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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year ago

Text

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down.

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern.

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips.

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it.

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard.

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out.

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller imagine #no outbreak au #joel miller oneshot #the last of us oneshot #fuckyeahshorts

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the-odd-shu · 5 months ago

Text

Sun's coming up

(Pre-Joel x Reader)

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find it here! Along with the rest of the series.

Part 1 --> Part 2

Summary: When a spare pair of hands would have made Breakout Day just a little bit easier.

Word Count: 8,633

Reader uses they/them pronouns.

September 2003 - Outbreak Day

It had been just another typical autumnal day.

A long, cold one spent on the construction site, hauling bags of cement around, and weaving around the puddles left over from the rainstorm the night before. The chill had been biting despite your layers of shirt, hoodie and high visibility jacket, and your temper had been growing short from exhaustion and dealing with delivery delays. You knew the foundations couldn’t dig themselves, but damn did your shoulders ache now from flinging your shovel around for so many hours.

And to top it all off, you had been late leaving tonight thanks to your chatty co-worker and were only just on your way home.

Your body was weary. Sleep tugged at your eyelids, making it hard to plan what you were going to have for dinner, since your bed sounded like a much better idea than warm food in your belly.

Perhaps, it was that tiredness that had distracted you enough that the crash had been your fault. Maybe you hadn’t checked properly before pulling out onto the next road. Or perhaps it was purely the fault of the asshole who had rear ended your vehicle at a truly fantastic speed.

All you knew was that one minute, the radio had been chiming along merrily to ‘Take on me,’ by Aha, whilst you performed a left-hand turn out of a junction. And the next, there was an all-mighty crunch of metal as something colossal bulldozed into you with a painful lurch, that made your seatbelt bite into your neck and jaw, and your teeth clack sharply together. Your tongue only narrowly avoided being bitten clean off from the impact.

The squeal of tires from behind informed you that the driver was attempting to accelerate even now. Your truck was bullied off to the side of the road until one of its front tyres collided with the grassy bank, and then the second car leapt ahead, before veering dangerously off the road, straight into the trunk of a thick oak tree, twenty feet from the tarmac.

For a heartbeat or two, you did nothing.

You stared glassy-eyed down at your hands white knuckling the steering wheel, and then you slowly lifted your head to the busted car ahead of you.

Its headlights were still on full beam. Its bonnet wrapped around the trunk of the tree. From what you could tell, it was a blue Honda Civic, and it only carried the driver.

The driver who was not moving, nor making any attempts to exit their smoking vehicle. Both of which struck you as odd. In your experience, the stuck up people in this town loved to have it out after a crash and spar for the final word of ‘no, it was YOUR fault!’

Tearing your eyes away from the other car, you glanced in the rearview mirror to find your truck bed completely twisted and warped, and your back window spiderwebbed with cracks.

Not again. This could not be happening to you again! It wasn’t even your car this time, it was a company car. And Joel had been horribly reluctant to lend it to you in the first place. He had only caved because Tommy had argued your case. That you lived in the butt fuck of nowhere, and neither he nor Joel wanted to take it upon themselves to drive further out of town to pick you up and then drive all the way back to town to get to the construction site. Surprisingly, Joel had caved easily enough and you had this truck until you could replace your wrecked old one.

He was going to ring your neck personally when you pulled into the parking lot tomorrow. And you had no doubt that Tommy was going to be laughing his ass off as he watched.

“Fucking damn it.” You cursed, shakily glancing back forward.

The interior of the other car was still devoid of movement.

Silently, you debated driving away. And then you debated calling your repair company further down the road. And then you finally realised that you could do neither before checking the other asshole was alive and breathing. That they were simply choosing to channel their anger into calming down before exiting their car to come and talk it out with you.

Anxiously, you waited for another minute.

The driver’s door remained stubbornly closed. So with a groan, you pressed your hazard lights and reached down to unclip your seatbelt.

With a huff, you angrily slammed open your car door and stepped out onto the tarmac.

“This is what I get for having a bleeding heart.”

The road you were on was one you used every day to commute to and from work. It was a small thing, winding and tight, with a field of tall, yellow grass swaying on one side, and the beginnings of a pathetic forest darkening the other. There were no street lamps out here. So you could only see by the diminishing orange glow of the sunset disappearing over the trees, and what your truck and the Honda’s headlights illuminated.

The air was growing sharper now that the sun was setting, but the driver’s window was rolled down for some reason. But you let the thought slide away unexamined, since that just made it easier for you to talk to them.

Picking your way over uneven ground and fallen sticks, you carefully approached the rolled down window. The yankee candle air freshener blew over your senses from the active air conditioning unit, the car itself still running. Odder still. Wasn’t having the air con on and the windows rolled down counter productive?

People could be so odd sometimes.

Stepping up to the window, you absently noted the woman behind the wheel was dressed in scrubs, her stethoscope still curled around the nape of her neck. Her head was lolled forwards in her chair, only her seatbelt keeping her upright. And she was twitching. Sometimes it was small jerks of her fingers, but mostly it was violent twists of her spine that had spittle dribbling down her chin from her slack jaw.

“Shit man, are you okay?” You breathed, feeling unease settled like a stone in your belly.

You yelped, jerking back from her window as her seatbelt did the rest of the work. She writhed in her seat, twitching like someone was electrocuting her nerves, and babbling incoherently. She didn’t seem to remember how to unlock her seatbelt.

At the sound of your voice, her head snapped up and towards you. Her eyes were wild. Her pupils were blown and her eyelids were pulled back to show the whites all around her irises. Spit-slick lips peeled back into a snarl, and she lunged for you.

Okay, tonight just got a whole lot weirder.

“I’m just, I think I should call you an ambulance.” You fumbled to explain, to which she squawked and tried to lunge at you once more. “Shit! Stop that!”

What the hell was that? A fucking breakdown? A panic attack gone wrong? A fit? Rabbies?

Turning your back, you jogged back to your truck.

You didn’t fucking know, and you were no medical expert. Best to leave it to the professionals.

Tapping your work trousers, you groaned again when you remembered your phone was in your bag in the passenger seat.

The road was utterly deserted in both directions as you returned to your truck and hauled open the passenger door. Rustling around in your bag, you found your phone tucked away beneath your high-vis jacket, and then you noticed the shovel that had somehow ended up in the footwell.

Despite your situation, the sight startled a little laugh out of you. You must have been so tired after today, that you hadn’t let go of it until you got into your truck. Even from here, you could definitely see the company logo engraved in the handle. Hopefully, with the truck in the state it was, Joel wouldn’t even notice it was gone.

Straightening up, you dialled emergency services and waited for the call to go through by leaning on the backdoor of the truck. The line rang and rang, and then suddenly went dead. You frowned and tried again, only for the call to immediately void.

Pulling the phone from your ear, you checked to see that you had signal. A deeper frown. This road was notorious for four working bars, and now you had absolutely nothing.

“Shit.” You cursed aloud, because it made you feel a little better.

Mentally, you ran through every first aider course you had ever sat through, and glanced back towards the crashed Honda. Only, the silhouette of the driver within was gone.

Your skin prickled at the eerie sight.

Heart beat picking up in your ears, you slowly retraced your steps back around to the driver’s side. Your phone was heavy in your hands; forgotten.

“Hello?” Your voice sounded too loud in the stillness of the road.

Your feet froze mid-step at the sight of the nurse crumbling to the dirt; convulsing. One of her legs was still awkwardly caught on her window sill from where she had clambered out. And you could just make out a strip of seat belt hanging from between her lips, which she chewed on in jerky, uneven motions. She was panting. A wet, desperate sound as if she couldn’t get enough air in.

Every instinct you possessed, screamed at you to back up.

This wasn’t right.

She wasn’t right.

Your boot landed on and snapped a twig when you made to retreat. The resulting crack was sharp and crisp in the otherwise silent atmosphere.

With predatory speed, her head snapped towards you.

You remained frozen.

She audibly sniffed. Dragging in deep lungfuls of air.

Then she harshly yanked her foot down from the car at a muscle straining angle. On wobbly hands, she shot to her feet, and charged at you.

“FUCK!” You shriek, launching your phone at her head as you darted back. The device smacked into the bridge of her nose and bounced into the grass, but did little to actually slow her down. If anything, she seemed to forget she couldn’t bulldoze through the car as she had your truck, and did more damage to herself by crashing head first into the back of her car and bouncing off.

“Stop it! You’re freaking me the fuck out!” You bellowed as you continued to scramble away from her.

She let out a warbled squawk in reply, and you heard her claw her way back to her feet.

You needed a weapon! A stick! ANYTHING!

The awful noises she was making had the hair on your arms sticking up. It sounded like screaming, but the sound was warped and choked before it could fully escape her lips.

Behind you, she was on her feet again. And her attention was solely on you. You dared not look back, but you could hear her. Could hear the sniffing, the uneven, but unnaturally fast footsteps of her chasing you off of the grass and onto the road.

The SHOVEL! You could use the shovel!

Your truck was right there. Its hazards were still on, and its truck bed still twisted up from the collision. How stupid you felt now for not checking if the engine was alright.

With fumbling fingers, you ripped open your passenger door. The woman slammed into it. Her nose crunched from the force before she toppled backwards and hit the tarmac. You shot your hand into the footwell, and wrapped shaking fingers around the shovel handle. The woman squawked again, rolled onto her belly and found her feet.

She lunged. You threw yourself backwards just in time for her to slam into the open car door a second time and throw it shut with her weight. She threw herself off balance in doing so. She wailed, spun unsteadily on her heel, and stumbled straight into the shovel head you sent soaring for her skull.

Dirt encrusted metal collided with bone. Her head snapped to the side with a painfully audible crack. And then she crumbled to the dirt.

Your panting breaths were the only sound in the now too quiet road. Her car was still running, but you paid it no mind as you stared down at the body.

“Oh god.” You gasped, as the reality of what you had just done dawned on you. She was dead. You had killed her. “Oh. God!” You repeated, stumbling back from the corpse and the pool of blood growing from her head. The edge of the shovel head had split the skin above her eye, and it was bleeding heavily.

This was a prison sentence lying at your feet.

“Fuck.” You swore again. Hands shaking so hard around the handle of the shovel, that the tool was practically vibrating in your grasp. “Oh, holy fuck. I am so dead.”

>_<

After a long few minutes of panicking, you dragged her back to her Honda and hauled her body back into the driver’s seat. If anyone came along, it would just look like a bad crash and they wouldn’t think much of it. Hopefully.

Your mind was hazy with panic. Every possible scenario running round and round in your brain, as you tried to recall everything the police had ever looked for in murder documentaries. You tried to wipe your prints off everything you touched with your sleeve. You stooped to locate your phone amongst the grass and dead leaves, groaning aloud when you found it cracked and glitching green when you tried to turn it on.

And then you thought, fuck it. Who were you trying to fool? Chances were, some Sherlock Holmes wanna-be would immediately deduce that the blunt force trauma to her head couldn’t have possibly been from the steering wheel, and then they’d figure it out from there. It might take them a few hours, but you didn’t have high hopes of getting away with this.

With dignity, you retreated (sprinted) back to your truck and stuffed your bloodied shovel back into the passenger footwell. When you got home, you would heavily bleach it until the metal shone. And then you would return it to the building site in the morning, and NO ONE would even know you were involved in this.

Shit, how the hell were you supposed to go into work tomorrow pretending everything was fine when you’d just killed someone?

And how were you going to explain the bloody crumbled wreck of a truck that was now your work car? At least it was only the truck bed and the back window, rather than a side or the bonnet. The vehicle still drove fine and the engine sounded good enough for everything it had been through.

With a couple of turns in the road, the crash sight was swallowed from view and you found yourself breathing a little easier.

Get home. You told yourself. That was all you had to do right now. Get home, have a shower, and try to sleep. You could call in sick tomorrow, and then figure out what the fuck to do from there.

Yeah. That was a good plan.

Cool. Nice. Great. Fuck…

Your truck turned a corner, and suddenly there were blue lights up ahead, and several armed silhouettes blocking the road. Surely they hadn’t found you already!?

The sun was fully set now, and the moon wasn’t yet at its brightness. The darkness meant that you noticed the people in the field rather quickly. Distracted from the road ahead, you realised that the field was in fact teeming with the headlights of several cars. Which was odd. There was no road going through that field. And the farmers certainly wouldn’t be out roaming it at this hour.

With effort, you turned your attention back to the window screen. It wasn’t any of your business. You just needed to get hom-

You almost chose to break, but then you briefly caught sight of the bloodied shovel in your foot well shifting and you knew you couldn’t. In your peripheral, the cars streaking across the field suddenly felt very promising. There was a small stream that cut threw it, you knew, nothing too deep.

It was your safest bet.

Up ahead, one of the armed officers was striding away from his car towards you, a hand held up to signal you to slow down.

You did not.

With a wild turn of the wheel, you veered sharply off of the road (like a guilty person) and slammed onto the uneven dirt of the field. The golden grasses were high enough to brush the door handles of your trucks, but not so high as to impede your vision. Plenty of it had already been trampled down by tyres and people, so you found it easy to navigate.

None of the police cars in the blockade seemed interested in following you, so that suited you just fine.

You just needed to cross the stream and make for the road on the far edge of the field. It would meet up with the one you were just on, and then you were scott free for home.

Up ahead, the glow of your headlights caught on shapes that rapidly morphed into people. A trio, from what you could tell.

You were approaching them from the side, so you had a clear view of a duo of pedestrians being held at gunpoint by the third, who was decked out in full camo gear. His posture screamed that he was ready to open fire. And yet, he didn’t quite catch your attention as much as the others. Who, as you drew closer, morphed into a father holding his daughter.

You noticed the blood on them, and the dirt staining the girl’s pink T-shirt. Why did she look so familiar?

Your eyes jumped to the father, who was- WAS THAT JOEL!?

Your eyes leapt between the duo and the armed officer. You watched the way Joel backed up, mouth visibly moving as he turned his body as if to shield Sarah. His daughter was staring at him, only at him, and yet you could see the fear in her eyes.

You leaned forward in your seat and turned your lights up to full beam. Oh shit, it was Joel! And that had to be little Sarah clutched in his arms. Why the fuck was he out here? He left to go home hours ago?

You snapped your attention back to the guard. The guard who clearly had his rifle aimed straight at them. The guard who approached on steady, sure footsteps and didn’t look to be stopping any time soon.

Joel wasn’t even armed for fuck’s sake. He looked pleading, and Sarah just looked down right terrified. And the officer was not backing down.

You had mere seconds to make a decision, and so you did.

“Fuck it.” You said aloud.

This choice was an easy one. You were already fucked and destined for jail anyway when they inevitably discovered the nurse. Why stop now?

Setting your jaw, you put your foot down and blared the truck horn. The engine roared beneath your heels, and the tires screamed as they tore up the grass.

The guard froze mid-step, swinging round to face you, gun and all. But it was too late.

Your truck smacked him harshly in the knees and he went under your bonnet with a yelp. The truck ploughed over him like he was little more than a speed bump. A speed bump that shrieked and screamed and crunched under the belly of your truck. The force of him beneath the tires, made your seat lurch, and only your seatbelt kept you from flying across the car. The front types touched down, and the back of the truck jumped as the back set rolled over him. And then the suspension whined, and all four tires were back on the ground.

You dared not look in the rear view mirror as you slammed on your breaks with a crunch of the brake pads and a lurch of tires.

Joel was just standing there, eyes wide and seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from what had just happened. His attention was stuck on the bottom of your truck, and his posture was ramrod tense.

At least Sarah seemed to not have seen. Her face was now tucked firmly into her father’s neck, one of his hands cradling the back of her skull. Her arms were practically choking him with how tightly she was clinging to him.

Joel did not move towards your car, nor did he seem capable of continuing to run.

Jabbing the button to roll down your window, you stuck your head out. Joel’s attention snapped to you, and the tension around his mouth loosened in recognition.

“GET THE FUCK IN!” You bellowed.

You were uncomfortably conscious of the amount of people milling around the field. Of cars tearing up the ground as they sped off in all manner of directions. Of the police blockade that had forced you on here in the first place, and had no doubt just witnessed you mowing down one of their own as if he were a strand of grass.

Your voice prompted Joel back into motion, and he rushed over to your truck and ripped open the passenger door behind your seat. “How did you find us?” He asked, panic high in his voice as he tried to quickly but gently set Sarah down in the seat.

Joel strapped Sarah in, and made to retreat and close the door, but her small hands wound tightly into the collar of his shirt. His expression was achingly reassuring as he tried to unwind her bloodied fingers.

“Pure luck.” You offered, eyes torn between glancing in your wing mirrors to watch his back, and your windshield in case anyone took interest in you.

Your stomach dropped at the mention of Joel’s brother. He was out here somewhere? Your gaze swept the chaotic field once more, as Joel tried to reassure her.

“What is it, baby girl? I need to get in too.”

“But Uncle Tommy! We promised we’d meet him here!” Sarah cried, sounding horrifyingly distraught.

Joel rounded the back of your truck, jumping over something (or someone) you couldn’t see in your mirrors.

“He’s coming, baby girl.” He promised, “Tommy will be here soon! We just need to be ready to leave when he turns up.”

Sarah nodded, her expression so trusting as she let her Dad go and leaned back in her seat. She looked so tiny back there. Exhausted and streaked with cuts and blood. Tension tightened her brows, and you assumed she was in pain.

The other back door opened and he sat down with a sigh.

“He’ll be here.” Joel promised, sounding like he was talking more to himself than either you or Sarah.

“We won’t leave until he’s here.” You agreed, watching Sarah relax even more.

You returned your attention to the outside world, where no one seemed to have taken much of an interest in your beaten up truck besides avoiding it. Even the military seemed not to give a shit that one of their officers was down.

Then the phone lines.

Speaking of, what the hell was going on with everyone today?

First the nurse.

The blockade.

Come to think of it. You paused your scanning of the field to fiddle with your radio. Hadn’t it been playing music before the crash? Had it been damaged? Only radio static came out when you played with the volume. Giving it a firm smack, that you half-expected to fix it, you frowned harder when the static only intensified.

And the cars collective decided to try out their cross country abilities.

Joel seemed to deflate.

“Strange.” You muttered aloud, “it was working fine earlier.”

Joel shifted in his seat behind you. “Not that this is the most pressing of our problems,” he began in that tone you always associated as his Dad voice. Judging by the way Sarah subconsciously sat up straighter, she noticed it too. “But what have you done to the truck?” You winced and refused to look back at him. Joel sighed. “You’ve barely had this a week.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault.” You quickly defended yourself, “I was on my way home and some crazy fuc-” you bit off the swear before it could finish forming, practically feeling Joel’s disapproving glare on the back of your head, “some crazy lady,” you corrected, “rear ended me and now the back is ruined. And then!” You added dramatically, “she tried to maul me! So I’m sorry that your truck is a little beat up, but it has been one doozy of a night.”

Your anger curdled into anxiety. The last thing you needed was to lose your job over this. “Look.” You reasoned, catching his eye in the rear view mirror. “I’ll replace it-”

“Damn right you’re going to replace it!” Joel jumped in, his voice loud but drained of any real anger. It sounded more like a release of stress, than proper rage. “And I’m demoting you to a bicycle from here on out since you can’t fucking drive.”

“Language.” Sarah interjected, smiling weakly.

Joel sighed and ducked his head. It wasn’t a yes, but it was gratitude regardless.

You turned in your seat to look at him. “Bet you’re glad for my horrendous driving skills right now though.”

“I see Uncle Tommy!” Sarah shouted, tapping against her window.

You drew your attention from Joel and followed the direction of Sarah’s pointings. And sure enough, there was a familiar looking shadow running towards the truck. You put the headlights back on full beam just to be sure, and watched as Tommy winced.

Leaning over the passenger seat, you unlatched his door and pushed it open. Tommy climbed in gratefully and collapsed onto the front seat. He grimaced, before shifting and dragging your work bag out from under his ass.

You flicked them down and honked, whilst Joel wound down his window and stuck out his arm to wave Tommy over. The relief that flooded the man’s face was obvious.

“I see you found a friend.” He threw back to Joel.

“Luckily.” Joel says dryly, clutching Sarah a little tighter. “But we need to get out of the open. The military aren’t our friends right now.”

“I don’t think anyone is.” Tommy confirmed. He stashed his rifle into the footwell, and you revved the engine and began cautiously moving again. No one was paying any attention to you, but until you found the stream and returned to the road, you wanted it to remain that way.

Attention torn between navigating the field and stopping him, you only managed to bark out an aborted, “DON’T-” before he pulled out the shovel and blanched at the blood splattered across the head.

Rusting in your front passenger seat, reminded you of Tommy’s presence, which also unfortunately reminded you of the murder weapon that had previously taken up residence in the foot well.

“Is this one of our shovels?” The younger of the Miller brothers laughed.

Very slowly, Tommy turned to look at you. Thankfully, he did not reach for his gun, but his gaze was heavily judgemental.

“Now I severely hope this didn’t happen at the site.” He began to lecture.

“Course not.” You immediately dismissed. “Josh is a fucking asshole, but I wouldn’t wait for you and Joel to leave before killing him. I’d do it with witnesses.” You preached honestly, as Sarah chimed ‘language’ in the background.

“Then, what is this?” Tommy pressed.

You were very aware of Joel’s silence in the back of the truck.

“Just focus on driving, I don’t want to end up back in that stream.”

“Some lady tried to take a chunk out of me a few minutes before I found you.” You explained, only to breathe a sigh of relief as the stream finally came into view. Your story trailed off momentarily as you navigated the thinnest looking part to cross and did so. The truck was climbing back up the opposite bank when you continued. “It was her or me, and I panicked.”

Tommy whistled. “Good thing you had it on hand then.” He said absently, before returning the shovel to the foot well. He looked mildly impressed rather than scared or murderous in the face of your actions. “Just be sure to return it tomorrow.”

“If the police don’t catch my ass, I’ll buy you a whole new one.” You promised.

Pointedly, you added more throttle to the accelerator. “I am not that bad of a driver.” You repeated, to which Tommy threw you a look.

“Say that to the back of our company truck.”

You opened your mouth to bite back, but Joel suddenly spoke up. “Y/n, have you actually been home yet?”

“Nope.”

You watched Tommy peer back at Joel in the back seat, and they shared a look.

“Why?” You pressed.

Tommy responded. “Have you spoken to anyone since work? Been on the phone or listened to the radio?”

“Anne was the last one I spoke to at the site. There’s fudge all signal round here, and my radio has died on me, but I’m fairly certain that one was the crash.”

You glanced at Tommy who looked pained.

Joel swallowed audibly in the back. “You haven’t heard anything?”

“Joel, I love you, but you’re freaking me out. What are you implying? What is going on?”

He didn’t respond, and he refused to meet your gaze in the rear view mirror.

Come to think of it, the nurse had been moving rather unnaturally, and with a speed you didn’t see everyday.

It was Sarah who finally had the balls to actually speak up. “Dad said it’s a sickness.”

“A sickness.” You parrotted, and the girl nodded in the rear view mirror. “It’s making people act crazy. Makes them chase and hurt each other. One of our neighbours had it,” Sarah paused and glanced at Joel for reassurance, who simply nodded. “She chased me out of her house, and at her age, she certainly shouldn’t have been able to move that fast. It was terrifying.”

You furrowed your brow. “So what? This is like a zombie apocalypse type shit or something.”

Beside you Tommy subtly nodded his confirmation, whilst Joel made a face and Sarah paled. “No.” The older Miller brother insisted, but you could tell it was more for reassuring Sarah than a real answer. “We don’t know what it is.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You kept driving, willing the field to end and for the road to return. With nothing but the roar of the engine and radio static to fill in the gaps, you decided to keep talking.

You bit your lower lip and sighed in relief when bushes appeared up ahead, with a splintered gate that opened up onto the road. You allowed the conversation to trail off as you carefully slotted the car between the broken gate pieces, and pulled out onto the deserted road and turned in the direction of home.

“Do they know what’s causing it?”

Joel shook his head.

“We’ll go to my house.” You said aloud to the still car. Tommy was staring out of his window and Joel had his arm wrapped around Sarah’s shoulders. “I was headed there anyway. It’s secure and there was no one around for miles. And the roads are fucking ridiculous right now-”

As if on cue something dragged itself out of the undergrowth up ahead and began to drag itself across the road. It looked human, but it was twitching violently, like the nurse had. And it has no legs beneath the knees. Vaguely, you could see a trail of red marking its path from the trees as if it were some humanoid snail.

There was plenty of room to go around it, but the rest of the car didn’t seem to agree.

With a shout, Tommy pointed the thing out to you and lunged for the wheel as if he thought you hadn’t bloody seen it. You were quick to smack his hand away, but the damage was already done. Joel was alert again, his voice rising into a yell as Sarah’s eyes widened and she clung to him, bracing as if you were about to go speeding towards a tree.

You smoothly avoided the twitching figure dragging themselves across the tarmac, and turned a lethal glare Joel’s way. “Do not yell at me Miller!” You threatened, “you’re freaking your daughter out. Don’t worry Sarah, we're fine.” You gave her a reassuring smile in the rear view mirror before elbowing Tommy sharply, “and keep your hands to yourself or so help me I will turn this car around!”

It is an empty threat, but Tommy complied, looking appropriately chastised, and Joel focused back on Sarah whilst you did your job and navigated the roads.

“Why are you so calm?” Tommy asked quietly after a moment or two. “Joel and I haven’t stopped since we found out.”

“Home first.” You said instead of explaining, “Sleep. And we can deal with everything else in the morning.”

And for the rest of the drive, the only sound was the distant shriek of sirens and the purr of the engine as you accelerated.

>_<

As predicted, home was peaceful. So peaceful, that you were embarrassed to admit to yourself that if you had returned home earlier without incident, you would have had no idea that a country-wide pandemic had broken out.

Your driveway gates were still standing and just as secure as they had been this morning when you had left for work. The porch light flickered on when it sensed the motion of the truck as it always did. And when you stepped out of the truck, the world was quiet. The trees lining your yard fence rustled with the breeze, and the pebbles underfoot crunched and clinked together under your weight.

There was not a person or house in sight besides your own. And there were no neighbours for miles.

It would be safe enough for tonight.

The next few minutes consisted of getting everyone inside. It turned out, Joel was hauling Sarah around a field because she’d hurt her ankle in a car wreck, which meant she was immediately carried to the couch. Tommy took it upon himself to lock the truck, and then bolt and begin barricading your front door once everyone was in.

Once you’d brought your bag and stolen shovel indoors, you set about hunting down a first aid kit for Sarah, and finding your cat.

Your search led you up to your bedroom where you found both. The first aid kit in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, and the cat in the back of your cupboard, curled up on a nest of dirty clothes beside the laundry hamper that she must have dragged out whilst you were at work.

“There you are, my darling.” You cooed in greeting, dropping down on your knees just outside the cupboard to greet her.

She was a bony old thing, with a short-haired, tri-coloured coat, and the resting bitch face of a great-grandmother. She chirped in confusion at the shift in light before groggily lifting her head from her pillow.

“Hello there.” You mused, allowing her to sniff your hand and duck her head in preparation for affection before you did so. She stretched languidly under your palm, her wiry legs poking out harshly from her body. “We have some visitors over, and I need you to be my assistant.” You continued to say as you carefully pulled her from her nest, her ochre eyes still at half-mast with sleep.

She was a dead-weight in your arms, content to be carted around the house so long as you were willing to carry her and do most of the work. She was going on twenty afterall, and couldn’t quite get around as well as she used to.

Downstairs, Tommy was busy barricading your backdoor, which left you to return to the living room where Sarah and Joel were talking in hushed voices. You handed over the first aid kit to the latter, who promptly settled himself down by Sarah’s feet.

“Who’s that?” Joel asked absently, eyeing the cat in your arms who was glancing around the room with squinty eyes.

“She’s not here to see you, you’re supposed to be working.” You lightly scolded, which seemed to startle a small smile out of Sarah. Joel jokingly huffed, and went back to assessing Sarah’s ankle.

Turning your attention to the girl in question, you knelt down beside her head propped up on the arm of the couch.

“Sarah, I would like you to meet Daisy.” You introduced formally, “she’s an old lady so be gentle with her, but I’m sure she’d love some cuddles from you. Do you want to stroke her?”

At the moment, Daisy was sitting quite contently in your arms. Her feet rolled up and resting on your forearm, whilst her cheek pressed against your bicep. Her purr kicked into motion, when Sarah lightly began to stroke her back, and Sarah smiled again.

This was going to work out perfectly, you decided.

“Can I hold her?” Sarah asked carefully, glancing from her Dad to you as if unsure if she was even allowed to ask.

“Of course.” You readily agreed, and coaxed the girl to recline back on her cushions. Only then did you gently set Daisy down on the girl’s chest, where the cat immediately purred louder and set to making biscuits with Sarah’s pink shirt.

You frowned at the dirt and old blood encrusted on the fabric. You should have some spare clothes upstairs for her to change into. But that could wait until later.

>_<

Distracted by the cat, Sarah seemed to have completely forgotten about her ankle, which Joel had checked over and was tightly wrapping in several lengths of bandages. Something was visibly loosening in him at the sight of his daughter relaxing after everything she had just been through. It was such a raw and vulnerable expression, that you felt like you were intruding, so you excused yourself to the kitchen.

Your fridge was very empty. Which wasn’t massively surprising, considering tomorrow was shopping day, and you’d been surviving off eggs and cold beans straight out of the can, for the last couple of days. But it was a rather large inconvenience what with everything currently going on.

“There’s not a lot to pick out for dinner.” You mumbled to yourself, since the others were in the living room, or in Tommy’s case, going around the house and drawing the curtains.

You drummed your fingers against the fridge door as you stared down the couple of eggs left in their carton, the trio of sad looking apples in the salad drawer and the bottle of orange juice and left over milk in the door. All in all, it wasn’t a very good start rationing wise.

The cupboard next to the fridge bore no fruit either, aside from some canned vegetable soups and a forgotten box of teabags. The cupboard one along was even less promising. There was not a bread roll nor pasta bag in sight, which was damn annoying.

There was however, enough instant coffee to make a pot, so that was something. And with the day you had had, there was no hope of going to sleep at a reasonable hour anyway, so coffee was a good enough solution to the weight of sleepiness beginning to return to your eyelids.

The kettle had just popped, when Daisy decided to make herself known by your feet. For an old lady on the cusp of dusting into nothing, she sure still had a set of lungs on her. Lungs which she put to good use by sitting where you were in danger of tripping on her, and vocally demanding that you feed her dinner right that very second.

Coffee momentarily forgotten, you were powerless to deny her and set about opening a pouch of wet food and setting the bowl down by her water bowl. Her nails clicked against the hardwood floor as she followed you across the kitchen and began to eat without further fuss.

You smiled fondly at her and poured the coffee out into three mugs. After countless lunches spent on the sites, and hundreds of coffee breaks to ward off sleep at the ass crack of dawn, you knew by heart how each Miller brother preferred their drink. Joel with nothing but a half teaspoon of sugar. And Tommy with enough milk and sugar to almost completely disguise the taste of coffee entirely.

You had scarcely begun preparing your own mug, when Joel drifted into the kitchen, no doubt lured in by the promising smell of coffee.

He stewed for a minute in his own thoughts, and you preoccupied yourself by blowing on your own drink.

“Sarah’s asleep.” He said by way of greeting, looking exhausted but somewhat relaxed with his daughter still visible through the doorway. “Is this one mine?” He didn’t bother waiting for a response, as he took the mug containing near black coffee and took a deep pull. He sighed as it went down, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Good?” You asked with a grin, holding your own mug between your hands and letting the heat seep into your skin. Joel nodded and took another grateful sip.

Joel took another deep swig and nodded along. “We can’t stay here.” He said, to which you immediately agreed.

“You should probably get some sleep too, we had a long day on the site today.”

“Not a chance.” You rapidly dismissed, “too much adrenaline at the minute. And I don’t know how much longer we’ll have power for.” You began to say, “but if this is what we think it is, we need to prepare.”

You nodded along, putting aside your mug to pull some paper and a pencil out of one of the nearby drawers. Joel watched you over the lip of his own mug as you quickly scribbled everything down and added things when they came to you.

“I don’t have the food to sustain us.” You explained, “so we’ll need to find it. That, and clothes, as well as a means of starting a fire and a decent water source. I don’t own guns, so we’ll need to track those down too. Until then, we can use kitchen knives or tools.”

“We’ll manage.” Joel reassured, “make sure to add petrol to the list.”

Further down the counter, you could feel Joel’s eyes on the side of your head. “What?” You asked when he took another obnoxious sip and failed to turn his attention elsewhere.

The rest of the words curdled on your tongue, when Joel suddenly appeared at your side, his mug in one hand and the other gently falling to rest atop your own one shaking around your pencil. His grip was warm and steadying around yours. Helping the tremors to subside.

Joel shrugged, “you’re just taking this really well, and I’m trying to figure out why.” He explained simply, “I’ve seen you freak out over a spider, and yet, a world-wide pandemic doesn’t seem to take the wind from your sails.”

“I’m in denial.” You replied simply, briefly glancing up from your notes to look at him. His expression was open, and you recognised it as the one he uses when Tommy had gotten himself into trouble, and Joel was trying to be patient with him. You looked away before you could get lost in the earnestness of his expression. “I killed two people tonight, Joel, and it doesn’t feel real. They’re dead, and here I am, back in my house, making coffee and feeding my cat, and fucking planning a road trip as if it’s just any other day...”

Your mind however, was back on that road. Instead of the pencil, you could feel the shovel back in your hands. Could feel the dirt caking the handle, now slick with your own sweat. Could hear the sound of the metal colliding with bone. Could feel the vibrations from the blow travelling up your arm.

Joel squeezed your hand and it disappeared again.

You were back in your kitchen, and he was a steadying presence at your side. For the first time all night, you felt unsteady and unsure. Until now, you had been operating purely on instinct, but now you had a chance to think, you just felt sick.

“Hey, it’s fine.” Joel soothed, his voice firm but kind. He had completely abandoned his mug now, and had his hands on your shoulders, applying pressure that helped you breathe a little easier.

“Now, I need you to look me in the eye as I tell you this,” he paused, waiting for you to do just that before continuing. “One of those people was infected with whatever this is.” Joel says quietly, in a tone you’re pretty certain he used to soothe Sarah. “They were beyond reasoning and you had to protect yourself. The other was a military bigshot, who thought it was a good idea to try to kill me and my daughter. He just hadn’t anticipated that you wouldn’t like that idea.” You laughed wetly at the attempt at humour, but your heart wasn’t in it. Joel squeezed your shoulders again and ducked his head to find your eyes and hold them. “You did the right thing in both scenarios.” He promised earnestly.

“Nothing!” He said in a tone that firmly told you it wasn’t ‘nothing’. “I just never knew you had a cat!” He stated, as if you’d revealed you were secretly an ancient pirate captain planning to follow a treasure map to the moon using a scooter, instead of his co-worker who just happened to own a cat.

“But maybe-”

“You did the best you could, in the shitty situation you were dealt.” Joel reitorated firmly, “you reacted in the way you thought was best in the moment. But what is important is that you are alive. I’m alive. And so are Sarah and Tommy and,” he paused with a heavy, put upon sigh, “so is the fucking cat-”

“What do you have against Daisy?” You asked, feeling the panic ebb at the way he playfully raised his eyebrows.

“I’m just saying, you’re weirdly fixated on the cat.” You laughed wetly, and Joel brightened.

“There you go.” He said softly. A small, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lip. He gave your shoulders a parting squeeze, and then withdrew to pick up his coffee mug again.

He stepped back into his own space, and you breathed out with forced steadiness.

You let him go, feeling steadier with the lingering warmth of his hands still teasing your skin.

“All jokes aside, I just want to make this clear now.” Joel began, and you tensed. “Sarah is my priority.” Ah, your shoulders dropped down from your ears. You had been expecting this train of thought.

“She’s your daughter, I’d be concerned if she wasn’t.”

“No, they’re pretty much zombies.” You reassured, “there was no thought process, only action and basic instinct. They don’t think, they just react to stimuli.” It made sense even as you said it. The nurse had responded to your voice and the sight of you. She had responded to pain but she hadn’t understood the words you used. All her higher functions had been offline in the face of something primal you didn’t know the motivation of yet.

Joel nodded. “Every decision from here on out is going to be about keeping her safe, and then keeping Tommy safe. If you want to part ways and take care of yourself, be my guest but-”

“Woah, hey now. What are you expecting me to do? Set up a bat signal on the roof and urge the zombies to come and get us? I don’t have anywhere else to be Joel or anyone else to go to. I am in this. All in.”

“First of all, they’re not zombies-” Joel tried to argue.

“Fine, they’re zombies.” Joel sighed, “but secondly, I assumed you would be with us anyway considering you were using ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ and you brought us to your house instead of dropping us off somewhere random. Which thanks, by the way, but I didn’t want to just assume. And finally, my point still stands, Sarah comes first.”

“And I hear you and I respect your resolve.” You promised, “therefore I’m going to give you a heads up that there has to be enough room in the truck for the cat carrier and several weeks worth of cat food.”

Joel scrunched up his brows.

“You cannot possibly be planning to take the cat.”

“Her name is Daisy, and she’s outlived every owner that has ever adopted her. Of course I have to take her. She’s family.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “You need to get a partner or something, the cat cannot be all you have.”

You made a face. “Hypocrite.”

Joel returned your over the top expression with just as much enthusiasm.

“Ah, no! That is a company car and you know it!”

“Besides, my truck, my rules. The cat comes with.”

“I cannot hear you, I’m out of earshot.” You sang and promptly chugged your coffee, put the mug in the sink to deal with later, and went to have a shower.

After a day spent out in the sun, cold and sweating, and collecting grime, you desperately needed a freshen up before properly coming to terms with your situation. Only then, would you dare to think about tomorrow.

During the conversation, Daisy had found her way back into the living room.

As you passed the couch on the way to the stairs, you saw that she had curled up by Sarah’s head again, and the girl was absently stroking behind her ear. It warmed you to see Sarah’s smile again. Even if it was a subdued thing. Honestly, anything was better than the fear that had been plastered across her face when you had first found her and Joel.

>_<

Two hours after dawn, the truck was packed up and ready to go.

Daisy had been fed and loaded up into her carrier, which was now in Sarah’s lap. Joel sat beside them, looking exasperated at Daisy’s presence, but seeming to be coming to terms with it. Whilst Tommy sat in the passenger seat with his gun in the footwell and a map stretched out across his lap.

“Sun’s coming up.” Tommy commented, “best start moving.”

“She likes hiking. And she’s very good at it.” You returned easily, and made a U-Turn for the property gate.

“Will do, just doing one last check.” You acknowledge, before leaning up and catching Sarah’s eye in the rear view mirror. “Can you make sure we’ve packed Daisy’s leash and harness please?”

Joel’s look of pure despair was worth bringing it up. “You cannot be serious.” He groaned, which prompted Sarah into a small giggle fit as she pulled out both leash and harness. Joel groaned again, playing up how much he hated the idea just to hear her laugh again. “Why is it leash trained?”

With a bittersweet glance back to your home, you carefully pulled out of your driveway onto the empty road.

You had no idea where you were heading. None of you did. But with a kid, a cat and the Miller brothers in tow, you’re fairly certain it was going to be interesting regardless.

Part 1 --> Part 2

#pre-Joel/Reader #Joel/Reader #Joel Miller #The Last Of Us #Sarah lives AU #One-shot #eventual Joel/Reader #not in this one #the cat lives do not worry #TLOU #The Last Of Us TV Show #Joel Miller x Reader

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