Dark in the eyes
Try and face the world, I can't bear to
My knees hit the ground and my hands start shaking
Old feelings from new faces.
-Cobi, Don't You Cry For Me

Dan

I open my eyes, shivering when I realize the other side of the bed is cold.

"Phil." I whisper. I don't know why I'm speaking in a hushed voice but I can't make myself speak louder, and it has nothing to do with my recent spell of sleep. My arms protest my sitting up but I push myself upright anyway, squinting in the near-darkness and trying to pick out a mass in the huddled form next to me.

My mouth feels dry. I go to pull my comforter closer to me to dispel some of the cold and realize that there isn't any- my arms and legs are open to the chilly air. That's when I put two and two together, eyes tracing over to the opposite cot where I realize Phil is huddled in a twist of blankets. His form is rigid and his breaths are hushed and slightly too fast, both our blankets wound tightly around his body in a restraining way that makes him look trapped. I register confusion at knowing he would never do this consciously, both worry and relief running through me at the knowledge that for once he's not awake.

We've moved the two cots so that they're pushed right together. When the door was first slammed shut we were sure we wouldn't be able to sleep at all, but then the time dragged on. And on. Phil kept fighting the fatigue that began to creep in, he didn't want to sleep, terrified that he'd wake up and I'd be gone. I'd tried at first to rationalize his fears but in the end I couldn't, because I felt the exact same way and the hours just kept wearing on with the two of us sat in tense anticipation of what Wirrow had in store for us. It was the only way to convince him to sleep, keeping us in safe proximity with the comforters draped over both of us. We needed to at least try to get some sleep while we were stuck here, I was convinced it'd help take his mind off things for a little while.

It should be calming that either of us have managed to it, but somehow even unconscious he looks tense and troubled. My heart sinks at the sight that is apparent even through the covers, and I push myself over carefully, trying to ignore the edge of hunger that's starting to creep in.

Is it another day yet? It must have been over a day by now. The two of us waited in this room and looked at each other as the lights went out at nine, now hours later the sunlight beaming through the crack under the door is a burnished orange, indicating a sunset is happening again. I take the approaching darkness as a sign that night is indeed falling, reaching carefully over Phil to switch the lantern on. It has the effectiveness of candlelight, filling the room with a soft orange glow.

Today was spent drifting mostly in and out of wakefulness. We talked a little bit but there's nothing much to do except wait, plans of escape being discussed and then scrapped shortly after coming into existence. The room isn't really anything more than four walls and a locked door, so any hopes of breaking out are pretty much null. Wirrow saw to that. And so it was back to waiting, talking about mundane things and trying not to succumb to the worry. Since we were up for most of the night we ended up falling asleep midday, bringing us to where we are now. Even now I'm kicking myself for letting myself fall asleep, not wanting to leave Phil so vulnerable, but eventually I just couldn't fight it.

Phil thrashes around suddenly and lets out a pained sound, seeming to only grow more agitated when the blanket restricts his movement and prevents him from pushing outward. His breaths grow far too sharp and fast, making me forget what I'm thinking. He hasn't had a panic attack in so long, I'd almost forgotten they happened. A lump forms in my throat despite conscious effort at knowing just how bad things must be if they're coming back to him, and I'm stumbling forward before I can even think. I can't let him sleep any longer, no way in hell I'm putting him through that.

"Phil." I say again, this time reaching out a hand and touching his shoulder. He stirs at my touch, a gasp leaving his lips but not much else. His breathing slows almost immediately after I do it though, the nightmare fading quickly but still haunting at the more vulnerable parts of his mind. I see his shoulders sag, he takes slow, calming breaths, curling tightly in on himself as terrified breaths give way to shaking.

"Hey," I say gently. His back is to me, but there's no way to miss his trembling. "You're all right, it's okay." I try to keep my voice low and quiet, not wanting to startle him but aching to do something.

He breathes weakly in reply, but other than that there's no response at all. Irrational worry seeps in that he's not okay and he can't hear me, like my nightmare come alive he's sick from the mistreatment or any other thing. My heart starts to beat much too quickly and I try to bury it down, moving back towards him and attempting to be reasonable. He has to be okay. I don't know what to do if he's not.

I let go of my grip on his shoulder and brush my hand gently over his arm in reassuring motions, trying to locate the corner of the blanket while I hold onto his limp, trembling form more gently. My fingers find the corner of the blanket that had at one point been shared between him and I, now pulled taut against him in his tense attempt to escape his own fears.

Finding it, I lift up the one side of the comforter around him nearest to me and edge my way under clumsily, shifting an elbow and then wrapping my arms around his waist as I let the blanket drop back down. I tug him closer to my body and rest my chin on his shoulder, feeling slightly bad as he shivers in surprise at my cold hands while letting the double layer of blankets envelop us both in warmth. The cot's only meant for one person and together we make two rather tall people, but all the same I make it work.

"Are you awake?" I ask him gently, drawing comfort from the rise and fall of his chest as it evens out, slowly growing steadier.

He shifts, tensing in confusion before registering it's my voice that's speaking to him, then relaxes against my touch, his breaths calming as he leans toward me ever so slightly. I hold him tighter as he settles, resting my forehead in his hair and trying to surround him as much as possible.

"Yeah." he breathes softly, his head hanging heavily against the pillow. His tone is shaky and weak but I can hear the relief behind it, even when his back is to me and I can't see his expression.

"You were panicking." I murmur, noticing suddenly that his heart is still beating quickly and feeling dread set in all at once. "Are you okay?"

He takes a deep breath and then sighs, his voice sounding tight and stressed. "Y-yeah. I guess. I just woke up and... didn't know where I was at first."

He doesn't say it but I know what we're both thinking. He was afraid and disoriented then but now waking up is no better, just because we're still somehow together is not enough to be reassured. I can feel it in the limp way he's lying, hear it in the tone of his voice.

I wonder if Wirrow is deliberately keeping us in the dark about what's going on outside. It's been two days- two whole sunrises and sunsets and it's been hell, the uncertainty of our situation combined with the fact that we have no idea what's happened to the others building up on us both alarmingly. I haven't slept much at all but I can't even feel it, my mind is consumed with hate for the confederation and worry for Phil. Maybe it would be more calming if there were windows, at least allowing us to see what time of day it was, but we're walled in. We can't.

"You're still here." I say quietly, knowing it's not comforting and yet maybe it is all the same. Things are no better, but they aren't any worse. His arms relax and I feel his hand brush against mine briefly, making me wonder if I could take his fingers and play with them, just to calm down a little.

"I'm still here." He agrees halfheartedly.

"I'll get us out of this you know." I tell him firmly. It's painful to try and reassure him like this, it makes me realize just how bad things have gotten. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. Especially not after that girl last night."

That goddamn girl. I wish I could rewind time and change what happened with her. Wish I could have worked it so that she'd never even touched him.

I can't bring him close enough. There's something urgent in this moment, Phil's right in front of me but he feels distant, whatever happened to him last night is on his mind and it has him far away.

"You can't promise that." He mutters. "Don't promise that. Don't put that kind of pressure on yourself. We'll get out of this."

"Oh." I stammer dumbly, feeling slightly ashamed. "Of course we will. That's what we always do."

I start in surprise, falling silent as he shifts suddenly, rolling around and slowly turning until he's facing me and I see his tired face. Considering the position we'd previously been in this leaves us much closer than normally, his face only a few inches away from mine and blue eyes close enough to see his lashes. I makes me forget for a moment what I'm thinking, his breath fanning my skin as my heart stutters. But the seriousness of the moment makes it feel wrong not to focus, I swallow hard and stare back at him as the mattress shifts beneath him and the pillow he's on scuffs.

His expression softens when our gazes meet. He shifts, stretching out his hand and running his fingers over my cheek, stopping to lightly cup my face. I can't really tell if I'm breathing at such soft, unexpected contact.

"Your cheek has so many bruises." He whispers, touching a gentle thumb to my cheekbone. His eyes are sad and full of concern, reminding me of our pathetic situation.

Our only outside contact came late last night, when someone tapped on the door and told us in a tense voice to listen. They told us to trust me tomorrow. I'd be optimistic and say we were being offered help, but all the same they didn't exactly let us out. All it did was instill a false sense of hope in Phil, who's withdrawing so much it scares me. I didn't answer and they didn't elaborate further, walking away and leaving us locked in for another day. Now it's tomorrow and tomorrow is ending, and that's what I'm thinking about while I wish desperately that I could move.

"It's okay," I tell him, closing my hand around the ends of his fingers and pushing his fringe off his forehead with my other one in a gesture of comfort, squeezing gently so that he doesn't miss the meaning. "Don't worry about me, they're only bruises."

He stares at me wordlessly, emotions flickering across his face before his expression once again goes blank.

I flatten his hair back and then drop it absently, watching it fall back into place. When he doesn't immediately respond, I look at him worriedly. "What is it?"

He avoids my eyes.

"Phil-"

"I can't stand it, Dan." He exclaims suddenly, angrily, burying his face in the edge of my folded hand and squeezing his eyes shut. "You shouldn't have to say that. I can't stand being stuck in here, like it's only a certain amount of time before they take us and if we die-"

"-we won't!" I snap, probably harsher than I mean to. His words are making a lump form in my throat and I clench my teeth, trying to will it away. I take his face in my hands and turn him to look right at me, glaring purposefully as my heart pounds.

"Look at me." I insist, almost expecting him to shake his head or scrunch his eyes shut but he doesn't. His eyes widen and I find myself suddenly transfixed by his gaze, making me forget for a moment what I'm passionate about at all. His face is still so close to me and under any other circumstance it'd probably be strange to be at this kind of proximity, as it is I'm taken aback by how much trust he's conveying when he looks at me.

"Remember what you told me." I find myself saying, not actually sure of what I was planning to tell him. I mostly just want to make him feel safe, even if I can't, and since that is in fact the case, I've decided I'll settle for the next-best thing which is doing the best that I can. What I'm about to do now is nothing short of an impulse but I can't find it within myself to care.

I take one of Phil's hands in mine and lift it up to wave around idiotically, mimicking his habit of unintentionally gesticulating. "Just let yourself not be miserable for a minute," I command in a truly horrible imitation of Phil's voice, given how his is much lower and differently toned than my own, "and accept that someone, namely me, wants you happy right now." I flip his hand forward to emphasize my point, surprising him slightly.

He looks up at me with a shocked expression but his features have relaxed immensely, his gaze more focused on where I have ahold of his hand. I flush slightly in embarrassment but choke down the feeling quickly, repressing it just as easily as I would anything else. If it makes him feel even the most microbial bit better it's worth making a fool of myself, imitating something he said that I do actually in fact appreciate.

"I... said that." He mumbles.

"Now you know how fucking annoying you sound." I gently tease him after a heartbeat, trying to redirect his attention because somehow even given this circumstance I'm mildly self-conscious. Out of awkwardness more than anything, I drop the hold I have on the ends of his fingers.

I reach behind me and dig around in our backpack, extracting the bottle of water we'd taken from camp and steadying my hold on it carefully. I turn back to face Phil and pass it to him gently, replacing my hand in his own with the object and nudging it towards his mouth as he sits up. We've gone over twenty-four hours without eating or drinking, the least I can do for him right now is give him one of the two.

He takes a sip obligingly because I'm watching him. For a couple of seconds there's nothing but silence while he drinks and keeps his pale eyes fixed on me, and I'm afraid at first that I've helped less than I've hurt, but then he passes the water back to me and I realize he wants me to have some too.

"I'll be as annoying as I please." He says quietly. "I know that you appreciate it but don't want to admit it. That's just who you are."

I shrug, not even inclined to argue him on that charge. "You're right."

"I'm just so scared." He murmurs, his voice tired. "I don't want to lose you. I don't want to even see anyone hurt you, but I've seen that so goddamn much it kills me to hear you dismiss it like that. It's all I can think about and I honestly lo... I care about you so much. How could anyone in the world just do this to innocent people?"

And that's what makes my eyes sting and my heart sink more than anything else. He's feeling so much pain, and in a way, he's feeling it because of me. I'm not an idiot, I know I can't control the suffering he feels at seeing me hurt, but it's really hard to keep up a comforting facade when I want to cry because my best friend is still reminding me over and over that I matter to him, just as much as he does to me when he can't possibly know how much I need it. And what's awful too, is that I'm seeing the exact same thing.

To someone who'd never lived this way, it'd be impossible to explain just how awful humanity can get. To someone who'd never been here- someone from the old days, I could never explain the feeling in your chest when someone points a gun at your best friend, like your heart has ceased to beat and your breathing has stopped. I could never express just how hard it is to make choices between saving another human and protecting yourself. I couldn't say I'd seen people die, for all the wrong reasons. If my existence had been limited to quietly and unassumingly living in the city playing video games and buying shakes like a normal person I'd never know what it feels like to see Phil suffer, never have to live with the thought that his waking hours are fraught with worry for me. This is what the my life is now, humanity has resorted to using each other to stay alive just one day longer.

"I know." I breathe, shaking off that thought as quickly as possible unable to say much of anything else. "I know."

"I'm sorry." He whispers, staring blankly at the wall.

"For what?" What on earth does he have to apologize for? None of this is in any way under his control.

He shrugs, looking sad more than anything. "I'm just sorry."

"Well don't be."

"You're trying too hard to make me feel better." He mumbles. "You're going to exhaust yourself."

I see his hand twitch and I realize he wants to reach for me, unaware that I'm giving less and less of a care about personal boundaries when it concerns him the more time wears on. It's getting to a point where I can't really justify pushing him away anymore, not when I need it, when he needs it, when life and actual death are factors it makes the denial seem all the more pointless. Right now, it shouldn't even matter.

"Nothing that has happened is in any way your fault." I insist lowly. "This is all because of Wirrow and his confederation. Remember who you are, Phil. You can't control this."

He shakes his head and I almost cry out in frustration.

"Can I-" I ask hesitantly, not sure exactly how to put it into words that I'd like to do exactly the same thing that he does except without the worry of broaching my space at all. He looks at me worriedly and I shake my head, extending my hand and taking hold of his shirtsleeve, tugging him over sideways. I'm not good at communicating how I'm feeling, but if I want to fix anything here I can at least make a start.

"Come here." I correct myself, shuffling blanket and all to sit on my own cot with my back to the wall, propping me up. I indicate the space next to me.

He follows silently, sliding into the empty space and sitting up against the wall too. His form pressed against my side is warm, filling the quiet with unspoken thoughts.

"Don't try to decide things like that." He murmurs, resting against my elbow and pulling his knees to his chest. "That's too much to ask for and you're putting it all on yourself."

I don't tell him I'd rather put it all on myself than on him. He'd be quick to shoot that notion down if I did.

"Don't tell me what to do, Philly." I answer, earning me a weak shrug.

He sighs, half-smiling and turning to take the water out of my hand.

"That's what I'm here for, Danny."

I lean against him, pressing our shoulders together. I watch his eyebrows knit together as he takes a drink from the bottle, leaving only a little left, and it crosses my mind that there's no harm in justifying his feelings. "It's scary because we have no idea what's going to happen." I murmur, thinking aloud. "Maybe living alone in the woods and starving slightly would have been better than ever getting involved with anybody. I'm having some regrets."

"We're both having regrets." He agrees. "My main one being that I didn't listen to you in the first place. I just wanted things to go right for once. I thought maybe here could be the place where it all works out."

I can feel myself shaking my head before he's even done talking.

"We can't change that. Might as well stop those thoughts while we can."

"I guess, but we'd still be in that barn on the hill probably if I'd just listened to you back then and ditched the camp after the half-lifes. It's my fault we're in this mess."

"Don't blame yourself." I snap. If there's one person who has definitely not caused all the problems that have happened lately, it's Phil. "There's no sense in taking that route if we can avoid it. We wouldn't have our group if we'd left back then. They'd be all by themselves when Wirrow took PJ and Felix."

"Fine. Sorry." He agrees abruptly, making me realize he doesn't really want to talk about it.

We sit for a few minutes in tense silence and I can feel the barrage of thoughts entering my mind. There's too much to think about, so much is on the line and we're both so stressed, to the point where I can't sit still anymore. I stand up and pace impulsively, mulling over the last few days in my mind while Phil looks on uneasily, just standing up to try and calm me, maybe, when hushed voices sound right outside our door.

In the last few days, every time I envisioned that door opening and Wirrow coming in I had this plan in my mind of what I'd be doing. I pictured myself poised and ready. I imagined charging forward as soon as it opened, fighting my way through no matter how many people they brought. I saw myself escaping with Phil, fleeing into the city dramatically and never looking back. I didn't want to think about how we're both weak and starved. It never crossed my mind that I wouldn't be trying.

So when it does actually open, my response surprises me almost as much as it surprises Phil.

I do nothing.

The doorknob rattles, making us both jump when we hear it initially, a loud bang sounding as it's seemingly hit with a heavy object. Even on our side of the barrier I see the mechanism buckle slightly, and then it pops right off. Neither Phil or I move as the knob clanks off the floor, landing heavily and denting the linoleum. They wasted no time in making sure there'd be no escaping, perhaps I should have been flattered that I'm considered that important. It must have been pretty reinforced if our captors have to break their own lock, a prospect I consider fully as the door is hit with a kick.

It opens with a very audible crash. Besides backing away from the entry I stand frozen with Phil behind me, standing tense on my feet. Morning light from the window beams in and silhouettes whoever's entering, and I feel my entire body tensing, waiting to see what they'll do.

The door has only been flung open a moment when suddenly a pale figure has lurched forward, catching both Phil and I around the neck before I'm even able to move to attack and throwing their arms around us.

If it wasn't for the fact that I was caught so totally off guard I'd be taking the head off the intruder as we speak, but thanks to that moment of failure I'm able to register the short, dark hair and the slight body, hear the familiarness in the voice that stops me short.

"Oh my god." Cat gasps, sounding somewhere between laughing and crying. "You're okay. You're here- I was so worried..."

For a moment I'm frozen, my heart lurching in my chest. My mind is riddled with fear and confusion, some part of my mind taunting me with the thought that this could all be a trick, that nothing good could possibly happening and there's no way that they'd just let them get away-

Then I'm hugging back, shivering slightly at her chilly skin and feeling her hand curl tightly into the hood of my sweater. Her other arm is wrapped around Phil and she holds us so tightly the three of us are crushed together, delaying for a moment the time when I notice who's come with her.

"Cat!" Phil exclaims, pulling her towards him as his voice fills with relief. He pulls her close and breathes shakily into her hair, staring disbelievingly at her. He's in the middle of saying How did you get here? Or something along those lines, when my eyes catch sight of a less familiar face behind us and I touch his arm, alerting him right away.

Phil lets go abruptly, eyes widening as Chris steps in behind her, gun in hand just like before and his expression cautious as my eyes immediately narrow in a glare.

He sees my expression and stops, backing away a few paces.

"I know you're probably confused as hell," he says quickly, defensively holding up both hands before we've even spoken a word, "but if you want to make it out if here you should probably follow me. We have about five minutes before Wirrow's gonna notice."

I don't know what to think. Chris is here, he's the reason we suffered so much last night and the reason Wirrow has us locked in, and now he's asking us to just blindly follow him? Everything about this situation screams trap.

I find myself backing up a few steps, grabbing Phil's arm and recoiling despite Cat's protests.

"You think you're having us go anywhere with you?" I spit, glaring at him and clenching my fists. "How stupid do you think we are?"

"Dan," Cat says cautiously.

I don't even respond to her, my eyes are on Chris as his look turns frantic, eyes flicking back and forth down the hallway.

"I'm serious!" He exclaims, all traces of the cold, evil voice from last night gone. "I'll explain when we're out of here, if they catch us we're dead."

"Were dead anyway!" I shout, making Cat panic and lunge forward, clapping a hand over my mouth. I push against her grip in protest but she doesn't let go of me, which in turn spikes panic in Phil.

"Cat, he's with the confederation!" He cries, keeping his voice lower than I did and eyeing Chris angrily, the expression a face I don't often see on Phil.

"I'm not!" He protests. "Well, I am- I was, but I'm not with them. I'll explain to you when we're out of here."

"You're helping us escape?" He doesn't sound convinced, but Chris is getting more and more aggravated the longer we stay here, looking to Cat.

"We're getting out of here. Just come along." She interjects, yanking me with strength she'd never have if she wasn't a half-light. "He's serious when he said we have minutes."

I finally manage to yank her hand off my mouth. "He drugged us!" I spit. "He forced us into the confederation party and forced so much alcohol down Phil's throat he could barely stand. We could have died because of him and you think I'm just going to-"

"It was the only way to help you." He cuts in, but Phil speaks over him as well.

"He has Mark and Felix. He used his men to separate us and to take them away, they could be anywhere right now."

"Shut up!" He snaps, waving his hands wildly as if talking to a feral animal. "We have everyone, they're already out and they're waiting for us. Cat, back me up!"

Cat looks me in the eye. "He got us out two nights ago, right after they captured you. As soon as we were out of the party he intercepted us and told us what was going to happen."

I still want to protest but then I hear something else, voices echoing in the empty hall. Both Cat and Chris's faces fall and I know exactly who it must be, because suddenly one person has grabbed Phil and the other me, pulling us through the doorway with faces white.

My heart starts racing. Just being out in the open with the knowledge that I'm not supposed to be has my nerves shot. The voices grow louder and Cat's grip grows even more tight on my clothes. Then, at the end of the long hallway a group rounds the corner and my eyes immediately find Wirrow, who looks at us with eyes wide.

Our gazes meet for a fraction of a second, stopping him right in his tracks, and then his mouth opens in a yell.

"Don't let them escape!" He bellows, drawing a gun as his counterparts fumble, doing  the same and firing at us indiscriminately and making us scatter.

A shot whistles right past my ear and another blows a hole in the wall, making dusty plaster explode to my left. Suddenly it doesn't matter who is trying to get us out of here.

"Run!" I scream, whirling around and slapping at Phil's back until he turns and moves to follow. Chris draws his gun, firing back before whipping around and doing the same.

We're racing down the hallway, our feet slipping on the smooth linoleum as we dodge indiscriminately through doors, pushing aside the few confused people that are up and taking corners so fast I nearly fall. Footsteps slam the floor nearly fifty metres behind us, my mind occupied with nothing more than sheer terror and the desperate need to get out of here.

The exit is down a flight of stairs and out the front door. I can hear Wirrow's men shouting at anyone who is listening to stop us before we get there, block off any escape.

More people have joined the chase now, a man is blocking off the entrance to the stairway but Chris pushes him, knocking him against the wall and yanking his gun out of his hands. He turns the weapon over for only a second, then turns around to face me.

"Take it!" He shouts, thrusting the weapon into my hand before I can even process a thought.

"But I have my-" I freeze as my hand goes to my belt, my heart stopping all at once. Where the familiar weight usually sits there's nothing, and my mouth immediately goes dry.

"My crowbar!" I cry, spinning around as if it just dropped to the floor, mind racing with denial. I panic and nearly drop the gun, which feels wrong and heavy in my hand. I feel like I've lost a limb or something. "I left it! I left my crowbar-"

"We don't have time to go back for it!" Chris cries, yanking me forward even as my feet protest the movement. I can't have left it behind, it's kept me alive for a year now, it's the most natural extension of my arm that I have, I have yet to survive without it.

"I can't-"

"Come on Dan!" Cat shouts, and then Phil is in front of me, his hand grabbing my wrist and pulling me, a sad look in his eyes. He knows.

"Phil-" I gasp dumbly, "Phil we have to go back-"

"We have to leave it." Chris says again. "We can't risk our lives for a crowbar. You can just get another one."

The footsteps grow loud again and it snaps me back to my senses, my legs breaking into a run as we skip stairs and skid along the landing, pushing past confused people that are trying to stop us and bursting through the front double doors.

Sunlight hits my face and I see the dry, cracked brown earth of the lawn in front of the factory, see the gate which is already open and the spread of the city before us. A few zombies have wandered in and they lurch forward as soon as they sense our bodies, growling and moaning with inhuman sounds. Behind us the doors slam open and Wirrow and two other men push through, guns drawn on us as the monsters advance, effectively closing us in.

I stop in my tracks, hands shaking as Phil steps in front of me. I hear a gunshot next to me and see one zombie collapse courtesy of Chris, but there's still so many more.

"Phil, move!" I cry, trying to move around him but he pushes me back, making me panic.

If he doesn't get out of the way they'll hurt him. It'll be like my nightmare, he'll raise his gun and there's going to be blood and-

"Chris." Wirrow says lowly. "You had better tell me right now that you don't have a death wish."

The two men stare at each other for a moment, the realization hitting me that Chris has betrayed them to help us. He was actually completely serious, but now we've been caught.

"It's too bad you wanted to keep all the reward for yourself." Chris responds coldly. "If you'd told more people, maybe there'd be someone to help you out when Dan escaped."

It all makes sense suddenly. They weren't expecting us to escape. They thought Chris was on their side just as we did, the fear of betraying the confederation probably keeping everyone else in line, ever. Wirrow and him were co-conspirators.

The guys on either side of Wirrow, on of whom I recognize as Marcus, the guy who helped intoxicate Phil before forcing him into the party. He stares at Chris with loathing, snapping out a retort.

"You realize the whole confederation will know who helped him if he escapes." He shoots back, feigning composure though his and Wirrow's eyes show barely concealed rage. "We're everywhere, you know that. They will find all of you eventually."

"But you won't tell anyone, will you?" Chris replies. "Wirrow wants Dan to himself, and I bet you'll be dead if you spread the word to someone else."

The other guy points his gun at Chris but he doesn't even flinch, looking at him almost irritably. Meanwhile a zombie has gotten too close for comfort and I fire at it clumsily, trying to slow its approach.

"I'm a half-life." Chris points out. "You can't hurt or kill me. Not unless Wirrow has some of his special bullets, but I'm assuming he didn't considering this was supposed to be a clean escape."

I'm hardly even surprised that they have zombie-specific ammunition. After all, they created the zombies.

"Quit the small talk, you're not any smarter." Wirrow growls at him, still keeping his distance since we have guns raised as well. "You know as well as I do that you'll be dead in a second if I shoot you in the head. And your friends here aren't bulletproof last I checked. Give him over and we won't kill you. You can live out the rest of your happy life with your boyfriend, you owe them nothing."

Chris glares back. "This boyfriend of mine." He says testily, clenching his fists. "Where is he, exactly? Last I remember, you didn't keep a close enough eye on him."

"You're missing the point." Wirrow answers, gesturing calmly to the monsters closing in. I shoot at a few, hyper aware that Phil is unarmed. "You have an obligation to us, to the confederation. These people left you to die and Dan and Phil don't care about you. I'd think you'd be happy to see them go, you'd have PJ safe and all to yourself."

For an awful moment it looks like Chris is going to waver, but then he shakes his head.

"I'll kill all of them if you let him go!" Wirrow snaps, switching tactics as he's no longer able to conceal his anger. "You know how important he is to the cause. For fuck's sake, Chris. You don't even know this kid!"

"We both know what will happen to him if you get him." Chris growls. He lifts his gun and fires at Wirrow, the bullet hole appearing in his shirt, but Wirrow doesn't even flinch. Figures he'd own something that's bulletproof.

"I'm sure I can get Dan to cooperate." Wirrow replies as if nothing has happened, smirking slightly and shifting his eyes to look at me. His gaze flickers ever so slightly, darting from me to Phil, and then he takes a daring step forward.

"How?" I shoot irritably, taking out another zombie and then whipping back around to face him.

"Because you'll do anything for Phil." He answers coolly. I freeze in place as his intentions become clear, see his two companions raise their guns as if threatening me to try anything. Phil takes an immediate step back. "I still have one bit of leverage."

In the blink of an eye his arm is raised and I see what he's doing a split second before he does it, reeling forward and slamming into Phil so that he falls right over, the bang cutting through the air as the shot misses him by mere inches.

Almost instantly, pain is exploding in my shoulder.

I scream, a feeling like fire searing through my skin and the twisting impact making tears form in my eyes. It feels like like shards are lodging in my skin, leaving pure pain behind wherever they tear in. My vision flickers and I stumble, barely aware of it as the air comes alive with a sudden battle.

"Dan." Phil gasps, catching me as my knees buckle. My whole shoulder is on fire, I lean against him as a moan of pain escapes from my mouth. Cat and Chris have stepped in front of us and are screaming something, exchanging shots as I try to get out of the way.

"Ahh." I gasp. I can feel blood spreading beneath my hoodie and vaguely register that I need to put pressure on the wound, the feeling of my hand against the throbbing area making me see stars. My breaths are coming out gasping, monsters growling and Wirrow's men firing as he backs into the building while they defend their leader.

"You'd better give up now, Dan." Wirrow threatens, shouting over the sound of gunshots as he tries to aim again. Cat steps deliberately in front of us, her wide frightened eyes flicking to the blood on my shirt. "Come back before it's too late, or we will kill him. You're an idiot for getting in the way."

I don't even answer him. I try desperately to scramble in front of Phil.

"I'll kill all of them if you don't come forward now!"

"No!" Chris shouts, voice rising angrily as he just barely misses Marcus, concrete dust exploding from the impact of bullet against the wall.

Two zombies close in behind us. Chris is firing at Wirrow and the other two guys have Cat distracted, my dominant hand is shaking as I try to raise it in our defense. The shot that's caught me was meant to hit Phil but my intercepting it meant it caught me in my dominant shoulder instead, rendering it useless in a fight. If it weren't for our two friends being half-lifes, all four of us would be dead.

Phil snatches the weapon out of my hand and fires frantically, two bullets into one zombie and one in another. Gore erupts from the nearest one and it lands near my foot, the musty scent of the monster making me cough as my head starts swimming again.

"A-ah." I gasp unwillingly, feeling Phil shaking next to me as a bullet whistles by his face. The zombies by the gate have smelt blood and are shambling in eagerly, some getting caught by bullets as our two half-life friends try to protect us with their invulnerable bodies alone. Wirrow is screaming at the guys to shoot at Phil and I know we'll be overwhelmed soon if we can't take all the monsters down, we're right in the open in front of  the confederation building and it's only a matter of time before someone else comes to help.

We're practically sitting ducks. I try to get past the pain but the amount of agony I'm experiencing from my shoulder is impossible, there has to be something in the bullet because no shoulder wound should hurt this bad. It's too painful to even shift so I can stand.

Then suddenly, a rumble splits the air, making the nearby ground rumble and stopping the zombies in their tracks. The monsters freeze and crane their heads toward the sound, Wirrow and Chris's heads go up. Out of nowhere a giant, beaten truck lurches into view, a massive black pickup with barbed wire along the grill and several decently sized dents littering the side. It's come from somewhere around the side of the building, the muffler completely gone so that the roar of the engine is painfully loud. In mere moments it's swerved between us and the three attackers, knocking aside several zombies as it goes. There's a sickening sound as one is rolled flat, and then the vehicle jerks to a stop, engine humming.

On our side of the vehicle, the truck door pops open. It swings forward and the driver's side window rolls down to reveal black hair and a red, curly fringe, the dark eyes of a very familiar person meeting mine all at once.

"Hey hey." Mark greets, backing up the vehicle enthusiastically from behind the wheel. "Welcome to the party. Hop on in boys, we're outta here."

My mind feels dizzy but I feel a burst of energy all at once, stumbling suddenly and pushing Phil upright.

"Don't let them escape!" Wirrow shouts, shooting form somewhere behind the vehicle as I struggle to stand. Phil grips my arm and Cat rushes over and hoists me to my feet quickly, making me wince as I limp as fast as I can and my heart pounds in my chest.

Gunshots are fired over the vehicle and I see one of the two men coming around, just catching sight of his determined and rapidly moving form. Then Phil and I have scrambled in and slammed the door shut, not even settling into our seats safely before Mark's done a full one eighty and stepped on the gas, hooting maniacally as the truck races forward and just barely misses the guy.

I see Wirrow's enraged face for a fraction of a second before the force of the movement throws me against Phil, my good shoulder hitting him as he tumbles back against Cat and Chris is pushed into the opposite wall. The four of us are crammed in the the backseat while Felix and PJ are in the row in front of us, looking scared but adrenalized as we pull away, dust billowing behind the truck as Mark plows full speed through the zombies cluttering the open gate.

"Good to see ya!" Mark shouts wildly, skidding into the open street and driving away, the factory bunker visible for one last second before we hitch a left on a side street and tall brick buildings obscure it from view. He laughs, and Chris breathes a sound of disbelief.

"Your timing couldn't have been better." He exclaims, shooting a look at his friend. "It's not like I asked you to drive it, but I'm really glad that you did."

Mark nods. "I worried a bit when you took longer than you should have. As soon as we heard gunshots we figured it was time to intervene."

"That was crazy!" Felix breathes, slumping into the seat as we make another turn onto a shop-lined street, apartments over top of them reminding me of Phil's. "It's a good thing it was just those three. Imagine if there'd been more men."

"Or half-lifes." Chris adds. "The confederation's employed so many of them."

"L-like you." I hiss out, before pain shoots down my arm and I flinch and groan in pain, not even able to conceal the sound or the expression.

"Shit, Dan!" Mark exclaims, looking back in the rearview as I clench my teeth and scrunch shut my eyes. It's only now that he's realized my predicament, my maroon sweater disguised the bloodstain at first. "What happened to you?"

"Wirrow caught him with a bullet." Chris explains quickly, seriously. "He was aiming for Phil."

"For Phil?" PJ asks softly, looking between us with an expression of concern. "what did he-?"

I feel Phil stiffen next to me, my eyes fluttering open as I see a strange look cross his face. My stomach sinks and I'm not even sure what's happening, but I try to redirect their thoughts because I don't like the look in his eyes.

"Wirrow shot me because I got in the way." I say roughly. "It hurts like a bitch."

"Quick, I'll look at it." Chris tells me. He reaches over Cat and Phil and once again I feel Phil go stiff, his eyes widening worriedly as he watches the half-life shift across the backseat to sit down on my left, moving us all over so that he can sit without jostling me much or separating Phil and I. Chris goes to peer at the wound before I can protest, moving his hands toward my shoulders before promptly sitting back.

"Do you think you could take off the hoodie?" He asks a few moments later as way of explanation. "It would be easier."

I look at him warily as I gently tug the garment off, trying not to put pressure of any kind on the bullet hole which stings and pulses with the wrong amount of contact. I still can't shake the image of him threatening Phil and I as his companions pulled us two apart at the party, distrusting him immensely despite him being the reason for our rescue.

I ball the hoodie in my hand and without even being asked Phil reaches out and takes it, an anxious look on his face as his fingers brush my arm briefly, reassuring. He wants me to relax but I can tell that he's terrified, the same way I was when Felix lost control and shot him. He twists the fabric up in his hands, stilling the anxiousness that his hands betray.

With the obstacle out of the way Chris moves forward, using the edge of my shirt to dry some of the blood and observing the injury I can't bring myself to look at, everyone but Mark watching silently.

"The bullet was rusty." He declares after a moment, a cold finger pressed along the edge of the injury and his brow creasing as he pushes aside the fabric of my T shirt, buildings rushing by the window behind him "I can tell by the way your skin's reacting. We need to remove it if you want to avoid risking blood poisoning, or possibly an infection." He looks at me cautiously, trying to read my expression as I feel numbness creeping in. "It'll only take a minute, but it's going to hurt a hell of a lot."

"Awesome." I hiss tightly, shifting my shoulder and touching the injury lightly with my fingertips, only to flinch away at the stinging pain this produces.

"I wouldn't recommend touching it." PJ advises. Out of everyone he looks the worst after me; his lip is split and there's a bruise under his eye, whereas as Mark and Felix look all right, but his gaze is gentle as he looks at me. "Just get it over with, I guess."

"Where are we going anyway?" Cat asks offhandedly, looking warily at the abandoned buildings with their smashed-out windows and overgrown facades. "Do we have any kind of plan in mind?"

"Right now," Chris says, "the plan is just to escape the confederation. We're fine because we're in one of their trucks so no one will question us, but we'll need to pick somewhere for staying in once this runs out of gas. The rest of the plan comes later, since all of us to some degree will now definitely need to get out."

He slings off the backpack he'd been wearing and digs around for a moment, pulling out a rolled bandage and then rifling for something else. My eyes go to Phil as my heart leaps in my throat and fear takes over, but he's determinedly looking away from me, his eyes on the broken up road so determinedly it must be deliberate. This only makes me feel all the more fearful as I'm struck with such a need for his support. I can tell he feels guilty, but he doesn't meet my gaze.

"You're removing the bullet?" I ask Chris weakly, and I see Cat giving me a sympathetic look.

Chris nods. "I'm probably the only one who knows how to do it. You'll appreciate it after, it'll hurt a lot less and will probably save your life."

"You could get Phil to hold your hand for you if you want." Mark jokes slyly, winking at me in the rearview making Phil flush instantly, letting me know he is, thankfully, listening. I roll my eyes, ignoring even the gunshot pain for a minute to groan at his timing for a jab like this.

"Fuck off, Mark."

He laughs, shooting me an approving look before bringing his eyes back to the road. For a brief moment I'm relaxed but then I see the knife now in Chris's hand, see Phil staring at the bloody hole in my shoulder as Chris fumbles with something.

"I almost thought I'd have to hit Wirrow with the truck to get you all out of there." Mark muses, trying- I realize- to keep our minds off it. "He was determined to keep those two in."

Chris nods and stations the bandage roll in his lap.

"Why does he want Dan so badly?" Cat asks curiously, looking at him seriously as we realize Chris is now our most valuable resource. He knows all about the confederation, and he's one of the few people who has insight as to why we've been attacked so many times for this reason we don't understand.

Phil stays silent, uneasiness filling me as he suddenly looks back down at his hands, avoiding my eyes. Now I'm really wondering what's wrong. It would help my nerves somewhat if my shoulder wasn't throbbing.

"Wirrow wants Dan because the confederation wants him." Chris answers. "It was supposed to be a secret because they wouldn't want Dan to know, it could be used as a bargaining chip against them." I see him slip a lighter out of his pocket and flick it on, holding the fire against the metal of the knife while he keeps on talking. I look at him with a sudden interest, forgetting for a moment that he's talking about me. This is the reason for our entire predicament, this is the moment when it'll all make sense.

"He believes," he says quietly, "that Dan's got some kind of immunity to the virus. It's incredibly rare, and it explains why nothing happened when he was bitten by that fish."

He looks at us as if waiting for a reaction, but we're all pretty much stunned into silence. My entire mind feels numb to the statement, the whole description seems surreal, and so he just continues.

"I heard what Wirrow apparently said but he wasn't lying, that fish was undead. Flesh wound or not, it was a bite and it could very well have been infected. He only told me and a couple other people about it. Wanted to keep it on the down-low. There's certain people that don't like that kind of thing in the world, maybe because they're jealous, maybe because they know the confeds want them for extended experimentation. All I know is, if the wrong person found out about Dan having an ability like that, I have no doubt that, well, they'd probably kill him."

"Immunity?" PJ exclaims, an awed look crossing his face. "That's one in a million! More probably! How is there any way to know?"

"Realistically, there isn't." Mark cuts in. "But I'm guessing he's pretty sure. He seemed to know all about the half-lights sensing the virus in someone. It pisses me off now because the reason suddenly makes so much sense."

You'd think such a revelation would make me feel exhilarated or excited, but truthfully, all I feel is slightly sick.

Immunity. When thousands of others suffered under the virus because they had no choice, I've been untouchable to it all along. It makes me feel awful because all I can think is how I wish I could have known it sooner. I could have gone back to help people who were important to me or Phil. I could have gotten us out of places that put us all in danger, cut through all the zombies with Cat and never thought about it twice. Worst of all, I could have saved Marzia. Call it survivor's guilt or whatever you like, this condition is not a good thing. It's an injustice and it's unfair, of anyone I'm the least deserving. I'm just a coward who's helped no one but himself, always.

"The confeds would definitely want Dan, then." Mark realizes audibly, expression full of disbelief. "They probably feel threatened by him, knowing he could find a way to spread it the same way they spread the disease."

"Exactly." Chris answers. "Immunes are very lowkey nowadays because first of all there aren't many, and second of all they don't want to get found. The confederation hasn't found many but the ones they do are subject to some brutal experiments. They don't want the immunes to end the apocalypse. They're trying to develop zombies and half-lifes to combat their very blood."

"Half-lifes." I murmur, not really aware of what I'm saying. I wonder vaguely if I've lost too much blood, I don't know the full magnitude of my wound but my head feels light and dizzy. Experiments and blood combat and inability to turn like the others. It's too much to take in all at once.

"They're working on us as well because half-lifes are easier to work with." Chris explains. "They're more zombie than human most times and love the idea of getting bigger and stronger, the experiments on them aren't painful because they can't feel it."

I imagine the half-lifes in the forest camp being offered mutation. If I were a scientist and I could command the apocalypse be driven in a direction that would end in utmost power, what would I do? Offer up stronger bodies and more dangerous bites, ones that not only turn you but poison, maybe make you more monstrous or just kill you right away. I imagine the invention of a deadly zombie. A lethal bite. The notion makes me sway dangerously.

To what extent, how awful can one human being be to another person? How could anyone take it that far? It scares me more than anything that someone is willingly doing that, helping this organization that nearly coerced me to my death. It's horrifying to think of these scientists, and how their work has taken over the entire world.

Chris's voice cuts into my thoughts suddenly though, reminding what's coming next. He says my name and I focus unsteadily, seeing him place a hand on my arm to steady me as the blade remains over the flame. He sees me swallow worriedly as my eyes remain fixed on that point,

"I've got to cauterize the wound." He tells me gently, his voice actually considerate based on the look on my face. "It'll mitigate any excess bleeding or damage in the long run. The blade is really hot but it'll get the bullet out. I'm afraid to say I've done this before."

I see the lighter being drawn away from the blade, the hot metal lighting the air with a faint red glow. I wonder what situation led to him having to do this, what else he might have picked up while he worked under the confederation. I see him look at me cautiously before his head turns to Mark.

"You might want to pull over for this." He advises quietly. "I don't want to make any mistakes."

Mark nods and moves the truck over to the curbside. Chris meets my eyes apologetically and I try to keep a calm expression, not wanting to look vulnerable when I'm under everyone's eye even though my heart is pounding out of my chest at my fear of fire. He moves aside my shirt, exposing the broken skin to the open air and bringing the blade close to my skin, the heat reminding me of what he's about to do. With every blink I'm seeing flashbacks of Borg at the half-life camp with his torch, holding my best friend away from me while placing his torch against my skin and I blink to keep from sobbing, frantically trying to keep my eyes open.

As soon as the reality hits me my hand does actually shoot out, gripping Phil's tightly as I brace for what I know will be pain. And despite his distance earlier, he snaps up to attention and holds my hand right back, squeezing hard with all of his fingers while I take a slow, steadying breath.

"I'm sorry," Chris says gently. "It'll be so much better if we just do it now."

He looks in my eyes and I nod hurriedly, unable to make myself think of any words.

"Just get it over with." I breathe quietly, and then the knife touches my skin.

The pain amounts suddenly and my vision borders on black, all thoughts instantly diminishing as the agony builds in an impossible, terrifying crescendo. My body goes hot and buckles horribly, begging for it to end and be over, to do anything at all to just please make it stop.

I'm not aware of Phil holding me or my friends watching. I'm not thinking about London or scientists or immunity. I'm nothing more than a writhing body, my flesh on fire as my consciousness sharply peaks, something moving, twisting, tearing into my skin with a feeling like fire as I beg for it to stop,

I fight to stay awake as the dark takes over. I screw my eyes shut as the pain wavers into release before burning me again,

I think I scream.

Then everything goes black.

~~~

When my eyes open again, my shoulder is bandaged and I'm lying on my back. The pain is reduced but still insistently throbbing, and everything within my immediate vision is moving.

I groan and touch a hand to my shoulder, feeling the clean, tightly wound wrappings and wincing a bit at the aching left there in my skin, but I can move the shoulder, the bullet is definitely gone. As my eyes travel upwards I notice a rounded, rectangular metal ceiling directly above me and windows at my feet, accounting for the motion I saw upon immediately waking up. I'm in the back, the bed of the truck now, a blanket under my back and a backpack behind my head snugly to keep me from shifting too much.

I realize Phil is also here, the only person sitting tiredly next to me, his eyes out of focus and his fingers tracing circles on the back of my hand. I register some confusion at waking up in this sort of placement, but the motions he's making are incredibly calming. His soft fingertips trail over the skin, reminding me immediately that we're somehow both okay. He doesn't know I'm awake yet, and my muddled brain lets him do it for a couple few more beats.

"Phil." I croak a little later, my voice feeling raw and achy when I open my mouth. He jumps when he hears my voice, his hand drawing quickly away as he looks down with widened eyes.

"You're awake." He murmurs, his tone uncomfortably serious and his face undeniably stressed. He's looking down at me uneasily in the same way he did before, his face reflecting something like... guilt. I can't make sense of it.

I crease my eyebrows and sit up steadily, using his wrist for support as he holds it out in a silent offer.

"Why are we in the back of the truck?" I ask confusedly, trying to prop myself up carefully without disturbing any wounds though the pain is gone now. There's still this strange feeling like it'll suddenly come back.

His blue eyes observe me almost carefully, expression still.

You needed to be laid out in a way that wouldn't disturb the injury." He explains tightly. His eyes are cast to the floor now, away from me once again. "There's plenty of space back here and... I didn't want to leave you alone."

"Oh." I say dumbly, noting that it's like being in another room almost, the truck bed closed in and completely roofed over military-style. "That's all right. Thank you."

"Y-yeah." He manages, avoiding my eye. "No problem."

I reach out a hand to touch his shoulder but he flinches away, a movement so unlike him that I'm taken aback. I pull the limb away and focus on him more visually, feeling a strange emptiness at how far he's sitting away.

"Did you feel us moving you over here?" He asks, still determinedly staring at the window.

I shake my head. "No, I don't remember anything past the first ten seconds. Has the confederation followed us at all?" I'm unnerved by his lack of movement, waiting tensely for him to move nearer again.

He looks over at me somewhat wearily, but I feel my heart lift a bit when he reluctantly meets my eyes.

"They haven't. I think we got away. We've been driving random streets for about an hour now, and I've just been sitting back here."

It strikes me abruptly that we've gotten out of there. We're out of the building that nearly cost us our lives, out of the place where Wirrow had us under control. We're driving away on an escapade in London, with nothing more than a bullet wound with which only I have to deal. It feels for some reason unusually incredible, and despite Phil's wearied figure, I feel gratefulness surging in all at once.

"We're alright." I breathe, my voice cracking at the end of the sentence embarrassingly. I fall forward and Phil somehow catches me, pulling me to his chest and taking care with my wrapped shoulder. As soon as my head hits his chest my heart flutters oddly, a calm like no other filling me as I melt into his familiar form.

He shivers as I hold him tightly, taking several moments to realize he's upset before I worriedly look up, suddenly finding myself eye-level with his lips. It catches me off guard and I try to take in more of him, beyond his mouth whose lips are full and pink and make me blush despite myself, flicking my gaze back up to his dejected one, showing him I've noticed.

I place my hand under his chin, earning his definite attention. "Are you all right?" I actually know full well that he isn't, his disposition and body language is making that very clear but here I am asking anyway, because I just don't know what else to do.

He stares at me defiantly for a couple of seconds, the expression more than a little out of place like he's even trying to convince himself otherwise, but then his face falls quickly and he takes a rapid breath. And then, just like he's obviously afraid to, he lowers his gaze and minutely shakes his head.

"Dan, it was all my fault." He blurts angrily, tumbling forward and burying his face in my shoulder, the good shoulder, taking deep, shuddering breaths. He isn't crying but the tension is there, alarmingly so and it makes me sit up hurriedly, drawing  him in closer by my one arm.

My mind is riddled with concern and confusion. I have no idea what he means. "What is?" I ask hurriedly, alarmed by the slump in his form.

I expect him to let go angrily, the way I would do when I don't want to talk, but much to my amazement, he just nuzzles into my neck.

"I'm the reason that he shot you." He blurts. "He wants to use me against you, I'm hurting you by messing with your heart but I can't help it. He's manipulative and I- I can't control it! The threats and the rusty bullet, I don't care that it could have been so much worse. That happened because of me."

My mouth drops in realization and my mind is immediately screaming deny, deny, alarmed upon realizing where his mind is at and quickly shaking my head. It didn't even cross my mind to think he'd blame himself for that, his odd reaction to the story being recounted in the truck suddenly making so much sense. Wirrow caught him with a bullet, Chris had said offhandedly. He was aiming for Phil.

Phil has somehow twisted the actions of Wirrow and the others to make it wholly his responsibility, the terror at seeing me shot and bleeding, not to mention suffering under the necessary tasks needed for healing hurting him more horribly than what it physically did to me, bringing about this honesty that he doesn't want to convey.

That's why he couldn't look at me. He's sure I'll know it's all his fault.

"It's not!" I exclaim aloud, sagging against his stronger form and speaking into his shoulder rather than open air, somehow it feels safer. "You just said it yourself, you can't control it."

"I didn't mean- Dan, he literally looked at me and said I still have leverage. He knew that if he shot me you'd have to listen to him to save my life."

He's trying to say that he feels guilty but I can't have it. I'm already opening my mouth.

"And I would!" I argue. "I'd do whatever it takes to save you and besides, I'm sure there'd be another way-"

"You don't get it!" He cries, gripping my wrist and shaking it as his fingers dig into my skin angrily trying to get me to see his ridiculous point. It cuts me off suddenly, to see Phil full of so much aggression when talking about me of all things.

"Do you know what it feels like to know that the world is going to be after you?!" He shouts. "Do you realize how absolutely selfish I am because I'm honestly terrified that they'll take you away from me?! That they'll try everything to manipulate you?! He said that because he knew you'd get scared. You need to get away from me, but I can't just let you go-"

"-for god's sake, Phil!" I cut in angrily, pushing him away from me and looking into his eyes. "Of course I get it!"

"No you don't!"

"I do! I wonder constantly about how much better off you'd be if I didn't constantly put you in danger. I always wish I could protect you, because it kills me more than anything else to see you hurt."

"But anybody would care about that!" He shoots back. "You don't know what it felt like to hear him say that, to see him raise his gun at me and-"

"- believe me I know-" I cut him off angrily, seeing how he's looking fully intent on interrupting- "what it feels like to see your best friend shot before your very eyes. I don't want to yell at you, but we both know I'm not gonna go away."

"You... don't have to protect me." He mumbles.

"And you don't have to protect me!" I spit. "But we're idiots, and that's all we do, Phil." My heart is now pounding and my eyes go back to his lips. distracted by the way he's frowning. "I don't know if you realize this, but I have the same goddamn fears about you."

The words have left my mouth before I can mull them over, escaping from my lips hotly with every ounce of meaning I've ever felt in them. His eyes widen and his face softens minutely, but he then just stubbornly shakes his head.

"Oh, brilliant." He breathes bitterly. "We have the same problem in common."

"It's perfect." I spit tightly. "That's why we work so well."

He laughs humourlessly. "Yeah, right, nothing works better than a friend who winds you up dead. I know he knew he could take you away from me, he didn't even try to consider that maybe you're a person and I need you and that you're all I have in my l-life..."

He shakes his head and sighs, stopping midsentence with a harsh, shaking breath. Instinctively I wrap my arms around the back of his neck and pull him up against me, fighting his resolve as he tugs away and protests against my grip at first, but then just as I have done countless times with him holding me similarly, he suddenly sinks against my chest like a small child, inhaling sharply and pressing his hands over his face as his whole fight dies out and he crumples.

And maybe it's because I'm usually the reversed position. Maybe it's because we're fighting the same fight and we're now on equal ground. Maybe it's because Phil Lester is my best friend and I know every part of him emotionally just as well as he knows me, but in any case, it's no surprise to me when the conflict dies just like that. He may be the brighter, happier one of the two of us with genuineness and trust and unwavering faith. He may be the one who guides us on the tides of his emotions through the greatest highs and like now, the worst of the lows, but while we are in some ways different there are also things we have in perfect alignment that makes him so very much the same. It's why when I let him in he doesn't let go of me. It's how I know he needs this more than anything else even though despite all the yelling he hasn't expressed it in words. Maybe it's because I've been in this same position of being afraid but not knowing what to say and at times have been unable to say it before, but I truly think this is why I understand him perhaps better than I ever have.

It's how, when I tilt his head so that he's looking up at me, it's not a surprise at all to see the tears that are streaking down his face.

My throat closes and he turns ever so slightly away from me, trying to hide the expression on his face. With anything else he'd be perfectly open around me, but it's hardly ever often that I actually see the moment where Phil will truly, openly cry. It's the one thing he keeps in secret, though he isn't truly ashamed. I will always see the aftermath, but it's the actual moment that eludes me normally, because in the same way he's always looking out for me, he wants to burden no one but himself.

"Oh, Phil." I breathe weakly, hands going to his shaking shoulders even as he sinks slightly away. "It's not selfish to be able to tell me. The only selfish thing you've aver done is keep this all to yourself."

He doesn't say a word but just wraps his whole arms around me, surrounding me with his hand fisted harshly at the back of my shirt. My breath stutters for a moment as he seems to pull me against him, forgetting his own drawn on boundaries and curling me in his lap, shaking though the loss of my presence couldn't have been more than an hour.

"You have...no idea." He tells me honestly, though I try not to dwell on exactly what he means.

"In what way?" I ask worriedly. "What are you keeping to yourself?"

"Secrets." He says drily. "I'm sure you probably have one." His hair tickles my cheek and it has me frozen, barely even caring that the others could probably see us if they bothered to crane their necks and look out of the truck's back window.

I don't know why I'm feeling these things whenever he touches me. It doesn't happen all the time but when it does, even in such a laden moment as this it feels... I don't know.

Another, similarly streamlined topic floats into my brain.

Phil and I, together. Held so closely that to an outsider it would seem quite normal to think, to speculate, the touch and reassurance meriting a specific comment:

Oh. You two are...together?

It's such an inappropriate time to be thinking about it but I'm remembering the party again, remembering how we'd created that assumption, and suddenly I can't seem to get the notion out of my mind.

That was such a scary moment for both of us. She took one looks at us and from my perspective it's like she saw something I didn't, and with him against me now I'm reminded again.

I thought I had you all to myself.

Why does it matter what that dodgy drunk girl said? Why am I still hung up on this? There is an apocalypse out there, life that has to be lived. There are friends I have that need to be kept alive.

But then again, there's also Phil. And he's the one who couldn't bring himself to shoot her, though I always thought that was good. Of course she couldn't have him to herself, he was mine. He's still mine!

But... then what exactly does that mean?

He backs up suddenly, moving out of the embrace and looking embarrassed, shaking his head apologetically. It snaps me out of my dazed train of thought.

"What?" I ask worriedly, staring at him in confusion. My mind toys briefly with the idea that he could know what I'm thinking, but I immediately chase that thought away. His teary face is once again looking guilty, and I almost demand to know what he thinks he's doing wrong.

"I always end up hugging you and it's unprecedented." He explains roughly, apparently reading this question in my face. "It's too much. I'm sorry."

I look down at his face almost absently, registering his words but not fully understanding them as I'm distracted by the tears and the way they're shining on his worn, familiar cheeks. I'm still half in the midst of my thought train and I'm protesting these boundaries all at once, wishing I never came up with them.

"It's cute." I find myself countering, before realizing that's really, really weird.

His eyes widen and I don't miss the way his cheeks redden, which snaps me back into right mind. "It's?-"

I scramble to come back from it, hardly comprehending what the hell I've just said, with no conceivable idea of how to come back from that.

"I-It doesn't bother me, I mean!" I say loudly, apparently thinking I can erase that horrific statement if I opt for sheer volume. "No matter what you say I refuse to let you apologize. I'll throw myself to the zombies on the day that Phil Lester decides that hugs are bad."

"Wh...at?" He asks weakly, his voice still breaking with the tears weighing heavily on his words.

"You heard me."

"I make you feel uncomfortable?" He counters, but it's more of a question than something he'd state.

I just shake my head wearily, silently denying because he knows damn well that it's fine.

"You know you are right about some things." I tell him ruefully. "Maybe I'm just not good at asking for it. Or...admitting I like it."

He accepts this without comment and hugs me tight, so close I can feel him breathing and I let my head fall, closing my eyes and just holding him back.

He stays this way a long time before pulling back, shuffling me over on my folded blanket and placing his head on the backpack against the wall so that we're sharing it, his breaths coming out more even and slow. Just like that he's dropped the argument, and I don't mind because I'm glad that he can set it all aside.

"I'm glad you're alive, Dan." He manages hurriedly. "I know that sounds stupid but... I was just really, really afraid for you. It's something I didn't want to even see once."

"From now on just hug me." I order noncommittally. "It's okay. Don't ever feel worried that I don't want you around. You know as well as I do that I stayed here for you."

He sighs, our history catching up to us, and then doesn't say any more. We lie quietly side by side, listening to the hum of the truck's engine and the sighs of our own breath. We're not okay yet but we will be, and after all that has happened, that really is just fine.

I'm okay with this emotional turnout. Oddly enough I'm not feeling vulnerable or exposed or even angry, I just want him to be okay after all that we've endured lately. It's been more than enough. Phil's exhausted himself in every way possible trying to make me okay, trying not to be selfish and surely, hopefully knowing he has never done that in his life. I want him to maybe just feel nothing for a bit, for surely it's okay for the two of us to neither touch or really talk, or at least not too much of either, since I'm content right now that we have a bit of both.

Besides, I'm noticing in this silence suddenly that he makes me feel... something. It's not the first time, here in this silence, it's also in no way uncomfortable. In fact, it's so much the opposite that I'd really rather he stopped making me do it. I want to hug him. I want to tell him that he's so much more to me than this. Especially when he's lying here, his body laid lightly against my side. I can't stand the idea that he might worry that touching me is wrong or invasive, it's the most calming thing in this life to exist. As we sit here quietly, the little feeling creeps its way in. A warm, contented feeling that reminds me of when I woke up and he was tracing my hand, barely aware that I was now conscious and just letting himself do it. The gentle, comfort feeling, the one that takes a normal touch and multiplies it to a much more magnified meaning.

But I can't put a name on it. I don't want to. I don't dare explain to myself why it feels so good to be like this, to even feel like I'd rather be back in the bunker than here without the memory of that touch on my hand. Because you can give me zombies or monster fish or people that are, frankly, so much worse. You can beat me and scare me and tell me I'm wanted for immunity by people I have yet to name. You can shoot me and place me in a truck, take me to countless places unknown even, because none of it is scarier than things that are growing and residing peacefully in my own mind. None of it is quite as unsettling as the notion that I'm feeling anything beyond the norm that I've felt for Phil at all. Because right now that all it is, just a peaceful feeling, but peace is often temporary to war.

I try to remember that as the truck rolls to a stop. As soon as it happens I slowly lift my head, and when it falls back down it lands on his shoulder, only the edge of it, and I neither move it nor complain. Night is falling, that much is clear by the increasing darkness and the declining slant of light through the window, which I crane my neck against his comfortably wedged shoulder to see. He follows my gaze and points a finger up out at the darkness, which I follow, and it's there at the end of his pointed up in the sky after two days without, that my eyes find a star.

A/N What's this? I'm alive?
You betcha.
I stg every time I'm like 'this chapter will be 6.7k words max.' Then literally one week later BAM ITS OVER 10k BC I HAVE NO CHILL
idk if that's good or bad.
I'll say it's a good thing? SURE :D
Heeeeeeh. ~Aly🌙
PS I finished this at 1am and all I can think about is man I want to hug Philly. I lowkey want to hug my own character. This was unedited again so if you find a mistake lemme know. It's always good to see ya<3