trudging along the dusty road for nearly a day, taking turns resting whenever they could. Luckily for Lincoln, Rosita had insisted the men let him off the hook when it came to night watch, claiming he was just a kid.

Lincoln walked alongside Abraham, as he often did, soaking up the larger man's calm presence. Well, unless Abraham was busy kissing Rosita, which grossed him out more than he cared to admit. Seriously, didn't they know there were walkers lurking around?

"Hey, Abe," Lincoln piped up, sidestepping a puddle of murky water. "How come you never get tired of smoochin' Rosita? I mean, don't you have like, apocalypse stuff to worry about?"

Abraham chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's called multitasking, Linc. Besides, in a world like this, you have to grab happiness wherever you can."

Lincoln rolled his eyes, trying to hide a smile. "Right, but can't you do it somewhere else? Like, I don't know, away from me?"

"You'll understand when you're older," Abraham replied with a smirk.

"Think we'll hit a town soon?" he asked, desperate to change the subject.

"Should be a few miles up the road," Abraham replied, pointing ahead. "Just keep your eyes peeled. You never know what we might find."

As they moved forward, Lincoln's instincts kicked in. He squinted at the shadows flitting in the distance, the unmistakable shuffle of feet and low growls growing louder. "Walkers!" he shouted, adrenaline flooding his veins.

Without a second thought, he pulled out his knife, its blade glinting in the dappled sunlight. Lincoln didn't hesitate; he had learned to act quickly in this world. He dashed ahead, weaving through the underbrush, his heart racing as he approached the first walker. The creature, with its tattered clothes and vacant eyes, stumbled toward him with a gnarled hand outstretched.

"Hey, ugly!" Lincoln shouted, just to buy himself a split second. He lunged forward, plunging the knife into the walker's skull with precision. The body crumpled to the ground, a sickening thud echoing in the quiet air.

A second walker emerged from behind a tree, drawn by the noise. Lincoln pivoted, his knife ready. This one looked even worse, its face a grotesque mask of decay. "Can't you guys take a hint?" he muttered, charging at it.

With a swift movement, he dodged its reaching arms and drove the knife into its temple. The walker fell, lifeless. Lincoln stood for a moment, breathing heavily, his chest heaving with the thrill of the fight.

He glanced back to see Abraham and Rosita moving closer, their expressions a mix of pride and concern. "Not bad, Linc!" Abraham called out, a grin stretching across his face.

"Yeah, well, they weren't exactly tough," Lincoln replied, trying to sound nonchalant as he wiped the blade on the grass.

Rosita rolled her eyes, though there was a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Just remember, being tough isn't just about taking them down. It's about being smart, too."

Lincoln nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "Got it. But it's still kind of fun." He glanced back at the fallen walkers, a sense of accomplishment washing over him.

Another advantage of being with this group was that both Abraham and Rosita had military experience. They were tough as nails, forged in the fires of a world gone mad. When Lincoln first met them, he was a scared kid who didn't know the first thing about handling a weapon. He had flinched at the mere thought of a gun, but they had patiently shown him everything he needed to know.

Abraham had a way of breaking down complex techniques into simple steps, turning the overwhelming into manageable bits. "Just remember, kid," he'd say with a grin, "it's not about being the biggest or the strongest. It's about knowing when to strike and when to stay hidden."

Rosita was equally fierce, but her approach was more hands-on. She often practiced drills with Lincoln, her patience surprising him as she taught him how to aim and reload, all while keeping her trademark sass. "You call that a stance? You're more wobbly than a newborn giraffe!" she'd tease, but he knew it came from a place of genuine care.

As they walked, he reflected on how far he had come. The timid boy who had once hidden behind them was slowly transforming into someone capable—someone ready to fight for what mattered most.

He imagined that's what mother and fathers were supposed to do, teach their kids the necessary things they needed to survive. Hell, or even teach them how to ride a bike. 

But for Lincoln, those lessons had never come. His parents had vanished from his life long before he could grasp what it meant to have that kind of guidance.

Instead of training wheels, he had learned to navigate a broken world on his own. Survival had been his only teacher, and it had come at a steep price. Now, with Abraham and Rosita by his side, he felt a flicker of what he had missed—real support, a sense of belonging. It was different from what he had known before, a stark contrast to the empty void of his childhood. 

He was jolted out of his thoughts when something caught his eye, a grin spreading across his face. "No fucking way!" he breathed, the excitement bubbling inside him.

"What's got you all happy, kid?" Abraham asked, glancing over with a curious look.

Lincoln pointed ahead, his heart racing. "Check that out!" He gestured toward a massive military truck parked just off the road, its sturdy frame a beacon of hope in their bleak world. It was definitely the biggest car they'd seen in like forever, plus, those kind of cars were literally made to withstand all kinds of shit.

"I call shot-gun!" Lincoln called out, already sprinting towards the truck. Plenty of times he had begged and begged to have a turn driving, but Rosita was always quick to tell him no. So, shotgun was the best option, especially since he was always stuck in the back with Eugene.

Washington here we come.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Much to Lincoln's luck, he ended up in the cramped space at the back with Eugene. At least he had his earphones in, his almost-broken iPod blasting Iron Maiden through the noise of the engine. The familiar riffs drowned out Eugene's endless stream of scientific jargon, allowing Lincoln to focus on the colorful pages of his comics.

Hours passed as the truck rumbled along the uneven road, the sound of the tires crunching against gravel blending with the music in his ears. The excitement of being on the road, even in the back with the nerd, filled him with a sense of freedom. Lincoln flipped through the pages, losing himself in fantastical worlds where heroes fought against insurmountable odds—much like his own life.

He stole a glance at Eugene, who was glued to his notepad, furiously scribbling down what Lincoln could only assume were his latest theories on the apocalypse. "You know, Eugene," he said with a smirk, "you'd look a lot cooler if you rocked out with me instead of writin' about the end of the world."

Eugene glanced up, seeming exhausted with the teasing. "That's an intriguing notion, Lincoln, but my contributions could very well save humanity," he replied, the seriousness of his tone contrasting with Lincoln's playful jab.

"Yeah, but can your theories play a sick guitar solo?" Lincoln shot back, earning an unamused look from the man.

Lincoln smirked then leaned against the window, the rhythm of the truck soothing him as he got lost in thought. But then something caught his eye—a bright orange backpack sitting awkwardly on the roadside. His eyebrows furrowed as he squinted to get a better look, a mix of curiosity and caution flooding through him.

As they drew closer, he could make out the figure of a man clad in riot gear, standing protectively by the backpack. His stance was strong, ready for anything that might come their way. But it was the woman next to him who truly captured Lincoln's attention. 

She had two pigtails in her hair, and truly, did not look like a threat. But, she was fiercely battling a walker, her face set with determination as she smashed the butt of her gun into the creature's skull, absolutely destroying it.

"Whoa, check that out!" Lincoln exclaimed, nudging Eugene, who was still scribbling in his notepad. "That chick is going all out!"

Abraham noticed the sight too, nudging Rosita and pointing ahead with a grin. Lincoln could practically see the gears turning in Abraham's mind. He knew what was about to happen; it was the same routine every time. Abraham would launch into one of his grand speeches, spinning tales of heroism and adventure, trying to rally the group to tag along.

"Look at that!" Abraham exclaimed, his voice booming with enthusiasm. 

Lincoln rolled his eyes but couldn't help the smile creeping onto his face. "Here we go again," he muttered under his breath, he knew exactly what Abraham was thinking right now. More people means getting to Washington quicker.

Rosita chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You think they'll buy your 'save the world' pitch this time?"

Abraham shrugged, his grin widening. "I'll make them believe it! After all, we're heroes in the making."

Lincoln felt a surge of excitement and mischief. "I call dibs on the riot gear!" he shouted, pointing enthusiastically at the man in the armor. The idea of donning that tough-looking outfit filled him with a sense of possibility.

"Yeah, right," Rosita laughed, "Like you could even fit into that thing."

"Challenge accepted!" Lincoln shot back, his eyes gleaming with determination. "But seriously, it looks awesome! Can you imagine how cool I'd look running around in riot gear?"

"Cool? You'd look like a wannabe stormtrooper," Eugene chimed in from the back, barely looking up from his notes.

"Yeah, but a stormtrooper that takes down walkers," Lincoln countered with a grin.

As they got closer, Lincoln noticed that the man in the riot gear had somehow fallen unconscious, leaving the woman to fend off the walkers all on her own. Her movements were fierce and fluid, showcasing both skill and desperation as she smashed the butt of her gun against the skull of another approaching walker.

Abraham pulled the truck up right next to them, the engine rumbling to a halt. Lincoln braced himself, half-expecting another of Abraham's long-winded speeches about heroism and bravery. But before he could even think about what might come next, the woman glanced up, her expression shifting from focus to irritation.

"Hope you enjoyed the show, assholes!" she yelled, a fierce glare aimed right at Abraham and the others in the truck.

Lincoln blinked, caught off guard. The unexpected outburst made him crack a grin.

"Looks like she's got a bit of fight in her," Lincoln murmured to Rosita, who nodded, a hint of admiration in her eyes.

"Yeah, I like her already," she replied, leaning forward, intrigued.

"Should we help?" Lincoln asked, ready to jump into action.

"Just hold on," Abraham replied, eyes sparkling with determination. "Let's see what this lady's made of."

The woman swung her gun with impressive precision, dispatching another walker just as Lincoln prepared himself for whatever happened next. This wasn't going to be boring after all.

Maybe their small group was about to get a little bigger.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞

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LINCOLN CHAPTER! LINCOLN CHAPTER! LINCOLN CHAPTER!

apologies, not too exciting, but i just wanted to introduce him properly!!