Disclaimer: The Walking Dead Game: Season 1, The Walking Dead Game: Season 2, 400 Days, and all their characters are owned by Telltale Games. The Walking Dead franchise itself is owned and operated by Image Comics, AMC, Robert Kirkman, Tony Moore, Charlie Adlard, and Frank Darabont. FanFiction user "cleon24769" is simply a fan with an interesting hobby.

-AU 1: Whomever Submits Their Descending

"Keep running! Just keep running, Becca. Don't look back!"

"Stop worrying about us," she shouted back. "You just worry about not falling behind!"

Too many were in utter hysterics. Shrieks and bursts of gunfire came from each and every direction. The dilapidated town was in pandemonium; alive now with the dead. Countless choirs of moans and snarls were carried upon the winds, so determining just how many had surrounded their group was impossible to discern. Walkers seemed to be stumbling out of every window and alley they fled past. In-between the batches of ravenous corpses was the occasional human who ran full sprint for the large group of survivor's ordered rallying point.

"Head towards that weeping willow!" That had been Vince's order just a few minutes before people started getting separated by, or lost within, the surprise herd. The order had been repeated amongst other members in their group to ensure that everybody heard it. Even now, in the sad reality of every man, woman, and child for themselves, variations of the order echoed throughout the town. Willow this, and willow that. The tree in question was, thanks to the moonlight, a clear sight to see near the top of that hill they'd all scaled into town the afternoon before.

Suddenly, a woman's cries of panic came from behind them. "Cynthia, no!" somebody else screamed.

Josh gasped. "Becca, they got that lady!"

That caused Becca to slow down to a halt. She first looked down at Josh, the little boy whose hand she was holding, and then to the fresh gunshot wound on her shoulder she was applying pressure against with her other hand. Afterwards, she turned to see that a walker had, indeed, pinned the terrified one-legged woman to the ground.

One of Cynthia's hands held her attacker's snapping jaws at bay, while the other reached futilely for her plastic crutch, as if it were some magical grail that was going to solve all the problems in the world. More walkers began descending upon her, and her panicked cries swelled into howls of absolute terror.

"Dad!"

Two armed men had dashed out from around the corner of a building at that very intersection. One was Josh's father, and the other was Vince. Immediately, Josh's father emptied what was left in his shotgun at the gang of walkers still descending upon Cynthia, but there were too many of them now shielding each other's skulls. Vince and his handgun didn't do enough damage, either. No less than ten walkers had been dropped, but at that point, all the two had accomplished was delaying the inevitable.

Josh's father cursed. "I'm out! Vince, what about you?"

"Reloading my last clip," Vince said. He pocketed his emptied magazine — too precious to blatantly discard — and loaded his pistol with his only other. Deciding to save the bullets in case of a personal emergency, he holstered it at its place on his pant waist. "Let's go!" He charged towards Cynthia with his large hunting knife drawn, quickly killing off several walkers on the way with a no-nonsense thrust through the softness at the underside of the jaw. His companion followed close after, using his shotgun as a club. Yet, valiant as their efforts were, it soon proved to be too late.

The damage had been done. No medical training in the world was going to amputate an infected abdomen with any degree of optimism. One walker after the other intensified the feeding frenzy, tearing at more areas of Cynthia's body with both tooth and claw. But even as blood began oozing out of her shuddering mouth and nostrils, Josh's father continued his slow advance through the sea of walkers to save her; indomitable in his mission.

"No, don't," Cynthia gurgled at him, fighting through the agony of being eaten alive just to sound comprehensible. "This was . . . my fault! Just get out of —!" Those were her last words. Rotted hands tearing into the sides of her neck made sure of that.

Becca seethed at the loss of one of their own. Though the scene felt like it had taken forever, less than fifteen seconds had passed. The walkers around them had gotten much closer, but their original path of escape remained clear. She nearly made a break for it with Josh, but concern for Vince held her in place. She had to make sure he had a way to make it out alive, too.

Vince was staring right at her, a contradictory mix of determination and worry on his face. "Becca, I'm coming!" Eight shots swiftly left his pistol before he holstered it, empty. Switching to his combat knife, he slowly began to carve a path towards his ward.

Becca was terrified. "Are you fucking insane?" she screamed. "You're going to get yourself killed! Go around, you moron! We'll meet you at the willow!" She saw him begin to slow down his fruitless advance through the ever-thickening horde between them, but still, he continued. To that, Becca added, "Don't worry, Vince! Trust me! I'll be fine, and I'll look after Josh!"

Vince hesitated, but nodded and stopped. He trusted her. Becca couldn't help but smile the slightest smile at that. Josh's father, however, was still desperate to get to his own child. "I'm coming, Josh!" he cried. "Just hang on, little buddy. I'll be there in a minute!"

"Dad, stop it! They'll hurt you! I'll go there!"

It took all of Becca and Vince's strength to pull the son and father away to safety.

Another few minutes of fleeing passed before the outskirts of the tiny town lay ahead. The willow was in full view, as well, along with trickles of their group members already heading towards it. Thankfully, that whole area looked mostly clear of walkers. The herd must have entered the town from the opposite side. Looks like Vince had made the right call.

Becca sighed in relief once catching up with some others. She let go of Josh and hunched over to catch her breath. Inside, she was cursing violently at their predicament. The whole night leading up to this ordeal had been so pleasant. Quiet, slow, and abundant in their scavenging of supplies. Just a few hours before, they'd all turned in for the night with high hopes. A thousand walkers appearing out of nowhere had been the last possibility to cross their minds. But it happened.

How something the size of a walker herd could've had so easily stumbled upon their group in the peace of an evening slumber was just one of those phenomena in life which Becca had long since stopped trying to figure out. Shit happens, and you deal with it. That was the unanimous philosophy to adhere by post-apocalypse.

"You bit?"

Becca turned to see her oldest living friend standing there. To that, she scoffed. Typical, Vince-like greeting. "No, of course not. When we all started to get split up back there, Rudy shot me in the fucking shoulder. By accident," she quickly added.

Vince went stiff before a confused scowl crossed his face. "Again?"

"Yeah!" she replied. Earlier that month, a stray bullet from the nine-year-old Rudy's wayward aiming had grazed the side of Becca's left thigh. The skin had grown back since then, but it still stung dully from time to time. Becca and Vince shared a weak laugh at that, but all of the sudden, Becca nearly dropped to one knee, causing Vince to rush to her side. Now that the adrenaline was leaving her, the pain was catching up, and fast.

"We got to get that out," Vince said. He placed a reassuring hand on her good shoulder. "Infection from a bullet can kill all the same as an infection from a bite. Come on."

Becca grunted in pain as he helped her back up to her feet. She leaned into his support, hissing at the convulsions of the wound. "I think it just went through," she said. "Still fucking smarts, though. And yes, I know Rudy just has a twenty-two caliber, but still."

"I didn't say anything. Just because I once took a slug from a three-oh-eight sniper rifle in the gut, and survived, doesn't mean I'm looking to brag."

Becca tried to scoff at that, but failed. "Right. Well, if you could help me patch this fucker up, I'd greatly appreciate it."

"Don't worry, Bec. We'll get you to Neil." Vince looked around for the man in question, but what caught his full attention at first was the sight of Josh and his father reunited. Neil was further up the road, which arced over the hill. The older man was their resident medic with over twelve years of experience as a nurse practitioner — basically nine-tenths of a doctor, for all intents and purposes — but he was busy preparing for the amputation of one of their group member's hands. "Well, after he's done with that," Vince then said. Together, they started moving towards the rest of their group. "So . . . Rudy, of all people, shot you, huh?"

Becca managed a weak laugh through gritted teeth. "Right? The first time he hits something in weeks with that stupid pea-shooter of his, and it's my fucking shoulder."

Beside them were Josh and his father. "We were running alongside you in the street next to yours," said Josh's father, soothing the weeping child as they walked. "You were always going to be safe, son. I'd never let anything happen to you." He continued comforting him as the others in the group gathered together.

"Looks like almost everybody made it," someone said.

"But who's still missing?"

"Wait, where the fuck is Paul?" demanded another. She briefly studied the faces around her, but her question went unanswered. She began to call out for him, but stopped when a voice spoke up from the darkness.

"I'm here!" A man ran up towards them from the direction of the town. "Don't worry, sis. I'm here." They embraced in relief as the rest studied the lost town they'd left behind.

All this familial sentimentality put a frown of Becca's face. It was times like this when she most missed her older sister, Shel, and even her parents, whose faces she no longer remembered. Becca winced slightly at the feel of a brief and gentle squeeze around her shoulder from the arm that had already been there. She looked up to see a small, sad smile on Vince's face. He didn't need to say anything. Becca could feel that he already knew what was going through her mind. They didn't trade anything other than a mutual sense of kindred understanding.

Neil patched up Becca's gunshot wound while the others either inspected each other for bites, or slew the occasional walker who ventured too close. In the meantime, two more stragglers from their group managed to arrive. Neil then patted Becca on the shoulder when he was done. Fortunately, the bullet had already exited her body, and a simple sterilization and bandaging were all that was required.

The group took a moment to count heads. Most everybody had made it. Those who were still missing were confirmed dead via eyewitness accounts. With that, Vince gave the order to move up the road back towards the direction which they'd came the previous afternoon. Upon hitting the first fork, they turned onto a road they'd previously ignored, going nowhere in particular. All they were looking for was a decent place to rest their heads. Worrying about where it would go from there would have to wait until dawn.

Two hours went by with the group trudging nonstop. The only time they'd slow in the slightest was whenever the odd walker was encountered en route, but each were taken down quietly by designated guards along the sides of their formation to ensure the group would keep moving. Once they were sure they'd gone far enough for the herd to have lost their scent, Vince gave the order to settle down on the shore of a great lake, which they'd discovered from indications of billboards.

The setup was actually more than they could ask for. It was far from the road, with nothing but dirt for a quarter mile between the pavement and the water. No worries about walkers popping out of tall grass there. A wooden commercial fishing dock was their spot, and it stood about eight feet from the water. They could dangle their legs off the side, if they wanted to, and not have to fret about being pulled under. The large group quickly set about in making camp with what equipment they'd been able to bring with them in such a hurry out of town. Shortly, they all prepared to sleep in for what was left of the night, and hopefully for the rest of the day as well.

The moon was still there, barely, when Becca stirred. Raising her head a bit, she saw everybody around her sleeping peacefully, and the three campfires they had were still roaring away. She took note of their group's two sentries on duty, relieved that they were both wide awake and attentive. Nobody wanted a repeat of what just happened back in town. Becca then lay her head back down upon the jacket she was using as a pillow. The wound in her shoulder was a tiny bit tolerable now, provided she didn't strain it much. Maybe that was what had woken her up: a jolt in her sleep that had sent a shockwave straight to her brain. Regardless, she couldn't surrender herself back into slumber. Her mind wandered, instead. It was random, at first, but once the thought from earlier, when her group members were reunited with family, crossed her mind, that topic stuck to her head for the next few minutes straight.

It had been years since she'd lost her older and only sibling to that cannibalistic madwoman's bullets. Or, it felt like years, at least. Truth be told, Becca didn't even know how old she was anymore. She wasn't terribly much taller than she remembered being, but then again, that could just simply be attributed to a none-too balanced, and inarguably desperate, diet brought on by the necessity of constant scavenging. Ever since the walkers invaded the world and razed it to the ground, always eating healthy to grow up big and strong wasn't so easy an option anymore. But that was beside the point. No matter how many months had gone by since it happened, Becca missed her late sister beyond all explanation.

Shelley Meyers had always been her protector, especially whenever things got rough. In the end, she'd committed the ultimate sacrifice: taking the last five shots from a shaky Kalashnikov all across her chest which were meant for Becca's forehead. Instant death. They never even got the chance to share a proper goodbye. After staring into her sister's lifeless eyes, and then caving that already dying cannibal's face in with Shel's tire iron, Becca had never been the same.

In some ways, she had changed for the better. Her eyes had since opened to the fact that what she had always taken for granted was really so frighteningly easy to lose. As far as Becca could tell of herself, she wasn't as mean-spirited as before. Maybe a bit of snark slipped out of her mouth every now and again, but she could usually catch herself beginning to cross a given line, and then simply stop before going too far. People in their group lately had a tendency to come and go — in more ways than one — but if how much a lot of them seemed to value her opinion and trust in her skills, she wasn't being dismissed and ignored as some bratty little kid anymore. She had her friends to thank for that.

Wyatt, Russell, Bonnie, and even Sarah to an extent. They'd all had a hand in cultivating the young woman who Becca had grown into. Shel, of course, deserved an especially commendable mention just because that's exactly what she'd been trying to hammer into her since their parents passed. Out of all non-blood relations, however, the one who'd always been there for Becca since their group's numbers began dwindling — and who had taught her just about everything she now knew about survival, caution, compassion, and firearms — was Vince.

Her relationship with Vince was a special case. After Shel's murder, Vince had taken Becca as his responsibility; his ward, and — for all accounts and purposes — his adopted little sister, or even daughter. Though she somewhat hated to admit it, Becca probably wouldn't have made it past those first few weeks were it not for him. Vince was tough on her much more often than not, sure. And there were more than a handful of frightening times when he almost looked like he just want to give up dealing with her attitude, and just abandon her altogether. Yet, there were just as many moments when he'd listen to her complaints with a patient and thoughtful ear, or compliment her learning curve to make her feel good about herself, or even just say or do something that would have her burst out laughing. Out of the whole group post-Shel, Vince was the one who cared for her, and about her. And she returned that sentiment, along with no small amount of loyalty.

Thinking of Vince struck her with a compulsion to confirm his safety. Becca looked next to her and found his sleeping bag empty. How had she not noticed all that time? Had he been kidnapped, or killed? She shot up, groaning at the strain in her shoulder, and examined the surrounding area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so he should have been fine, nonetheless. But then she noticed that, in addition to the two people on watch, there was a third sitting at the edge of the dock, staring out into the lake.

Vince's train of though was broken when he felt a light pat on his shoulder. He nodded in greeting as Becca sat down beside him.

"So, you were serious about taking a watch," she said. "Didn't expect you'd do it so soon."

"I thought we could use a third set of eyes watching the lake."

"I've never seen them swim. Or float."

"Neither have I, but, then again, I never saw that army of undead coming, either."

Becca gave a shrug with her good shoulder. "So, what's up? You look like you were lost in your own, little world for a second."

"Nothing, really," he said. "What are you doing here, Bec? You don't have a watch tonight. You should head back to bed." Maybe that had come out a little harsher than he'd intended.

"Well, shit," she drawled. It had. Becca then rested her head and arms upon the wooden railing. "Can't a girl just catch up with an old buddy of hers without arousing suspicion, or whatever? Fuck, I know it's a quiet night by firelight next to a lake reflecting the moon, and shit, but I'm not here to hit on you, if that's what you were thinking. Not this time, at least," she quickly added as a joke.

"Be still, my beating heart," he spat, voice rife with sarcasm. "In any case, I'm sorry. I'm just . . . I don't know. I'm just sorry for being a grouch just now. You didn't deserve it."

"That does bring to mind a concern of mine. I'm getting worried about you. Why have you always been volunteering for a watch every night? We've got enough people now to, like, rotate shifts every other night."

"Well, after what happened in that town back there . . ." He shook his head once he caught onto the implication of his words. "It'll just make me feel better."

"The others said it was Cynthia's watch when the herd wandered into town." Becca shook her own head in disappointment. "Sounds like she fell asleep on duty again. To think, this never would've happened if —"

"Nah," he interrupted her. "No use dwelling on that thought anymore. She's gone now, but most of the rest of us made it out safely."

"I guess." Becca then examined him carefully, and determined that all that sleep he'd been denying himself out of duty in the past few days was too telltale to ignore. She nudged his arm with her elbow to get his undivided attention. When she had it, she motioned her head towards the sleeping bags. "Go on. You need sleep. I'll take your watch tonight."

Vince smirked defiantly. "Not going to happen." Well, at least his tone was jovial.

They shared an amiable silence after that which lasted for many minutes, but neither of them were counting. With her chin resting above her hands upon the railing, Becca noticed that, from the slight light of coming dawn, she could see the reflection of herself and Vince in the water below. She could tell, from his expression within, that he'd lost himself in thought again.

"Vince, come on. I know you well enough to tell when something's eating at you inside." When she heard him sigh lightly at that, but not respond, her frowned deepened. "It's coming back to you again, isn't it?"

Vince's head lowered. "Yeah," he mumbled.

Becca nodded in understanding. As of late, Vince was being troubled by the ghosts of the past. He was smart enough to accept that most of the people they'd lost wasn't his fault, but, according to what he'd confided to her, that still didn't stop him from questioning whether or not he could've done something more to have prevented all that. Neither of them knew for sure what had brought this on so suddenly after so long without a problem, but it got Becca worried for her last true friend left in the world. Shel wasn't the only one gone.

Wyatt was actually the first. He had disappeared during an unrelated bandit attack that happened barely a month after they'd all narrowly escaped from that mega-herd which had besieged Howe's Hardware. Wyatt was shot at least twice and eventually got separated from the group. The group was being chased by so many pissed off bandits that it took too much time to kill or drive them all off during the group's tactical retreat. So long, in fact, that by the time they pulled themselves together to go back and search for Wyatt, they found that he had already succumbed to his wounds and was wandering the woods as a walker. They took him down quickly and gave him a proper burial. A few words were said in his memory, and earnest apologies were offered to their regret that they had allowed Wyatt to die alone, and probably scared. The mere thought of a dying Wyatt whimpering quietly in the mud and rain all by himself as he pleaded for God to give him a break and see his friends running to his rescue from the horizon beyond was a thought that still chilled both Becca and Vince to the bone.

Russell had been bitten on the ankle while they were wandering around somewhere by the Kentucky border. They'd performed the amputation in time, but Russell had gone into a deep depression during the following days. Not just for the loss of everything below his left knee, but out of shame for slowing the group down so much during their trek to the fabled fortress of Wellington. It wasn't so bad, but since the group was being pursued by a lone, vengeful bandit sniper at the time, Russell felt like nothing but a burden who was going to get the whole group killed. He left one night while the rest were asleep, only having to briefly convince the new guy on watch that it was the only way. All he'd taken with him besides his heavy amount of guilt was his makeshift crutch, a loaded pistol, and a single bottle of water. Russell had left them a heartfelt note of apology and regret, and the last line was a request to not come after him. Of course they sent a search party after him, which included both Becca and Vince, but when they finally caught up with him, he refused to return. They gave him a whole backpack of proper supplies before trading a final farewell. They then went their separate ways; the group to Wellington, Ohio, and Russell to continue the search for his family all the way back in Statesboro, Georgia.

A few weeks after being refused entry into Wellington, the group had unexpectedly reunited with Bonnie. Though she was quite evasive to the questions of where she'd been since the fall of Howe's, they were glad to see a familiar face after all they'd already lost. Sadly, it was only a few days later when Bonnie met her end. She had offered to sacrifice her life during a surprise herd attack just to make sure her friends had time to escape. She didn't take no for an answer, claiming that the act was her only way to make up for all the deaths she'd caused; a confession that remains a mystery to both Becca and Vince to this day. In the end, she'd gone down fighting till the very last second, and didn't once cry out in pain. Whatever guilt had driven her into such a suicidal state of berserker-like fury must have been gut-wrenchingly devastating in its own right. The only good thing that had come out of that tragedy was the fact that the walkers hadn't left enough of her to reanimate into the one thing she'd always feared becoming.

Becca and Vince were the last two left out of their original circle. Honestly, before escaping the siege at Howe's Hardware, the two of them had never really talked all that often. Becca remembered that — on her end, at least — that was because there was just never any interest, or reason, to do so. Now that things were very different, however, she felt a strong desire to at least try to raise his spirits, like he'd done for her after Shel died.

"So, did Rudy ever apologize to you?" Vince beat her to reigniting their conversation, unintentionally.

"Yeah," Becca said. She gave her shoulder a gentle rub. "Like, ten times when he shot me, and another time with his aunt along back on the road when you went with the others to take a piss. I think he's scared of you, or what you would do to him."

"Why?" asked Vince. "As far as I'm concerned, he did me a bit of a favor."

"I'll remember that the next time I have to tell you to duck when another bandit with a sniper rifle's got your stomach in her crosshairs."

"Lot of good that did the first time." Vince then shifted his seating. The thought of that long-past incident brought on a ghostly sting in his abdomen. "It's been a few hours, now," he said to change the subject. "How's your shoulder doing?"

Becca scoffed. "As good as two Advils, and a nap on hard dirt are going to get it, and that's not saying much. Obviously."

"The hell you complaining about," he mumbled. "It's better than a three-oh-eight to your gut."

"See, I knew you were just waiting for the right moment to bring up that bullshit!" She feigned a glower at him, but it faltered upon seeing the tiny smile tugging the side of his lip. She blew a raspberry towards the lake and chuckled. "Dude, you're worse than Shel was with that nagging, I swear."

"Well, nagging was my major in college. Wouldn't have gotten this far without that wise slice of education."

"Wait, I thought I heard you say once that you never went to college?"

Vince raised a brow at her. "I did."

"No shit? Where at, Georgia State? South U? Wait, don't tell me. I bet you went to Morehouse. You seem like a Morehouse guy. I always wanted to go, but, you know. The 'boys only' thing."

"Nope, nope, and nope. I got my degree at good, old . . . FU."

Becca knitted her brows in confusion. "Where the hell's that, up north? I've never heard of —" She then sneered. Becca was too young to have ever heard that one before, but she was smart enough to catch on quickly. "Oh, fuck you, man," she laughed.

"Chalk another one up to Vince." He marked an imaginary tally into his palm. "Guess that makes the score, what . . . fifty to, say, negative three hundred and eight?"

Becca paused, then narrowed her eyes. "I see what you did there."

"You got to admit," he said, smirking. "You walked right into both those."

"Ha!"

They both suddenly froze and then ducked their heads down while trading a wide-eyed grimace. Way too loud. Gritting their teeth in a mix of amusement and embarrassment, they looked over their shoulders to see if anybody had been awakened by Becca's spur-of-the-moment guffaw.

Nope, they were good. Everyone snored on, being none the wiser. Though, just before they turned back around, they caught the brief, partially concealed glare of a woman who was laying quite close by. It would've been dismissed as mere annoyance in any other case, but considering the facts that it was Kristy, and that, upon noticing Becca and Vince's dead-center stares, she'd immediately rolled her head over with eyes closing shut at the speed of light . . .

"Dude," Becca whispered, drawling out the letters. She then hopped her eyebrows at Vince spitefully. "Looks like I made your girlfriend jealous."

"Damn it, Becca. Not this again."

"No, seriously! How can you not see this shit?"

"I'm just Kristy's friend. Nothing more. Nothing less. And, honestly, I'd like to keep it that way. We're just friends," he echoed. Although, whether it was more to reaffirm to Becca, or to himself, was debatable.

"My ass, she sees you as just a friend." Becca then got a fun idea to test out her theory. She stretched two fists into the air amidst a generous yawn, and then, without warning, she brought an arm down to drape around what she could reach of the back of Vince's neck.

"For fuck's sake," he spat as he swatted it away. He then gave her a death glare. However, it didn't last long, because he automatically followed Becca's playful gaze to see that Kristy was, indeed, watching them. As if that weren't enough, her mouth hung open in silent gasp.

The face disappeared when Kristy broke free from the trance and shot back down, inventing slumber yet again. Nope, Vince thought to himself. That was nothing but a logical reaction to a kid and an adult feigning something highly inappropriate. That was it. That was all it was. But then Kristy had to fucking go and open her eyes for a moment just to point straight at Becca and make a throat-slicing gesture. To that, Vince groaned quietly in defeat.

"See, what I tell you? Fucked up my shoulder a bit, but totally worth it."

Vince groaned. "Shut up, Becca."

"And I could've sworn she was a lesbo, too."

And then there was this opportunity to turn the tables on her. Vince seized it. "Is that right," he said. "Well, then maybe she's jealous of me, and is actually after you. Ever think of that?"

Becca almost took that bait, but was wise in that regard. "Nice try, Vince, but that doesn't explain all the looks and smiles she gives you, and why she's always trying to pull you off alone to the side. Besides, the only kid-toucher around these parts is you, Vinnie, my boy." She then hit him with the goofy looking grin of victory.

Vince buried his face into his palm. He was getting curb-stomped in a 'No, you!' contest against a child almost half his age. "Guess I should've expected that one. Goddamn it, Becca. You have the cleverest wit in the worst, most repulsive way. I fucking swear."

"If it were in my power to make a commercial out of you, the final slogan would be 'Vince, the First — and Last — Man for Any Lesbianic Orientation.' "

"We have to find you a grammar couch. Only about half of that even makes a bit of sense."

"Why doesn't that work? It makes total sense. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time. Did you know Shel was mostly into girls before she met you?"

Vince then turned to her, then back to the lake, then back to her. "I thought she was just fucking with me."

"Nope. Totally true. There was this lady at the pit stop before we joined up with you guys. She taught me how to play the guitar. Shel and her tried to keep it on the down-low, but I figured it out right away."

"Oh, how could I have been so blind?" he said sarcastically, humoring her. In truth, he didn't really believe she knew what she was talking about, but, as entertainment — in any form — was a rare commodity those days, he played along. "What the hell is it with me and lesbians, Becca? I just don't get it."

"Maybe you were supposed to have been born a woman, but then at the last possible second, God pressed the penis button, and then sent you down to get popped out of your mom."

"That is the last time you will ever refer to something called a penis button to me ever again, you understand me?"

"See that? All you heard was penis! I rest my case."

Vince tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. "Touché," he mumbled.

After this, Becca looked off to the side in thought. "Oh!" she said and got to her feet.

"What's up?" He didn't get an answer out of her. Instead, he sat there and watched her navigate around the maze of sleeping bags — smartly giving Kristy's a wide berth — to return to her own. Becca then reached into her rucksack and pulled out what looked like two dark bottles of beer.

"Is that beer?" asked Vince as she approached.

"Yup!"

"Give to Vince. He's very thirsty."

Becca sat back down beside him and handed him one of the two identical bottles. "Sorry, I just remembered I had these. Swiped them from a corner store back in town. Seems like a good a time as any to drink them."

"Thanks," Vince said. He then spent a prolonged moment studying the label. It was a little too scratched and faded to make out. "I can't even read what this is."

"You're not really missing much." Becca's label, on the other hand, was slightly more readable. The only problem was how it was written; some kind of European writing.

"Looks Dutch, or something."

Becca shrugged. "I can't even read what the name of this thing is. But who cares? Beer's beer."

"Doesn't smell like beer." Vince lowered his bottle from his nose. "Doesn't smell like anything, actually."

"What, you chicken?" Becca gave him a smug smirk.

Vince rolled his eyes. "I'm thirty-one, Becca. Or two. I'm not sure. Either way, that means I've already had more alcohol than you've had dinners in your life."

"Well, excuse me, then."

Vince smiled and shook his head. "But forget that," he said. "Thanks, Becca. I don't know how much longer any of us are going to be in this world, but it's little things like this these days that keeps a guy going, you know?"

Becca returned the smile. "If you ask me, Vince? I think we're going to be just fine. You know I've always got your back."

Vince chuckled solemnly. "And I've got yours." With that, his spirits suddenly rose — both the one that was his mood, and the one he held in his hand. "To friends who've always got each other's backs?" he offered.

Becca smiled right at him before shaking her head in lighthearted disagreement. "To our friendship. Plain, and simple." She then returned the gesture, completing their toast with a quiet clink.

Together, they tilted their heads back, knocked their first mouthful down in a generous gulp . . . and then spit their drinks out into one huge, combined mist.

"Holy fuck!" coughed Becca.

"God damn," Vince jeered. "I really was not expecting that to be whiskey."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

"We probably should've seen that coming when they didn't hiss when you opened them."

Once Becca finished her choking episode, she growled, "Why would they put hard liquor in something that looks like a fucking beer bottle?" Her fury quickly disappeared at the sound of Vince's growing laughter. Joining in with him, Becca wiped the dribble off her mouth with a sleeve and then followed his example of switching to nursing her bottle with much more caution. "So, yeah. If we ever tell the story someday of how you and me shared our first drink together, we're leaving that part out."

Author's Note: I'd like to give a quick thanks to the Into the Fray fan fiction series by Thunderslate. Not only did it inspire this chapter, it's made Becca and Vince my first ever BrOTP. I say "first ever" because I only just recently found out that a term like that existed. Yes, I'm very behind in the lingo of Tumblr —or wherever the hell "BrOTP" came from.