notes: i don't remember how to load a gun.
also reviews would be lovely and are always appreciated!


Approximately twenty-five minutes later they found themselves sitting at the kitchen table. An open duffel bag lay on the floor next to Lukas and Emil, as well as several dry cheerios Emil had deemed unworthy for consumption. Mikkel was rifling through the cupboards, pulling out coffee and canned foods and setting them on the table. They didn't have much; just a few soups, a whole mess of canned vegetables, and one can of peaches.

The soup could keep them going for a few nights, so Lukas set them in the bag along with the coffee and clothes. Mikkel did another run-through, raiding the fridge and finding nothing they could take with them besides water bottles, which Lukas packed in as well. They'd definitely have to stop along the way to check out what was left in the grocery stores and restaurants.

After Mikkel was done, he sat down in his chair and sighed.

"So, we've got everything, Lukas?"

"I believe so."

Emil babbled nonsense to himself as he continued grabbing fistfuls of cheerios and attempting to cram them into his mouth. It was but one moment of relief, watching him act so carefree and unaware – simply trying to eat his breakfast like any child should be able to. The moment didn't last as long as they wanted it to, however.

All three of them heard a window shatter at the back of the house. It was pure reflex that Lukas zipped up the duffel and threw it over his shoulder, and pure parental instinct when he hoisted Emil up and swung him around to his left hip. Emil whimpered and buried his mouth into Lukas's shirt, smearing cereal mush all over it. Lukas stood close to Mikkel as he loaded both of their guns, trying to block out the shuffling as multiple bodies tried to squeeze themselves through the small, jagged entrance. Trying to block out the occasional moans of unconscious pain they were emitting from swollen, rancid lips. Instead he focused on Mikkel's fluid movements; pressing each bullet into the magazine before popping it in and setting the gun on the table. He did this twice, once for each of their guns – and casted a longing look at the rifle propped up beside him. Then he turned back to Lukas.

"Alright, babe, I'm gonna go out first. You're gonna make a beeline for the truck. Get Emil in the back and the passenger side unlocked and I'll meet you there as soon as I can. Does that sound good?"

Lukas wrinkled his nose and nodded reluctantly. Mikkel gave him this completely ridiculous grin and placed Lukas's handgun in his right hand with a sense of finality, his fingers remained on Lukas's wrist longer than what was necessary.

"Do you want me to swing around and pick you up?" he questioned, hand closing firmly around the gun and pointing it to the ground. His arms were full; he couldn't even stroke Emil's back to reassure him that it's all right, baby, I've got you. I've got you.

"Nah, just start it up."

"Take the rifle, then. Don't be stupid."

He flashed Lukas a smile and tucked his handgun into the back of his pants, picking up his rifle from where it had been propped up against the table. He examined it closely, made sure it was loaded, and then he leapt to the door; as if this was all some game he was about to play. He thrust the white curtains to the side, and looked out the glass on the door. Lukas reeled behind the wall, remaining out of sight and hoping that they hadn't managed to climb through whatever window they had broken earlier. Apprehension flooded all his senses, and all he could focus on was not letting go of his child and the duffel bag. His gun balanced lightly on his fingers and was pointed at the floor.


Mikkel turned the doorknob and pulled the door open, pointing his rifle out and taking tentative steps out onto the walkway. The streets were empty and dirty and cracked, splattered with God-knows-what and God-knows-who. The other houses appeared to be abandoned and damaged far worse than their own – with scorch marks and doors ripped right off the hinges. Mikkel's senses felt heightened as he stepped lightly, sweeping the whole patio with his eyes and firearm. Noises along the side yard persisted as the undead tried to find another opening into the house. Mikkel could tell that they were nearing the kitchen window now; probably sensing Lukas's breathing and Emil's muffled cries.

"Hey!" he called out, and the shuffling from around the corner stopped abruptly.

The moment a clammy hand scrabbled along the corner of the house, Mikkel braced to run. He shouted another 'hey' and they started racing around the corner – only twelve of them – and broke into a run after him. Mikkel started to back up slowly at first, aiming and firing two shots – bringing two down. Their bodies hit the asphalt with a sickening splat, and squirmed for a while afterward; he didn't have time to do a double-tap. They kept coming, even as some of their group fell, and they tripped – they still kept lurching forward.

The Dane kept reloading his gun, kept firing, but didn't bring out his handgun – he didn't feel it was necessary. When they started to close around him he slammed them in the skull with his gun, beating them until they were completely out of their senses. Bits of gore flew up around him and clung to his shirt and boots. Out of the corner of his eye he could make out Lukas goading Emil to sit in his car seat.


"Come on, baby, you have to sit. I can't climb back there with you."

"Papa."

"He's going to be fine, Emil. I promise."

Emil stuck out his lower lip. Lukas sighed and clambored into the car, standing on his knees in the driver's seat. His head was bent at an awkward angle, ear pressed against the roof of the car as he slid the duffel bag into the small space by Emil. Emil's car seat was behind the passenger seat, facing inward. Their truck wasn't very safe, to say the least.

Lukas leaned forward and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Emil's ear. Then he picked him up and plopped him down in his seat, fastening the buckle. Emil whined and tugged at the seatbelt, and for a moment Lukas thought he would start crying; but then he stopped fussing. Lukas sat down and started the truck, looking briefly out at the street and not liking the frenzy that Mikkel had worked himself into. Emil looked where Lukas did and cringed, hands flying up to cover his eyes from the sight.

Lukas let out a noise of frustration and switched the truck into reverse, pulling out of the driveway and onto the street where he drove slowly over to where the other man had stopped . Mikkel was just standing there, eyes glazed and unseeing, staring at the corpses littering the ground. They were smashed and mutilated, bruised and punctured. It was hard to think of them before this – at some point they had been human.

Now they were just thinning hair and moldy skin, they tore easily but were resourceful and quick on their feet when they needed to be. It was unsettling. Lukas felt sick to his stomach thinking about how he could barely shelter Emil from them. He couldn't tell him that there was nothing to worry about, and he couldn't tell him that they wouldn't have to pack up and leave in the middle of the night.

The worst part was that those blue eyes were completely trusting and aware of everything. It was like he knew they could die at any moment, and it scared Lukas far more than it seemed to scare Emil.

Mikkel was just standing there, and he almost didn't look up, not even when Lukas pulled up next to him and honked at him.

He pulled himself out of it and grunted, shrugging his shoulders back and walking around to put the rifle in the trunk. Then he walked around climbed into the passenger's seat. Lukas was staring at him; violet eyes angry, but seemingly muted, holding back whatever remained unsaid.

"The next time we stop you're changing shirts."

"Got it."

"Also… please don't do that when he can see you."

"What do you-" Mikkel started as he turned his head to look at Emil. Emil stared back at him as though he were afraid and clutched the hem of his shirt tightly in his hands. "Oh."

"I'd tell you to apologize but I don't think he'd get it."

"Lukas-"

"At least Berwald never did anything like that where Emil could see."

Mikkel stopped talking. He sat there unmoving, staring out of the window. Lukas knew he shouldn't have said that, that it probably hurt him in the worst way possible. He had struck a raw nerve and he knew that he couldn't swallow his pride – let alone his wrath – and apologize for it. Eventually Mikkel removed his handgun from where it was, and he set it down at his feet and leaned back into the seat. Lukas drove on, unstopping and tense.

They pulled out onto the freeway, where it was completely void of other vehicles, and the signs that indicated a shopping center were badly marred – but still visible. Lukas pulled onto the ramp and drove up until they found themselves in the parking lot of a mall – well they weren't really in the parking lot so much as they had driven up onto the sidewalk next to an abandoned coffee shop and a clothing store. Lukas looked over to Mikkel. To put it bluntly, he looked like a kicked puppy; his eyes were downcast and he was fiddling with his hands, smearing gore over his callouses and into the divots of scar tissue.

Lukas reached over and brushed his fingers lightly along Mikkel's wrist, tracing over veins; ghosting over the soft skin there. The Norwegian man actually thought he had a chance at apologizing for his lash-out earlier. But then a muffled voice bombarded their windows.

"Mikkel! Lukas!" a small blonde-haired boy was bouncing up and down in front of one of the shops farther down the line. Mikkel looked up and grinned, opening the car door. The boy came running up, practically skipping. He threw himself at Mikkel, who laughed and hugged him loosely to his chest after unceremoniously wiping his grimy hands on his pants.

"Peter! It's so good to see you, buddy."

"It's good to see you too, ya big knucklehead! I thought you guys died or something."

Lukas was already halfway out of the truck with Emil in his arms before Emil started crying. Mikkel and Peter were still having their heartfelt reunion – and Lukas was pretty sure that eventually Tino and Berwald would come out of the store looking for Peter and then they'd all end up in some awkward kind-of-family-but-not-really-family hug.

Emil's face was red and damp when Lukas set him down. The child stood up and wiped at his nose with his long sleeved shirt, looking up at Lukas pleadingly. Lukas got down on his knees and did his best to straighten Emil's shirt and make his hair seem a bit more into place. Emil quieted his cries and stood there looking on edge.

"What's wrong?" Lukas murmured.

"I don't like it here." He whined softly.

"We're not staying here forever, sweetie. We just need to pick up a few things and then we'll drive for a while. It'll be a nice break. Okay?"

Emil nodded and raised his hands up above his head. Lukas picked him up, watching fondly as Peter and Mikkel babbled about meaningless things.

After all, if it kept their minds off things, then who was he to give a damn?