"I got you pancakes." The redhead sets the plate on her lap. The girl's eyes widen at the luscious sight of the syrup gliding down the sides of the treat. Her mouth begins to water. She never thought she'd be able to see such a thing again – but there it is before her. Beckoning her.

"When and where did you get this?" she questions him, pulling herself out of a trance-like state the breakfast treat had sucked her into. Dez continues looking onward without further response, hands on the wheel.

But one of his arms is injured, she realizes, as soon as she faces forward again. She turns to inspect him again. She panics, fearing that she'd been hallucinating as he clearly only has one hand on the wheel. How'd he hotwire the car with only one hand, anyway?

"Hey, Trish. How'd you sleep?" Trish jumps as her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the familiar voice, her stack of pancakes nearly falling off her lap. She hesitates before turning around. It couldn't be…Could it?

"Ally?" Trish asks, now facing the girl in the back. The chestnut-haired girl smiles brightly back at her.

"Hey, sleepy-head." Another voice. The blond appears beside his girlfriend.

"Austin!" Trish exclaims, setting the plate on the dashboard and moving off of her seat to pull the couple into her arms. "How'd you two get here? Are you both okay?"

"We're fine, Trish," Austin replies in his signature happy-go-lucky manner. A sudden change in his expression, his features relaxing into a neutral, almost robotic, state sends a warning to her. "But who's driving the car?" he questions, his voice holding what would best be described as malice. Trish's brows push together. Was that supposed to be some kind of joke?

"Who's -what? Dez, of course." Trish gestures beside her. Her two friends watch her with grave expressions upon their faces – their cheer now fully replaced by bitterness. They stare her down as if interrogating her, as if she had done something despicable. "What? What's wrong?"

"Look what you've done to him," Ally speaks up harshly, eyes watering. Her voice alone, carrying sharp accusation, cuts deep. She pulls Austin towards herself and sobs into in chest. Trish dares to look beside her at the driver seat, and immediately wishes she hadn't.

She chokes; gasping for air as the sight had knocked the wind out of her. There he was. Laying his head on the steering wheel, looking up at her with those eyes.

Those eyes.

No longer that bright, iridescent blue. In fact, completely void of any pigmentation at all. They watch her – still as stone, focused into her own. His whole being, perfectly still, but somehow crying out. Crying out for her; she can feel it as if it were her own.

"Dez…DEZ!" she cries, lifting his head off of the steering wheel and setting it back against the seat. "Austin, Ally, I don't know what happened, he was okay – he was fine just a second ago!" she claims, shouting back at them as best she can with her choked-up voice, frantically trying to hold the boy up against the seat. After a lack of response, she looks back to find the couple gone. "A-Ally? Austin?" She shudders. They were right there. She wastes no time pondering, and lays her head against the redhead's chest, searching for a movement, a heartbeat – anything.

"Wh–" she starts, staring at the blob of red goop that had fallen onto her lap. She looks back up. His arm. No longer injured.

No longer there.

She chokes some more, gasping for air. Plop. Another red goop falls onto her lap from the stump of an arm he has left. The blood oozes out thickly, its movement and viscosity resembling the syrup on her pancakes. Tears streaming down her face, she moves herself off of his lap, only to be pulled back onto it.

"You did this to me," Dez drawls out, his voice raspy and strained. He grips her arm tight. "You did this." She tries to scream, she tries to escape. No sound. No movement. Paralyzed.

Trapped.

"Trish! Trish, wake up!" the freckled boy urges her, shaking her with his good arm. He winces as she awakens with a violent shriek. She gasps for air, sweat tricking down her forehead. Her body shakes as violently as her screech, her face slowly regaining its color as she pulls herself back into reality. He wraps his arm around her and she buries her face into his shoulder.

"You-you're okay," she speaks softly, trying to steady her breathing. "You're okay."

"Well, I guess. I mean, my arm still hurts." He shrugs, pain shooting through his injured arm as he does so. "Owww, ow." He grits his teeth. Trish chuckles lightly, pulling her head back to look at him.

"Doofus," she jests, her tears still gliding down her cheeks, adding to the shine of the sweat.

"Bad dream?" He asks seriously, those blue eyes of his holding concern. Those blue eyes. She never thought she'd be so relieved to see them. "You were shifting a lot and making sounds while you were sleeping." He pulls a clean rag out of his pocket and dabs her cheeks lightly.

"Yeah. Bad dream. Just a dream," she says, sighing with relief as her eyes travelling down to stare at the floor of the van. The small action of him wiping up her tears did something to her. A good sort of something. A comfort she desperately needed. "Austin and Ally were in it. I miss them."

"I'm sure they're okay, Trish," he consoles her, setting aside the rag. He scooches beside her and begins rubbing her back, as best he can with his one free hand. She tenses at his gentle touch; her dream had put her on edge. She relaxes after a few moments as he continues, putting her at ease with the lulling massage."Wait – so what happened to me in your dream? You said 'you're okay'. Did I die? Did I turn into a zombie or something? Did I–oof!" He huffs as gives him a solid shove and moves away from him.

"Shut up."

"Owwww, what was that for?" he whines. "I'm already injured, Trish. That's so not cool." She rolls her eyes.

"Wait a second…" She quiets, holding up a finger to shush him, too. The hum of the engine remains. "You started up the car? How? You can't use one of your arms." Sudden flashbacks to her dream make her grow wary.

"Well, it wasn't easy. Had to use my teeth for some of it, but I managed." He shrugs his right shoulder. She smacks his right arm. "Ow!"

"Why didn't you wake me up? You were supposed to show me how to hotwire it!" she rebukes him. He bites down on his chapped lower lip.

"You don't have to babysit me, Trish. I managed just fine." He tucks the rag into his pocket.

"But your arm–"

"–It doesn't matter. I know I'm dragging you down, okay? I know you feel like you always have to look out for me, but you don't." His tone is sharp; she's thrown off. She studies his face, tilting her head. Even putting aside the slowly growing stubble, he looks as if he's aged, through expression alone. Or perhaps through hunger, dehydration, and sleep deprivation – which they both faced a lot of lately.

"Dez, you don't–…You, you're not–" she starts, unable to finish the sentence. I mean, he's not wrong, she admits to herself. "Dez, the things is…I don't mind."

"What?" His brows scrunch together, not expecting such an answer. Trish exhales deeply, getting up on her knees, positioning herself in front of him, and setting her hands lightly upon his shoulders. Her eyes find great difficulty meeting his, but she manages it.

"I'm here for you. And I'm probably never going to stop complaining about it, but I'm always going to 'babysit' you. I'm always going to look out for you. Whether you want me to or not. And I'm well aware that I don't have to." She lets go of his shoulders promptly and sits back down. "It's bad enough I let that happen." She gestures to his injured arm. A heavy pause as Dez collects his thoughts, her words taking him by surprise.

"Trish, you…You didn't…This wasn't your fault," he finally starts after some time. "It was my idea to drive through the horde. And I was the one who panicked and let go of the accelerator. None of this was your fault. In fact, you're the one who saved my life. Again. Can you please explain to me how the hell this is your fault?!" His voice had quickly escalated in volume without him realizing it. He hadn't meant to yell at her, but to let her feel responsible for his own actions? He wouldn't have it.

"I…" Trish, silenced by his words, drops her gaze to the floor once again. They sit in silence, her staring down in front of herself and him watching her in disbelief. "We should get going," she states, looking back up at him.

"Yeah, we should." He nods, carefully picking himself up off the ground, grabbing one of the seats with his free hand to support him. He moves to the driver's seat and looks back at her, jerking his head to ask her to come join him up front. She obliges and joins him. She hovers over him and helps him get buckled up, bent over at an angle that he happens to finds very pleasant.

"What are you looking at, doof?" she snaps as she catches his line of sight.

"I can see your boobies," he admits, snickering. She backhands him against his chest. "Ow!"

"Ew, stop staring at them!" She shoots him a threatening glare. Was his spending all this time alone with her causing this? She doesn't want to feel unsafe with him. He's all she has right now, after all. Why did he have to make this weird?

"I wasn't staring, it's kind of right in my face." He smiles. "But I'll look away." He does just that, staring out the window as she finishes fastening his seatbelt. She smiles at him, her doubt washing away. He's always been respectful with these sorts of things. She sits herself down on the passenger seat and buckles herself in.

"Alright, let's get going, then." She settles herself in her seat.

"Hey, so…What the heck was that kiss about?" Dez queries suddenly.

"What are you talking about?" She stiffens, knowing exactly what he's referring to. She hoped he had been asleep when it happened.

"You kissed me last night. On the cheek – remember? I mean, I had my eyes closed, but unless someone else was in the van with us…"

"Yeah, so? You almost died, Dez. It's not out of the ordinary to want to kiss you 'cause I'm happy you're alive. That's all it was," she disputes, as if he were making a suggestion of some sort. And she really isn't in the mood for that sort of conversation.

"I'm not arguing with you, Trish. You don't have to get all defensive." He smirks, watching her face glow red under his gaze.

"I'm not being defensive, you doof!" she spits out, quickly realizing that saying so didn't help her case whatsoever. "Just drive, okay?"

"Okay, just one question…"

"What is it?"

"Are you hoarding extra water for yourself?"

"What? Why would I do that?" She looks at him skeptically. "Why are you even asking me that? You think I'd hide something like that from you?" He laughs lightly.

"No, but you seem a lot better hydrated than I am. Your lips are really soft." He grins teasingly at her, enjoying watching her features change as she reacts – bracing himself for the pain that's sure to come. He winces as she punches his shoulder.

"Let's just go." She settles herself back in her seat again, staring out the window – averting her eyes from that taunting look upon his face. Dez quickly checks his mirrors, more out of habit than checking for other cars, or lack thereof, and shifts the gear to drive.

"We should try and find something to eat soon. We're running low on food supplies," Dez comments, dropping his smirk. Trish nods, continuing to stare out the window at a few crawling stragglers the large horde probably left behind.

"Anything but pancakes."

"I miss pancakes." Austin sighs, sinking back into his seat as he continues driving the big rig down the nearly vacant road. "Fluffy, with melted butter…That sweet, gooey syrup…"

"Austin, you're drooling." Ally smiles, shaking her head at the boy.

"Oh…Sorry." He wipes it off with his wrist. "It's just…We took a lot of things for granted. The big things, the little things…I never thought clean water would taste so good." Ally rests her cheek on her hand.

"Speaking of…When do you think we're going to reach the next city? We're running low on water already. It's bad enough we couldn't stop long enough at the last city we passed cause of those huge hordes." She stares off through the windshield.

"You're asking me?" he laughs. He was never any good at geography, after all. "Hey, don't worry, Als. I'm sure we'll get somewhere soon."

"Hopefully somewhere safe enough." She breathes out heavily, burying her face into her hands. "And I hope we find Trish and Dez soon."

"Yeah." Austin's cheerful demeanor is darkened by her words. He stares onward, trying to rid himself of any negative thoughts. Trish and Dez are okay, he assures himself. They probably already got home safely and are waiting for us.

"I'm sorry, Austin. I didn't mean to upset you…I'm just really worried," she speaks up, immediately noticing how her words had affected him upon dropping her hands from her face. She knows her boyfriend's a sensitive soul, and as positive as he is, he worries just as much as she does. She rubs his shoulder gently. He responds with a small, but melancholy, smile which fades all too soon.

"Me, too. But, well, Trish and Dez always made a good team. I'm sure they're doing just fine." Austin nods, feeling more confident in the thought that the two of them are okay. Ally laughs softly, remembering all of the bickering and disagreements between their two best friends.

"It's weird how, even with all of the arguments, they always manage to pull off such amazing things together. I mean, I worried a lot about the conflicts they had with each other at first, but then seeing how they're always there for each other when it counts, and sometimes even when it doesn't…And how despite their differences, they're so much alike…Sometimes I feel like the arguments are just there for fun. To spice things up, or something."

"You think they like to fight with each other?"

"Yeah, actually. I really think they do."

"Maybe we should try that. To spice things up." Austin smiles coyly at the girl. Ally shakes her head, laughing.

"I think we're good the way we are," she reasons.

"I think it's been too long since we've kissed." He winks at her, slowing the truck to a halt and shifting the gear to 'park'. Ally winks back, however in a dorkier manner, which gets a giggle out of her boyfriend.

"I think you're right, Austin." She clicks the buckle of his seatbelt, freeing him from the restraint, and pulls him towards her. "Pucker up."

"Excuse me?" Trish asks the boy in disbelief.

"I said buckle up – the road looks like it's about to get really rough," he replies, confused as to why she had been so shocked by his question.

"Oh." She nods, fastening her seatbelt. She had taken her belt off earlier as it had begun to irritate her neck. She mentally curses her shortness, as the redness on her neck would probably get worse.

"What did you think I said?" he asks, genuinely interested in her answer. She could feel the heat rising again, but she keeps her cool.

"I thought you told me to 'pucker up'. I was this close to slapping you upside the head," she warns him. She had expected him to laugh. Or smile. Or tease her in some way. He does none of that, just simply stares ahead, trying his best to hide whatever it is he is feeling at the moment.

After about thirty seconds of silence, the two of them staring ahead as Dez continues to drive the van down the road, he couldn't contain his thoughts. He slams his foot on the break, Trish bracing her hands against the dashboard to protect her face from getting slammed.

"Dez! What the hell?!" she shouts at him, turning to look at the broken boy.

"Would that be so bad?" he asks her, parking the van as he avoids eye-contact with the girl.

"What are you even talking about?"

"Me wanting to kiss you. Would that be so bad?" He finally lets his eyes meet with hers. Not believing what she's hearing, she says nothing as she gathers her thoughts, uncertain of how to reply. Too damaged for her to be too firm with him – but the gall he had in asking what he did enrages her, igniting the need to put him in his place.

"Would it, Trish? Don't tell me the thought's never crossed your mind."

"Dez, is this really the time to be–?"

"–Maybe it is. Trish, we could die at any given moment, I need to know. Why would it be so bad to kiss me?"

"Uh, because that'd be a weird thing for two people who are just friends to do? I don't know – why are you even asking me this? Do you want to kiss me?" She never imagined they'd ever be having this conversation. She never wanted this conversation. Why is he making such a big deal out of it?

"I don't know, maybe I just want to be kissed before I…I…I might never get the chance." A cold quiet engulfs them after his confession. Trish stares intently at the boy, her eyes softening along with her voice.

"Wait a second…You mean you've never….? You and Carrie never…?" Trish begins to ask. He shakes his head, dropping his gaze to the floor. "But, you two were so close...Why not?"

"It just…The timing never seemed right, I guess. I don't know. Maybe I was always waiting for that fairytale kiss or something." He sinks back in his chair.

"You can't just wait around, Dez. Sometimes, you need to give it a little push and make an effort. It might not seem like it at first, but it could end up being that fairytale kiss you want. But waiting around idly for it isn't going to get you anywhere," she advises.

"How do I even start?" He asks her, his eyes finding their way back to her. She sighs, unbuckles herself and shifts over to his side. She hovers over him, grasping his left shoulder in one hand and his chin in the other. His eyes widen and he can feel himself tense up at her proximity.

"Hold her like this, gently. Look her directly in the eyes like this, maybe tell her something sappy like how pretty she is. Inch closer. If she pulls back, that means she's not ready and you shouldn't go for it. If she leans in, you're good to go." She releases her hold on him, and he lets out a heavy breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding in. "It's as simple as that."

As she moves back towards her chair, she feels his hold on her arm and panics. She doesn't want to turn around. She can't. Was her dream just giving her a vision into reality? Is she to turn around and find his dead eyes ripping into her soul, accusing her of being his murderer? The vivid memories of the dream so fresh in her mind, she shuts her eyes tight as she feels herself being pulled towards him.

He pulls her near and sits her down on his leg. With his free hand, he softly caresses her cheek and her face relaxes. Her eyes remain closed. He slides his hand down under her chin and lifts it slightly. "Trish?" he asks timidly, feeling himself shake and choke up as he drowns in his nervousness. She opens her eyes cautiously; relief floods over her as she realizes that this is no nightmarish vision come true. It's just Dez. Slightly broken, but alive.

"You're okay," she whispers, meaning for that to be in her head.

"Thanks to you," he responds, making her realize that she had said her thoughts aloud. He tugs her chin lightly, pulling her closer. Her mind berates her, urging her to pull back. But she cannot. Lost in the feeling of his fingers holding her chin, his warm breath brushing her face, and those bright eyes reeling her in, she frees herself from her inhibitions and lets his hand guide her.

As soon as the warmth of his lips had reached her own, she felt it. There would be no easy way to describe the feeling, but she feels it shoot through her body – firing off chemical signals all over within a fraction of a second. Which is exactly how long the kiss lasts.

Just having barely brushed their lips together, they jump apart as they hear loud banging on the driver's side window. The toothy grin of a lanky fellow in a bandanna sends their short-lived euphoria running in the opposite direction.

"Lookie what I found here, Sam," the man in the bandanna says to his partner beside him.

"Good find, Ray." Without another word, the large man takes his fist to the glass. The frightened duo in the vehicle shield their eyes.