❝︎︎ goddamn, sweetheart, give me a fucking chance. ❞︎︎
❝ ︎︎is saying 'bite me' in poor taste? ❞︎︎
────── 𝙄𝙉 𝙒𝙃𝙄𝘾𝙃,
they are born of chaos,
cauterized by loss,
and terrified of love.
【︎︎ the last of us x the walking dead crossover 】︎︎
【︎︎ jo...
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"i guess he grew up."
—
BEFORE
Indiana grasped Carl's smaller hand in hers tightly. He squeezed three times, asking silent questions and she responded with a kiss to the forehead and a reassuring wink. He settled against her arm, watching the road pass on as they headed to Atlanta.
Her mind was reeling, but she couldn't show that to Carl.
Carl, who'd just lost his father and everything he'd ever known.
She exchanged a look with Shane, who glanced in the rearview to her. He nodded once, a soft smile on his face. Wordless exchanges between two people who had known each other a decade.
Indiana ran her hands gently through Carl's hair, quieting his soft sniffles. She didn't offer words of comfort. What was there to say?
He'd come home sobbing a week prior when his teacher had tried to kill his best friend. Neither of them was allowed to leave their homes until Shane had them pack everything up in an hour.
Indiana had left nearly all of her art supplies. It was stupid: to miss small, miniscule and mundane things. Paintbrushes that would dry out from lack of use. Half-finished brain projects and dreams and a mural in her bedroom, the tribute to her favorite novelization forever stilted in time.
She'd grabbed a sketchbook and pencils and knew to use them sparingly. Who knew the last time she'd find authentic charcoal could be?
They all hoped this...disaster would only last a few weeks at most. The world would be reset in no time. The government would sort everything out.
In the meantime, Shane informed them they'd be heading to Atlanta, where there would surely be more word on help.
But the road was long and strenuous and the cars inched on. It seemed as though everyone had the same idea and hours passed before they were even out of King County. By the time they'd reached Atlanta, Indiana had fallen asleep with Carl, his head on her shoulder, and her head on his, their hands still tightly gripped together.
"Think she's doing okay?" Shane asked Lori softly, eyeing his daughter.
For all their problems and his own mistakes; Indiana was the best choice he'd ever made, and he'd make it a million more times if he could.
Her hair had grown out; he'd reminded her to get it cut, nagged her about the dye in her roots fading — she always hated when the pink faded into black, claiming that the bright colors matched her aura (whatever the hell that meant) — but she'd kept putting it off.
Absentmindedly, he hoped the world would fix itself soon so she could redo her hair. She always felt more confident surrounded by bright colors.
Except when she was twelve and went through her "emotional phase" — "emo phase, dad" as she so fondly called it — and wore only black. She claimed she was learning to understand her inner self and become as authentic as she was destined to be.
