"It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was, when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it will shine clearer." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers


Cobalt-blue eyes slowly fluttered open. Her lips pursed together, her brow tensing up. It took a moment for Max to keep her eyes open, but eventually she had the strength to do so.

The first thing she noticed was Kate, who was sat at the table she laid upon, silently observing something that Caulfield could not see. The blonde's eyes were sore, and glistened from the recent presence of tears. Her features were downtrodden, defeated.

It hurt Max to see her friend like this. So, despite only just coming out of a painful slumber, the mousy brunette reaches for Kate's hand to comfort her.

"…Kate," she finally rasps. Her voice is dry and barely audible.

Marsh turned, and lit up like a candle.

"Max!"

Hands clasped at hers. Max notes that there's crimson hues buried under Kate's fingernails. They've been scrubbed to the point of agitation, but not completely clean.

"Oh thank God, you're awake," the blonde has to stop herself from pulling Max into an embrace, and she resorts to express this happiness in words, "Everybody's been missing you, hoping you'd wake up. I've been praying with Grace—that you'd get through it, that you'd make it. And now it's true, oh thank God it's true—!"

Max sits up. Her entire abdomen is wrapped in gauze, and there were some dried splotches of reddish black on her side. The back of her head was throbbing the slightest, but otherwise, she could feel her heart beating in her chest, and feel the air in her lungs.

"…I'm alive."

"D-do you need some water, something—?"

"Where's Victoria?"

Kate turned her head towards the trench outside the restaurant, "She's with the others, out there. We take turns looking out for you and Alyssa, in case—"

"Wait, Alyssa?" Max interjected quickly. She gasped as Kate stood up and out of her way, at the sight of Alyssa lying upon a table just like hers. Lips trembled because of the bloody bandage on the girl's head, and the limpness of her arms, and…she was not alone.

On another table next to Alyssa, there was River, her legs being supported by her backpack placed underneath. Bandages, spotted with crimson red dots, covered most of the pony-tailed blonde's lower limbs. Whilst Schwartz was asleep, there was agony on her face, the wounds still throbbing after the damage was done. Panic struck Caulfield—

"Oh no—!"

"Max, it's okay," Marsh was by her side and comforting her, "She's going to make it. The wound looks worse than it is—she'll be alright."

"B-but River's—!"

"Shrapnel, it's just shrapnel," though Kate seemed to dislike that reply, and tried again, "It's mostly superficial. No damage to arteries—she's going to make it."

Max seemed to accept this, but only after checking for any sign of something wrong. Once the frantic brunette saw the slight rise and fall that indicated some form of breathing, she calmed down, and fidgeted with her hands nervously.

Kate picked up on this, "Max? Talk to me."

"H-how many?"

A pause. Kate couldn't decipher what she was asking, "I…I don't know—"

"How many, Kate?" Blue eyes gleamed up at the blonde with fresh tears, "How many did we lose?"

Silence. Kate's features answered instead; her silver eyes shifted away, her brows pinched in distress. Max feared the worst.

"…we lost two. Jenny and…and Olivia," Kate glanced outside again, to somewhere Max couldn't see, "They're buried over by the beach."

Max looks. She can't really see what's outside, since her eyes are stinging with salty respite. Hours passed in slumber have left her weak, and she struggles to lift herself off the table. Kate saves her from the trouble and acts as a crutch, holding the brunette up with an arm around her waist. Together, they shuffled over to the exit of the restaurant.

They pass by a figure laid upon the floor, a blanket draped loosely over them. Short blonde hair shielded most of their face, but a peaceful look was adorning their brow, and a slight snore could be heard.

Max recognized her sleeping sister instantly, "What's Grace doing there?"

"She had a really bad headache, and fainted whilst we were outside," Kate supplied, "There's nothing left to eat, and were almost out of water. Everyone is becoming more exhausted."

Max felt the desire to check on her charge, and see how they were doing; but she could not go outside now. Caulfield did not have the physical strength, and Kate would not have her overexerting herself even if she begged to see the others. No—this short journey was to the window, so Max could at least look outside.

And as she is helped to the window, Max recalls with morbid fascination the faces of those she lost. The brunette remembers the guilt in Jenny's face when she had helped her load ammunition, she remembers the shine in Olivia's glare as they readied to fight the Reds. It is only now, after the fact, that Max realizes these moments as fleeting, and she imagines herself desperately clinging to them as they move out of reach. Like polaroids swept away by a stormy wind, she reaches in vain for them, wondering what they were thinking, what might've crossed their minds in the last of their moments.

And the truth of the matter was, she overlooked them in favor of Victoria. She was reckless, had nearly gotten herself killed, and now she knew that her recklessness had prevented her from being there when her sisters had needed her.

They're dead, all because of you.

Max flinches. Kate is quick to notice, "Max? Are you alright, where's the pain—?"

"I'm fine," Max shuts her down, perhaps a bit too quickly, "I'm okay, I just…I need a moment."

Worry is prevalent in Kate's stare. Words are held back by the slimmest of assurances. It's more painful for Max to hear the silence than to feel the throbbing in her head.

So, she decides to change the topic, "Where's Chloe? How is she doing?"

"She's the current squad-leader. She's not happy about being that, as you can imagine," the attempt of humor in that statement fell flat, "She's…barely hanging on. Though she'll be glad to see you up and about."

They reach the window.

It was the early morning. Seagulls could be seen flocking over the bay. Clouds were grey and heavy, but Max could tell these clouds would not bring any rain. The sun would hopefully curb that possibility once it rose higher in the sky.

The Angels were set up in their positions, this time facing southwards towards the noise of distant gunfire. At first glance, one would think that these Angels were thoroughly prepared with their entrenched positions and their even layout, but Max could see right through the façade.

Many girls were barely awake, slumped in their sitting positions. Some didn't have their helmets on, and were content to sit there, staring aimlessly in a given direction. Most dug their hands into the pockets of their jackets and vests, for it was damningly cold with the wind. They looked the part of being demoralized, what with how their faces were dressed in painful expressions. Not a single one of them were peaceful at their posts.

It was a couple hours later when Max had the strength to don her vest and rifle and join them outside. At least then, they had something to be happy about.


Sniffling was common. Max could feel the way the mood shifted into a dreadful onset of sickness. It might be because they haven't had a chance to shower in a few days. Might also be because they have nothing left to eat, despite it being lunchtime. The smell of charred asphalt, of sea salt, and of body odor was starting to become unbearable. In most cases, one usually acclimates to their environment and its discomforts, but this particular setting was unforgiving in this regard. It was not enough that they would mourn their lost comrades, for they could not even grieve in peace.

Exhaustion was rife among them. They had used up all their aspirin and electrolyte packets. Food was nonexistent, water was measured by the ounce. There wasn't enough to fill a single one of their canteens.

And Max thought about how they would evacuate, when that moment came to pass. Not if, but when; for such an outcome had already been determined when they had stayed behind. If Chloe's observations about the rest of the militia were in any way correct, then it wouldn't be long before Madsen consolidates them into an ever-diminishing ring of defense before they finally make an escape from the harbor. However, wouldn't the Reds use that as the perfect opportunity to encroach on them and blast them out of the tide as they tried to get their boats out to sea? It seemed like that'd be the perfect chance for them to catch the militia with their pants down once and for all.

Where would her and her sisters-in-arms be in all this? Perhaps right smack in the middle of it, if Caulfield had to guess. Madsen may beckon them to be among the first to go whilst the rest bid their time. But the way her heart fluttered in despair at the thought of leaving the militia behind gave credence to how she truly felt: if she had nothing left to lose, Max would rather someone else go in her place, so that she might spare their lives of the torment they endured up until this point. Let it be that she saves the life of someone who is considered a loving parent to children, or that she saves someone whose life would benefit not merely themselves but the multitude as well. To trade her life in such a circumstance gives her no fear, for this fear was burned away by the flames of battle, and in its place was a smoldering conscious, tempered by an unshakable will.

Her sisters' wellbeing kept her from crossing that bridge. Foolhardiness only got one so far before it came to one's detriment. There was no guarantee that this hypothetical exchange in her head would even be the case. She may throw her life away, just to not have it be worthwhile in the end—and what could anyone say of her, then?

She thinks of her parents. Far away. Their voices are hard to imagine now, but she can still picture their smiles and feel their arms eclipsing her in a loving embrace. She catches herself from bursting into tears upon realizing the last time she's been hugged by them.

"Max, Max!" she is shaken from her daydreaming by Juliet, "Max, we got movement!"

"What the hell?"

Caulfield peeks up over the lip of the berm. There's noise, even beyond the clatter of rifles and the shouting across their line. Hollering, and wailing, and some sporadic gunfire. Max couldn't make out much, but it sounded terrifying once she let her suspicions take hold. The Reds must have routed the militia in a surprise attack, and would be crashing into their line!

"They're coming!" Max calls, "Ready positions! Nobody fires 'till I give the order!"

She hears Victoria shout something similar from further down the trench, no doubt in fear over the same conclusion Max was thinking about. Juliet and the others clambered into position, adjusting their helmets and clutching tightly to their rifles. Hunger and thirst had taken its toll, and many could barely hold themselves up; but they had no choice. It was either this last-ditch effort, or a merciless death at the hands of those about to attack them.

Max controlled her ragged breathing. Adrenaline dilates her eyes, to where she sees the first of those figures coming from down the street towards them.

She hesitated. There was no response from the mortars on Blackwell's heights. This might be because they'd finally run out of ammunition, but it was odd to not hear something come crashing upon the Reds' advance.

"…Max?" Juliet muttered.

"What?"

"Why…where's the militia?"

There ought to be militia putting up a fighting retreat, but the noise of the gunfire wasn't moving. How had the Reds broken through, if the fight wasn't moving? Something wasn't adding up—

Now Max checks the figures coming towards the Angels' line. A party of three militiamen, armed with their kit and fixings. They were skipping through the debris, and that hollering that had first reached their ears became the more precise sound of joyous cheers.

"…what the hell?" Max swore again and stood up from where she was crouched. A wave of the arm had the men come closer, and she asked of them, "Are you militia? What's going on over there?"

Her gesture towards the southern defense line seemed like a visual cue, and one of the three men answered with a cheer, "The Reds're gone! The Natty Guard's done punched through to Tillamook, and the Reds pulled back to avoid being encircled! It's over, the siege is over!"

They carried on, passing the dazed and confused glances of the Angels and on towards the Two Whales diner. Max followed her bewildered gaze after them. She shook her head in disbelief—

"It's…it's over?"

Many voices echoed this sentiment. The idea of the end had crossed their minds before, but it had seemed like a far-flung possibility, a fact that might as well have been fiction. They had believed it in much the same manner children believe the words of astronomy teachers who say so confidently; the sun will eventually use up all its fuel and fade into the black oblivion like many stars before it. It made sense, it seemed like it would come true—but it was so distant to them, they simply could not fathom the idea as being real.

Victoria clambered over to Max, just as confused as the brunette was, "So, what do you want to do?"

The others asked of their squad-leaders much the same thing. Max answered them.

"…we hold our positions. I…I don't know if it's true, but we won't take any chances. We wait here. I'd like two volunteers to keep an eye on River and Alyssa, in case they wake up."

Dana and Emilia were calling dibs before anyone could. The rest of the Angels were to remain in their fighting positions. They waited still, their stomachs aching and their cracked lips trembling in the cold air.


It would take another hour for the trucks of the Army National Guard to reach Arkadia town. The Angels constructed a pathway for these trucks to cross over their trench and to drive onwards to the rest of the militia. Old Madsen would be receiving their greetings within the hour.

Many militiamen came with these new arrivals, for there was nothing left to do for them besides support their buddies facing the Reds still occupying the northern edge of the town. Their smiles and elated gestures were curtailed when they saw the Angels, and the sorry state they were in. Perhaps these men were as awestruck the first time they saw these Angels as they were now, perhaps they thought them to have escaped with all the other sensible folk. These doubts did not stop some of these men from nodding their heads in respect as they passed.

They had held the line. They had stayed when they could have left. They had paid this debt of honor with their blood and sweat and tears. Nothing and no person could take this from them.

Eventually, men of the Army National Guard came down the Main, with their ordered posture and clean uniforms. This was not to say that they were inexperienced—but here the magnitude of difference between military regulars and ragtag militiamen was clear to see.

A truck of theirs carried containers of food and water, of which was rationed and passed to the starving girls. Never had Max seen her sisters forego all pretenses of etiquette so quickly. Dirty hands bothered them not in the slightest: hunger and thirst were the first matter above cleanliness.

Many of these trucks were adorned with a red cross on their sides and were loaded with medical supplies and the physicians to handle them. Quickly did the Angels direct them to their wounded and have them be treated for their wounds.

This was how Max found herself laid upon the table of the restaurant once again, but this time she was keen to see the damage on her side. The physicians may have been disappointed by the crude fashioning of bandages, but it worked nonetheless—Max would be alright. The same could be said of Alyssa, of River and Victoria: their wounds would heal, given enough time and care. These physicians did what they could before moving on to the office buildings further into the town.

The Angels gathered back into the restaurant, and spent their time catching up on their rest.

"…it feels weird."

"What feels weird?" Max wondered of Victoria's words, and the blonde explained, "This…this. It's really over. We made it out."

"…yeah," Max herself recognized how surreal it felt, "I guess you're right."

Her and Victoria were side-by-side on the tables, quietly observing their charge. Most were busy in fixing their sleep, despite it being in the late afternoon.

"…hey."

"Hm?" Max hummed.

"What…what're you gonna do, now that it's over?"

Caulfield patiently watched the clouds begin to part, the rays of golden afternoon light painting the normally grey hues in a beautifully warm mosaic. If it weren't for the scenes of battle staining the town, she could believe it to be another October afternoon, where the least of her worries was homework assignments and the throes of adolescent love. It feels like a lifetime ago when this was her reality, and she chuckles at the thought.

"I don't know," she says, "I guess I'd go see if my parents are still alive. I miss them."

"The Reds're still holding onto Seattle, aren't they?" Chase noted with concern, "Unless you plan on joining the National Guard to help kick them out."

Max thought about it. Her silence was tangible, and Victoria was quick to say, "You better not, by the way. I did not make that promise to survive all this just for you to go off and get yourself killed."

Max snickered, and raised her hands placatingly, "I know, I know. I won't join. I…I'll stay for now."

"Good."

Though it was haughty, the inflection in the pixie blonde's voice was truly relieved about her answer. Max figured it to be her best choice as well; her sisters need her now, in this present moment. They needed to stick together in order to make sure they avoid any more unnecessary trouble, no matter where it comes from.

"…I wonder what the future's got in store for us, now that there's nothing left to do."

"Let that be for tomorrow," Chase yawned, "Better get some rest while you can."

Max agreed. Tomorrow is another day; let it be that she finds a moment for herself amidst the chaos. Caufield dozes off to the pretty sight of the golden hour, of fluffy clouds and gentle waves and with not a care for the world.

One day, someday. I'll be coming home.


A/N - This is supposed to be the end of our journey, but if there is any interest in an epilogue that resolves matters left unfinished, then please leave a comment/review to let me know and I'll see what I can do. Otherwise, I give my thanks to you, the reader, who has been with me on this journey since it started back in late 2020. This Where The Bleeding Hearts Grow series has been with me for a long time, and now I can take this moment to recognize that I have finally finished it. I hope this part and the other parts in this series was worth the read, as this was my primary objective when creating this series. Please note, I have other ideas for some Life is Strange fics currently in-development and will eventually turn these ideas into proper stories soon enough. Thank you for joining me, and I'll hopefully see you again. All the best to you. - MB