/Separation Anxiety/

A/N: Well hey there.
Thank you guys all so much for the favorites and alerts! Very much appreciated!
I got an Xbox for Christmas and a lil game called Left 4 Dead 2. Time to go be a zombie fightin' champ.

That said, enjoy, review, and watch as Ellis' mind slowly falls apart.

To follow by faith alone is to follow blindly.—Benjamin Franklin

Day 0; 2315 Hours

A rifle clenched tightly in his hands, the uncomfortable thud in his chest and the nausea pooling in the pit of his stomach was all Ellis had to accompany him as he slowly pushed one foot in front of the other. A yawn had been threatening to slip out of his mouth for the past few minutes, and every attempt to stifle it had made his cheeks puff out in a fairly amusing way.

Or at least, it would have been amusing had it not been getting dark (oh hell, it was friggin' night, he cursed) and he was alone with his feet killing him.

He glanced down at the steel-toed boots encasing his feet, pausing in his stride to study them and momentarily oblivious to the world around him.

He wriggled his toes without seeing them, feeling them stretch and bend in the worn material that had protected him on more than one occasion. Tromping through a sewer or having a zombie barf on his foot was one thing—dropping a pretty damn heavy wrench on it was something else entirely. He still had the scar of a previously broken foot to prove it.

Ellis smirked at the memory, reminded of the look on Keith's face when he'd had to take the younger man to the hospital instead of vice versa for a change. In all honesty it had hurt his pride more than anything (the girl whose car he'd been attending to was pretty damn cute and didn't he have to ruin it by not paying attention and letting his grip go slack when she winked at him), but Ellis had still had to laugh when Keith brought him the boots upon his cast-less return to the garage.

He'd take a limp over bruised ribs any day.

Ellis heaved a sigh and visibly shook himself. No need to wander on down to memory lane while he was out in the open. Nothing safe about standing there and staring at his boots when there was presumably something watching him and waiting to kill him. He'd be a lone target and remain so until they all regrouped, seeing as his shaky flashlight was the only source of light in the lonely, midnight street.

He started walking.

Something sniffled and began trailing after him.

For a moment he was grateful that the others had always been there to silence him before he got the chance to fully launch into a story of his. Truth be told, even he himself was sure that if got into telling one he'd probably lose track of everything around him.

But it had always been easier to tell them on the run instead of sitting in a safe house. Talking was just easier on the move—when they weren't, time was usually spent bandaging wounds or plotting out the next route, let alone succumbing to exhaustion while someone stood watch. As much as an uplifting tale of Keith insane antics could have been called for at one of those times, Ellis just hadn't had the heart to do it. Rochelle was trembling, Coach was frowning, and Nick was just being…Nick.

Or being an ass.

Ellis smirked.

Yeah, Nick was probably being an ass right now and whining to the others that he didn't want to look for the kid because he was probably dead and wasn't that important.

Ellis paused mid-step again.

Back up.

Now hold on just a second.

Ellis may have been no stubborn or hard-nosed Coach and Rochelle or cynical Nick, but he might as well have been the heart and soul of the group. Who's to say they weren't wandering around losing their minds without him there? He was their anchor—he showed them how to take things in stride. He was pretty damned important, thank you very much.

Screw you, Nick.

Ellis frowned again. "Not my fault you hate me, man." He set off again at a decent clip, taking some comfort in the way his boots thudded against the pavement, making him stand to his full height—not overly impressive, but he sure as hell passed the 'You Must Be This Tall' test—with some new-found courage.

"The hell Ah ever do ta you, Nick?"

New-found courage became age-old dread.

"But ya do care, right? I mean, shit, man, we've been through a lot together since this shit started. Didn' think you still hated me."

He almost stepped on a decayed limb without thinking about it and cursed to himself.

"Yer like my brother, man. Git off your high horse before Ah knock ya off it."

Ellis snickered to himself at his mockery of a threat as the light bulb in his flashlight flickered in the dark.

"It'd be pretty great if we had a horse right now."

He nodded to himself contentedly, striding along and absently toying with the safety on his rifle. While his mind wandered elsewhere his eyes probed his surroundings for the other three and perhaps a place he could hole up for the night. Ellis suddenly glared out at an abandoned storefront, making eye contact with himself in remnants of shattered glass that burned in the artificial light he carried.

There was no way in hell he could go and hide up all safe and snug in his own barricaded fortress without knowing where the others were. He just couldn't. It wasn't right, and who was to say that the others wouldn't need entry the moment he locked the doors behind him, a horde hot on their heels and no ammunition to their names?

No, he would carry on for a bit longer and see if he could find them—then, and only then, would he allow himself to go search for a safe room and go pass out for a few hours.

His heavy boots scuffed against the ground, almost as heavy as the muscles that were burning after hours of continuous use and no rest.

The safety of his rifle was flicked off upon the groan of whatever Infected was nearby.

"Keep it together, El," Said man chanted to himself, twisting every which way his body would physically allow without screaming in pain to locate its source. "Just keep it together, it ain't nothin' you can't handle."

He'd spent the last three and a half hours walking alone and talking to himself as the night caught up with him.

Talking to himself meant he wasn't truly alone and it kept him sane.

Something in the back of his mind wondered how long it would be until he snapped. Six hours or so—give or take an hour or two, seeing as he couldn't really keep track of them when he was too preoccupied with finding the others and saving his skin—and he'd already resorted to verbally telling himself to calm down.

What were the others doing right then?

The groan turned into a pained moan and Ellis had to swallow past the lump in his throat.

If they found his body, they'd at least bury him, right?

"Oh hell, oh shit, oh hell, oh shit, shit, shit," He took a deep breath in and mentally slapped himself as hard as he could, letting a few miscellaneous thoughts tumble about to be cast aside.

The moan became a growl that Ellis mimicked the moment he pulled the trigger.

He caught a flash of white ("Nick! Nick!") out of the corner of his eye as his bullet sank itself into the shoulder of the now enraged Hunter screeching at him and his heart leaped into his throat, carrying along some hope before it just about plummeted.

The mechanic gasped as his back slammed against the ground, the snarling, hooded mass straddling the poor guy and about to rip into his soft flesh as retribution for disrupting its hunt. One of its elongated claws had nicked the tip of his nose when Ellis jerked his head back to avoid losing his face. He fought for the upper hand as he grabbed a fistful of the bloodied hoodie, the image of white still caught his mind as he looked death in the eye.

Dodging the attempted shove from the butt of the rifle, the creature above him snapped the strap of the man's gun, rendering the bit of leather useless. Ellis could have sworn that the damn thing just about smirked at him when it battered the muzzle away from his cheek, tearing it out of the Southerner's tired grip and sending it skittering away. As it moved the flashlight cast shadows Ellis would have found unsettling had it not been for the Infected being sitting on his chest and about to maul him to death.

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Ellis brought his knee up with as much force as he could and slammed it into the Hunter without aiming, too caught up in the former of the fight or flight mindset. There was a screech upon impact and the zombie slumped to his side, groaning in a manner that proved that getting hit there still hurt like a bitch even after the Infection.

The human twisted to the side and his fingers fumbled for his gun in the dark.

He was looking death in the eye and there was no way he was going down without a fight.

Gotta get up, gotta move. Gotta go gotta go gotta go.

The Hunter was slowly and painstakingly making its way toward him again, its hood having fallen back as it collapsed under what have would have been uncalled for pain had it still been human not about to kill him and Ellis' fingers were itching for the weapon he couldn't find.

The screech and pounce was interrupted by the smoking pistol Ellis had managed to yank from his belt.

He allowed himself to stare at the still twitching beast for a few seconds before slumping back against the ground, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he took in a few gulps of air to let his mind and body caught up with one another. The gravel upon the cracked pavement was digging into his back before he finally forced himself into an upright position, maintaining his gaze with the now dead body next to him.

"Ho-ly shit."

He'd just spat in death's face and had the ability to laugh about it.

Ellis was still snickering as he slowly got back to his feet, brushing dirt off of himself and nudged the Hunter's body. "Guess that's what happens when ya mess with Ellis, asshole!"

He chuckled as he finally found his rifle by following the small, flickering beam of light attached to it, sighing at the familiar and safe feeling that came with it being cradled in his calloused and capable palms.

That security vanished the moment his flashlight illuminated the two crimson eyes staring at him before sputtering out.

"I'm sure he's fine, Ro." Coach murmured, placing one large, warm hand on Rochelle's trembling one. The three had locked themselves up in a safe room they had come across the day previous, finding that they would be spending another midnight there down one person. Nick had taken up residence by the door, peeking through the bars every so often in hopes of seeing a familiar cap bobbing toward him. Rochelle and Coach had plopped down at the table they'd eaten breakfast at that morning, the green bean can still lying on its side from where Ellis had knocked it over during one of his many interrupted tales. "Knowing Ellis, he's probably cooped up all safe and sound or making his way to us as we speak."

Or he's dead, Nick muttered mentally, not having the heart to voice the thought they all had. As much as it pained him to admit it, the kid had managed to get under his skin in the short while he'd known him in more ways than one. Ellis had become the little brother he didn't want and the puppy that he couldn't abandon because it just wasn't right.

"We never should have let him get out of our sight." Rochelle was muttering as Nick drew himself out of the inner workings of his own mind. "It shouldn't have gotten this far."

The more withdrawn part of him didn't want to, but Nick had to agree with the woman.

Coach withdrew his hand to run it down the length of his face. "It shouldn't have, but it did. There isn't too much we can do now other than—"

"What, pray?" Nick cut in, shoving himself away from the wall he'd been leaning against and uncrossing his arms. His hands balled into fists at his sides. "Ellis could be dead or dying for all we know, and you want to pray?"

There he was, voicing the thought none of them wanted to admit to. All of this frowning and glaring was going to give him some serious wrinkles, an afterthought of his.

"What the hell is praying going to do when we should be—"

"Nick," Rochelle's voice was soft and gentle, always the mediator of the group when Coach and Nick started butting heads or the latter dug into Ellis. Nick was one of her targets. Always Nick. The former con-man was seething and about to grant the former producer a rather scathing remark when he made the mistake of making eye contact.

The strong brown eyes betrayed worry and fear and something in him wanted to reach out to wipe it all way.

"For the sake of sanity, could we just…try?" Her voice broke on the last bit of her inquiry, and the tall man in the suit forced himself to concede.

"Okay."

"Sonuvabitch!" Ellis exclaimed all in one breath as he stumbled backwards, the sobs that he'd managed to miss during his scuffle with the Hunter evolving into growls and heavily angered breathing. His backside thumped heavily into the ground as he managed to trip over aforementioned body and nearly snapped off his dead flashlight in the process.

He could still make out the furious and wretched form of the Witch in the darkness all the same, and it was as terrifying as ever in the dark.

Ellis eyed the doorway behind her while she continued to shriek and bat at him, even with his body then out of range. He was swearing up a storm and gripping his hunting rifle for all that he was worth, trying to take aim at the wailing banshee making a beeline for him.

He squeezed the trigger and managed to nail her upper arm, succeeding in both slowing her down temporarily and pissing her off even further. The flash of the firing muzzle had illuminated her features and he was biting back a cry. Cursing and aiming it again from his not so great vantage point, Ellis let loose another bullet, twisting away and scooting his way to the threshold beckoning him as his bullet met its mark and gave her eye another reason to weep blood.

She wailed and her hands flew to her face, her knees giving out beneath her.

Ellis would have felt somewhat victorious had it not been for the fact that he was too focused on getting to safety than celebrating. His fingertips graced the edge of the doorway and he yanked himself through it, shoving the door shut with a resounding slam and not resting until he had a desk and other random bits of furniture shoved against it along with the only other entrance on the other side of the room. Taking a breath, the young mechanic surveyed his work before burying his face in his hands.

With a sob, he fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

A/N: I want to know why my mind apparently thinks it's so much fun to screw over Ellis all the time. Seriously.
I mean really.
Next chapter more sh!t goes down.

I still need to know what Keith stories you guys want to hear in full! And please, never be afraid to give your opinion on this to me. Feel free to drop a line. I like talking to people. XD

Good night, y'all. c: