Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He was losing the sunlight quickly as he trudged through the woods. Old injuries had weakened him, caused him to slow down. He didn’t cover nearly as much distance as he normally would. Not that it mattered much. He had no set destination. He was simply wandering.

From sunup to sundown, he hiked through the woods. He avoided the roads as much as he possibly could, knowing from past experience just how dangerous they were. At night, he slept in caves, with traps at the entrance to keep the walkers out, or in extreme circumstances, he would bungee himself up in a high tree. Rarely did he find himself in an abandon cabin, and when he did, he knew better than to take advantage. It did not matter how isolated or empty something might seem, there was always a chance that someone could be watching and waiting.

Sometimes, though, his bones would ache and his eyes would grow heavy. He would come across a small log house in the middle of the forest and he would give in to that need he tried so hard to bury. Four walls, a relatively soft bed, they were like heaven after spending so long without them. He really should have known that such extravagances would get him into trouble one day.

He was so exhausted when he stumbled across the cabin, that he didn’t even find it odd that there were only two walkers milling about. That was his first mistake, but hey, everyone got sloppy once in a while. He did remember to barricade the door and block the windows. His second mistake was closing his eyes even after he read what was written on the ceiling above the twin bed he had laid on.

DANGER. GO NOW.

It was an ominous message, but not the first he had seen on the road. It wasn’t the most original either. Whatever was used to paint it was faded with time, so he chose to ignore it. Hindsight, that was a bad idea.

Being rudely awoken by hands grabbing him roughly and pulling him to his feet was unexpected. He got his bearings enough to see an access point in the floorboards where they had gotten in undetected. He grasped the blade he kept in his pocket, prepared to jam it in the head of his attacker, when a second perpetrator took advantage of his focus to hit him on the back of the head with what felt like a two-by-four.

They had been going around in circles getting nowhere for what felt like hours. It was his fault, he did not agree with the mission, although he knew it had to happen. It was a risk he was going to have to let his men take, whether he wanted them to or not.

“Tell me again.” Jax ordered gruffly, earning a slightly annoyed look from the younger man across from him. Considering they had gone over the plan a handful of times in the last week, the look wasn’t exactly unwarranted. “One more time.”

“We’re gonna take the highway north.” Juice relayed, pointing to the map rolled out over the reaper. “Scavengers have been lighting up the back roads. They know people will take those to avoid the mess of walkers clogging up the interstate.”

“Walkers that you will have to deal with.” There were hundreds, maybe thousands of them roaming the major roadways. “How do you plan to take them on? There’s too many for hand-to-hand, and you are not going to have enough ammo to use the guns.”

The ammunition situation was the whole reason for this little shit-show. They had used up the bulk of their stock when they took back Charming. That was nearly a year ago. They didn’t have the supplies to make their own, and the Wahewa, who had once done it for them, had to focus on keeping themselves alive, they couldn’t worry about SAMCRO.

“We attached the snowplow to the 4x4, so we can run them down.” It was good to know the snowplow they picked up when they were in Tahoe would not be going to waste. “We gotta do this, Jax.”

“I know.” They were dangerously low on ammo as it was. Once they ran out, it was game over. “You’re sure this place is still intact?”

“As of two days ago, yeah.” The kid flashed him a sheepish grin, knowing he was still in deep shit for what he had done two days prior.

“Right. Your scouting mission.” A scouting mission Jax and the others had not authorized. “Who are you taking?”

This suicide run had been Juice’s idea, that is why Jax made him the lead on it. It was his intel that gave them the location of a little known army surplus store that had been run by some survivalist nut Juice had known before. The paranoid bastard had kept hidden underground bunkers on the property, full of weapons and ammunition.

There was no guarantee the load was still there, or that there could be anything found in the surplus store. There was no telling if anyone would make it there or come back alive. That’s why it was a volunteer only mission, and aside from Juice, they could only spare two others.

“Miles and V-Lin.”

“The prospects?” That was not going to happen. Those two had no experience going on that kind of run. “Absolutely not. Chibs, Tig, and Happy all said they would go up with you. Choose two of them or I will do it for you.”

“Tig’s kid is here. Happy has his mom and aunt. Chibs has his daughter, who may not be in this country but could still be alive. I’m not taking anyone who has someone they would be leaving behind. Not for this.” That was Juice’s biggest fault, right there. He cared too goddamn much. “V-Lin, Miles, and me, our families are gone.”

Juice didn’t talk about his birth family often, not even before the dead began walking among them. It was harder for him now. They all knew what happened to them. They had been watching the news with morbid fascination as New York City’s five boroughs fell by the militaries hand, in an effort to keep what they believed was an infection from spreading.

“They’re quick on their feet, that’ll make it easier to get in and out fast.” Juice made a good point, not that the other Sons were slow, but V-Lin and Miles had youth on their side. “And if we don’t make it back then you’re not losing much.”

“I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just say that.” He was not about to get into a discussion about Juice’s worth right now. That was Chibs territory, not his. “What time are you leaving?”

“Dawn.” That made sense. No one with half a brain traveled under the cover of darkness anymore. “If everything goes smoothly, then we should be back by nightfall, but realistically sometime the following afternoon.”

“Don’t take any unnecessary chances.” The whole run was a chance in itself. They did not need to risk driving at night just to shave a few hours off the trip. “You need to double check that everything is in order and then make it an early night. No drinking. You need to be well rested and at the top of your game tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay.” The younger man offered him a smile as he stood and made his way to the chapel doors, only to falter before opening them. “Jax?”

“What?”

“Beacon Hills is only twenty miles out from the surplus store.” He broke it to him gently, as if he was giving him bad news, and maybe he was. “I can look again.”

“No, not this time.” It killed him to say that, made him feel as if he was giving up. “If you had a more experienced crew going with you then I would say okay, but Beacon Hills is in the dead zone and the prospects aren’t ready for that.”

The dead zone, that was what they called the places that belonged entirely to the walkers, scavengers, and cannibals. They were the most treacherous places you could travel through. There was one large dead zone that started in Chico and stretched over the border into Oregon. It was an area Juice and the prospects would be knee deep in come morning.

“You stay on task. You get to the surplus store, get what you can, and head back. No other stops.” They could not afford to get sidetracked.

“Okay.” Juice agreed, but didn’t seem happy about it and Jax understood why. Stiles was the clubs unfinished business. He was the only person they could not find.

During the first wave of the ‘infection’ they had managed to break out of prison once the guards had abandon their posts. They made it to the evacuation centers the citizens of Charming had been moved to, gathered the family members that were there, and left again. They traveled up and down California looking for other members that had been scattered about. They found Opie’s mom Mary, one of Tig’s daughters, Bobby’s son, ex-wife, and her boyfriend. They had Happy’s mother and aunt. Hell, they made it all the way to Oregon and managed to retrieve Gemma's father, Nate. They found everyone but Stiles.

“I know he’s alive.” He put as much conviction behind his voice as he could muster, because he needed someone else to believe that too. “He’s not some ghost I’m making us chase after. If he were dead, I would know it. He’s alive.”

“I know.” Juice locked eyes with him, letting him see the belief he to held. “We’ll find him.”

The last time he had been tied to a chair and tortured, it was in the Argents basement after his last lacrosse game. He knew what to expect then, a little electroshock therapy and a few punches from a geriatric. The guy who had him this time, had an array of instruments on a tray waiting to be used.

As a knife cut into his chest, not deep enough to kill, only to bleed, he thought about asking why, but it was a stupid question. Why didn’t matter. Even before the dead began to rise, people did awful shit to one another for no reason at all.

“Most would have begun screaming by now.” The man who had spent the last hour or so deliberately slicing patterns into his bare chest noted. “Not your first time beneath a blade.”

It was far from his first time, but he was not about to admit that to this guy. Truth be told, even if he hadn’t learned not to scream a long time ago, he still wouldn’t be giving up any howls of pain. He couldn’t feel the knife breaking the skin of his chest. He didn’t know if that had something to do with nerve damage he may have suffered from old burns on his chest, or if it was because the head wound he had acquired earlier that evening was bleeding sluggishly, and the blood loss was causing him to go in and out of consciousness. Either way, he was not feeling much of anything.

“Brunski,” A new voice joined the other. “You’ve got a few more hours with that one, and then put him in the storage room. Garrett and Violet have eyes on another in Millville, who Tully’s crew in Red Bluff will enjoy. So when they bring him in, leave him untouched. We’ll trade him for supplies.”

“And this one?” He assumed Brunski was referring to him, considering he was the only other person in the general vicinity besides them. "Are we trading him to Tully too?"

“Tully likes his toys pristine, this one wasn’t even close to that before you started carving into him.” He couldn’t argue with that. He had become the not-so proud owner of plenty of scars over the years, some nastier than others. “We’ll keep him. He’ll make a very nice meal.”

He was captured by cannibals. That was fucking fantastic.

“Did he bring anything in with him that we could use?” The man who had yet to identify himself asked.

“All I found on him was a knife, a gold wedding band, and a badge.” He yanked at his bonds when he realized they had taken what little he still held dear, which elicited a delighted but deranged smile out of Brunski. “That’s the most life I’ve seen out of him since we brought him in. Must be personal items, not things he just picked up. Oh, and the badge said ‘Beacon Hills County Sheriff’s Department.’”

“We’ve got a townie. Interesting.” He supposed that meant he had not only made it back to California, but was back in Beacon Hills. “He might just prove useful after all.”

In retrospect, Juice should have listened to Jax. The prospects were a bad call. They weren’t ready for runs. They were nervous, jumping at their own shadows. They were making enough noise to attract every walker within a ten-mile radius.

“Get your shit together.” He hissed as V-Lin tripped over his own shoelaces while carrying a box of explosives.

The one thing he was right about was the surplus stores underground bunkers. He found three that had not been cleared out yet. They were full of rifles, bullets, grenades, and even a few landmines. It was like Christmas had come early, or it would have been if his team would figure out what the hell they were doing.

“Miles, take this.” He handed off the last box to the other man. “You and V go back to the truck. Check the trailer and make sure everything is secure. I’m gonna make another round to see if we missed anything.”

They couldn’t afford to leave anything behind. It was all too valuable to let go. He didn’t know if they would be able to come back, so they had to take everything they could haul now.

He pushed some dirt around the entrance to the last bunker they cleared out, trying to make it appear as if no one had been there. He kept his eyes peeled to the ground, hoping to see an odd glint of metal peeking through the grass that would lead him to another cavern full of goodies.

It was his own fault, really. He was so focused on his task that he wasn’t on the lookout for a threat. Walkers didn’t count. He would hear those ones coming long before they got to him. It was other people he had to worry about. Those are the ones who could quiet their footsteps, the ones you would not know were behind you until it was too late.

He was ambushed from the side, smacked to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He slammed his elbow back, nailing someone in the gut, causing them to grunt and roll away. He pulled his gun from his thigh holster, rolled, and fired once, landing a hit to the knee of the guy still on the ground beside him. He didn’t have a chance to do much else before he was shot with something that pricked the skin of his neck, so most definitely not a bullet.

The last thing he saw as the edges of his eyes darkened, was the panicked faces of Miles and V-Lin in the windows of the 4x4 before they sped off into the distance.

On the plus side of things, he had not been eaten yet, the wound on his head had stopped bleeding, and they had given him back his shirt, before leaving him on the damp concrete floor of a storeroom. On the downside, he was freezing, he hurt like hell, and he was still going to become someone’s meal.

He curled up in the furthest and darkest corner of the room when the handle of the door jiggled, signaling someone was about to come in. He wasn’t sure what he could do if someone tried to pull him out and drag him off to the fate they chose for him. He could try to fight, it would be as useless endeavor at this point, but he had no intention of going down easily.

The pair that entered were about his age, if not a little younger, and were half-carrying/half-dragging in a body that they proceeded to drop at his feet. They didn’t say a word, didn’t even spare a glance in his direction. They were the picture of cool, calm, and composed as they sauntered back out, closing and locking the door behind them.

He took a hesitant look at the person lying not far from him. His face was not visible given the dimness of the room, but the man’s right arm was bathed in a strip of light coming from under the door. The sleeve of his t-shirt was bunched up far enough to show the bottom of a tattoo on his bicep.

“Stoner Cheese? Stoner Cheese?” It was an odd thing to have inked onto your body. It did seem familiar to him, though. “Who the fuck woul- Juice!”

He scrambled over to the still form, flipping him onto his back. Juice’s face was clear as day, as was the bruise forming on his cheek. He reached out two fingers to check for a pulse, letting relief flood him as he found one.

“Juice,” He patted the older man’s chest gently, not knowing the extent of his injuries. “Juice, wake up. Come on.”

“Who…?” His eyes flickered open slowly as he regained consciousness.

“Hey. Let’s get you up.” He gripped Juice's shoulders and levered him up until he was in a sitting position. “You okay?”

“Stiles?” Juice’s eyes went wide as he seemed to realize who he was with. “You’re here?”

“Yep.” He thought that much was obvious. “Do you wanna know where here is?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.” Given their captors conversation earlier, he assumed they were in Beacon Hills or near it, but he could not be sure without visual confirmation. “You want the good news or the bad news first?”

“Give me the good news.” Huh, he would have saved the good stuff for last.

“You’re alive.” Under the circumstances, it was debatable whether that was good news or not. “And you have excellent company.”

“Sure.” The sides of Juice’s mouth twitched up in a smile. “What’s the bad news?”

“Well,” How could he put it in a way that was both dramatic and humorous? “These guys are hungry and we look mighty tasty.”

“Is that a euphemism?” The older man scrunched up his nose.

“Yes and no.” It could be one or the other, possibly both. “They’re keeping me for a future meal. I think they are giving you to someone named Tully in exchange for supplies in Red Bluff. The way they talked, I assume Tully has a refined taste for pretty men.”

“Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand down his face before taking a closer look at Stiles. “Why is there blood all over your shirt?”

“I got the resident sadist as my welcoming committee.” The wounds he left had not stopped bleeding as of yet. “Where’d they pick you up?”

“Millville.” Guess that answered the question about if he was the one the other members of the group were out looking for. “I was on a run with the prospects. What about you?”

“I was stupid enough to try and sleep in an abandon shack out in the sticks.” On the off chance that he lived, he would not be making that mistake again.

“Were you with others? Do they have-“

“I was on my own.” Just as he had been since Washington. “I had a group, my friends, for a little while, but they’re gone now.”

“Dead?” He had no way of knowing that for sure. It was always a possibility.

“Just gone.” He ducked his head, suddenly finding his shoes very interesting. “It’s just me now.”

“No, it’s not.” Juice placed a comforting hand on his knee. “Your brothers are-“

“Don’t say it. Don’t.” He could not listen to that, not now. “Just because they were alive when you last saw them doesn’t mean they still are.”

“It’s still not just you.” The older man said again. “I’m stuck here with you. Do I count?”

“Yeah. You count.” He assured him. “Now make yourself useful. Help me come up with a plan that gets us the hell out of here.”

“Useful? I’ve got something useful.” He leaned down to peel back a loose piece of rubber on the heel of his boot, sticking his fingers inside and removing a scalpel. “It doesn’t matter how thorough the search is, they always forget to check for secret compartments.”

“Nice.” He should have thought of that. “There’s at least four of them out there."

“And they have sleeper darts.” He rubbed a spot on his neck unconsciously. “One of them is injured. He’s got a bum knee.”

“How do you know?”

“I shot him in it.” Oh, well, good to know. “If we can find where they stashed our stuff, then I might have an exit strategy.”

“Care to fill me in on that?” He didn’t want to go out there not knowing the plan.

“I may have had a few grenades on me.” Those could guarantee their way out. “I was on a weapons and ammunitions run. I stashed a few in my jacket in case things got hairy.”

“We’re not leaving here without our stuff.” And, honestly, that had nothing to do with the grenades. “They took some things from me and I’m not leaving this compound without them.”

“Okay. So let’s figure out how we get from here to there.”

The tension was running high around the clubhouse. It was causing their tempers to flare, making them snap at each other. They had already broken up a dozen fights and had to separate people between the clubhouse and garage so they could cool off.

It was the worry putting them on edge. Three of their brothers were out on a run they probably would not come back from. They couldn’t even try to be positive about it. They knew failure was the only possible outcome, but they had to hope the men out there could pull a rabbit out of their hat and surprise them all.

“You should go lay down for a bit, baby.” Is mother suggested even as she set a fresh beer in front of him. “It’s late. They won’t be back for hours.”

“I’m fine.” He couldn’t sleep, he had tried already.

“Jax,” Tig knocked a fist against the office door. “Boys are back.”

“Already?” It was too soon for them to be back. They must have turned around before they even made it to surplus store.

“Come on.” There was something grave in Tig’s expression that made him fear the worst.

He followed the other man out, his mother hot on his heels. The 4x4 was parked in the middle of the lot, with a large trailer attached to the back of it. The trailer had not been there when they left, which made it seem as if the mission was a success. That did not explain why Chibs had Miles and V-Lin shoved up against the truck with a lethal look in his eye.

“Where is Juice?” The Scot snarled in the prospects faces. “Tell me.”

“He’s gone.”

“What does that mean?” Jax pushed through the crowd of Sons to question the prospects himself. “What happened?”

“We were loading up what was left of the stuff and he was attacked.” Miles flicked a gaze to V-Lin, who nodded, as if they were checking their story. “We couldn’t do anything. They had him.”

“What had him?” Dead zones were hotspots for a number of different things. “Walkers? Scavengers?”

“There was nothing we could do.” V repeated what was already said. “We’re sorry.”

“Where’s his body?’ Chibs asked, not letting up an inch.

“We had to lea-“

“You just left his body out there?” Piney snapped at them, face red with anger.

They had a rule they always followed. You never leave one of your own behind, even if you were only bringing back a body. They dragged Clay back from Stockton when he was bitten during their escape from prison. They searched rows of bodies outside a refugee center to find Unser's body and bring him home to Charming. You did not leave the people you loved to be consumed by the dead, they deserved better than that.

“We didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

It was decided that Juice would be the one to wield the scalpel for several reasons. One being that it was his scalpel. Two being that Stiles was more or less sidelined from close-quarters combat thanks to his pre-existing injuries. He was only to physically engage if he had no other choice. Three, Juice was more experienced in that particular area.

How it all went down really depended on who came through the door next. They would attempt to subdue them first, knock them unconscious, and make a break for it. If that plan did not work, then they would slice open the carotid artery with the scalpel, let them drop and bleed out on the storage room floor while they made their escape. They were counting on only one of them coming in, but if more did and were packing heavy artillery then they would have to make on the spot adjustments to the plan.

Apparently, luck was working in their favor, because it was Brunski who walked in. He was holding the dart gun, but he never got the chance to use it. Juice was on him the moment he crossed the threshold, pinning him to the far well. Brunski tried to fight pack, attempted to use the gun to knock Juice off him, but his struggles stopped when Juice shoved the scalpel in to his throat. Stiles took the dart gun for himself as Brunski’s body sank to the floor.

“One down.” Juice muttered, an expression of guilt flickering over his features.

Juice wasn’t like the other Sons. The horrible shit he was forced to do sat heavily on his heart. Even killing someone who was pure evil would weigh on his soul. It was just part of who he was. It didn’t stop him from making the hard choice, it just wasn’t as easy for him to let it go as it was for the others.

“It’s supposed to make you feel bad.” He reasoned as Brunski’s blood pooled beneath their feet. “It’s when it feels good that you know you have a problem, that you are the problem.”

“You know this from experience?” He would let the condescending tone slide this once, and only because Juice had no idea what kind of things Stiles had done since they last saw each other.

“Yes.” It wasn’t a lot of experience, but it was enough for him to learn a thing or two about himself. “We can swap if you want. You can have the dart gun and I’ll take the scalpel.”

“You’re going to let me have the gun?” Juice called bullshit, obviously seeing how Stiles held it closely to himself. “Same rules apply. I go hand-to-hand if I need to with this and you put people to sleep with that. You seem to favor it.”

“I miss my rifle.” This was the closest he was going to get to it for now. “We neutralize the threat. Find our shit. Get the fuck out.”

“Pretty much, yes.” Juice crouched down to get into Brunski’s pockets, removing four darts. “Here’s your extra ammo. I think that’s a one shot.”

“Great.” He pocketed the items and made sure he had one loaded and ready to go. “Quick question, how neutral are we doing this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are we just knocking them out or are we putting them down?” Killing Brunski kind of complicated the situation.

“It depends on how bad it gets out there.” Which meant knocking out was optimal but they might have to resort to deadlier methods. “We should get going before they come looking for him. Stay behind me, but stay close, and be as quiet as you can.”

“Yep.” In the ideal situation, they would be miles away from this hellhole before anyone knew they were gone.

Stiles had five darts in total, and there were only three men and one woman in the group that had them, that they were aware of, and one of them was already on the floor dead. That left three of them unaccounted for, Garrett, Violet, and No Name.

No Name was down the hall to the right, coming out of one room as they were exiting the storeroom. Stiles put a dart in his neck before he even realized he wasn't alone. They decided to check for their lost items in the room No Name had come out of first, hoping the search would be over quickly. It turned out to be an empty kitchen.

“Is that a…a hand?” Stiles really wanted to believe it wasn’t, but there was no denying there was a human hand in a roasting pan on top of the stove, that looked as if it had been baked. “Jesus Christ.”

“There’s the rest of her, I think.” Juice nodded toward a dead blonde girl lying on a slab in the corner of the room, who was missing a leg as well. “It looks like they held her here for a while.”

“Oh no.” There was something very recognizable about the girl. He had to take a few steps closer to get a better look just to be sure. “Goddamn it.”

“Stiles,” Juice wrapped his fingers around his arm to keep him from going far. “Did you know her?”

“Her name's Heather.” They had grown up together.

“There’s nothing we can do for her now.” He appreciated that Juice didn’t offer him some platitude, say he was sorry or that she was in a better place. He hated shit like that.

“I know.” Her fight was over now. Theirs was not. “Let’s check another room.”

They made through two more rooms down the long hall, which turned out to be a broom closet and a makeshift infirmary. If it hadn’t been for the body they found in the kitchen, they might have left the medicine alone, but they figured these people didn’t deserve it so they found a backpack in a cabinet and filled it to the brim. What they were really looking for was in the last room at the end of the hall.

They got in without a problem, just as they had every other room. The only difference was, on the other side of this room, by another door, were two guards. It would not have mattered if they hadn’t heard Juice and Stiles enter, but unfortunately they had. Their semi-automatics were aimed in their direction the second they made it through the doorway.

They were in some kind of standoff, waiting to see who was going to do what. It gave Stiles the time he needed to figure them out. One had been a security guard at some point, if showed in the way he held himself. The other was anxious and twitchy, not sure of what he was supposed to be doing. He was either new or really bad at his job.

“Freeze.” Former rent-a-cop ordered. “We will sho-“

Stiles was quick to put a sleeper dart in his forehead before he could finish his sentence. Twitchy beside him looked a little nauseous, as if Stiles had just killed his buddy not knocked him out. He hesitated, didn’t immediately start shooting, which allowed Stiles time to reload his weapon.

“All right, man. I’m going to let you decide how this plays out. You can leave or you can –“ He leveled his gun at them in response. “Damn it.”

He was a little nicer to Twitchy, he shot him in the thigh and watched him drop like a sack of potatoes. He glanced between Twitchy and Rent-a-Cop and wondered how many were out there. The building wasn’t huge, but they were packing some heavy artillery for it to be a small operation they were running.

“Find your shit.” Juice waved a hand at the rows of tables surrounding them, covered in things the scavenger cannibals had taken off others. “Take what we can carry and use. I don’t think anyone’s coming back for it.”

“We need to be quick. We can’t be sure they didn’t sound some kind of alarm.” They didn’t even know how long the sleep darts lasted.

They both took separate sides to begin their search. They grabbed pistols and extra clips, they were easier to carry. It was so nice that they kept all the crap in the same room. Stiles found his knife, jacket, and his dads badge pretty quickly, tossed haphazardly in a pile of what looked like junk. Juice let out a soft ‘yes’ when he came across the grenades he had come in with, along with a few flashbangs. There was just one thing Stiles couldn’t seem to find

“Hey, do you- have you seen a, uh, a ring? A gold ring?” He rummaged through different piles of jewelry, looking for the right one but coming up empty. “It’s inscribed-“

“I’ve got it. It was on my side. Here.” Juice handed it over quickly, as if he knew how much it meant to him. “Is this the right one? It has your parent’s names in the inscription.”

“Yes.” He squeezed the ring in his palm. “It-it’s the right one. Thank you.”

“Do we have everything?” They both did a glance over of what they had acquired before realizing they had all they could carry, then they turned to the door Twitchy and Rent-a-Cop had been guarding. “Do we want to go out that door or find another?”

“Might as well try that door.” What harm could it to right.

Stiles had dropped the dart gun, not having use for it anymore. He and Juice both had one round in the chamber of their pistols, and full mags, plus back-up clips in their pockets. Juice wore the backpack full of meds, and handed off one of two grenades and a flashbang to Stiles before they twisted the knob to the door that led outdoors.

They might have underestimated how big this operation was. For such a small building there sure were a lot of people ambling about outside. There seemed to be a barbecue going on. Stiles was pretty sure he saw Mr. Harris and his old English teacher Ms. Blake out there.

“I count twenty people in all.” Juice whispered as they took cover, one of them behind the door and one behind the wall beside it. “Think they’re all cannibals?”

“Have you seen what’s on their plates?” There was meat and absolutely no evidence of it being anything other than human. The grill was visible from Stiles position, and he could clearly see a human leg in the process of being cooked. “I don’t think this is our way out.”

“Well, I don’t think they’re going to give us much of a choice.” Juice grabbed him by the arm and forced him to take a few steps back with him when all eyes turned on them in a very creepy manner. “We can run, but there are more of them then there are of us and they know their way around.”

“I’m not going to lose any sleep at night for taking out a few cannibals. Think about how many innocent people they’ve killed.” Fuck, there were children’s toys in the room they were in but no children around. These people were barely human. “We need an exit. Let’s make one. Maybe use the flashbang first.”

“Okay.” Juice nodded along as the crowd began to murmur before the lot of them started stalking toward them. “One flashbang that way. We have to hope the other way isn’t blocked off by more people.”

“We do have two grenades that can physically make us an exit.” He pulled the pin on the flashbang and tossed it out the door before grabbing Juice’s hand and making a break in the other direction, a chorus of coughs and angry screams following them.

They made it out of the room in time for Juice to drop his grenade in the middle of the hall, hoping to prevent anyone from getting to them. They made it to the main room, where Stiles had been tortured the previous afternoon, before the loud boom and shock of the grenade reverberated through the building, knocking them on their asses. Stiles could barely hear or see a damn thing after his head was knocked back against the concrete floor, reopening his head wound. He tried shaking it off as Juice pulled him off the ground and they started for the only other exit in sight.

“Throw yours once we hit the door. We don’t want anyone following us out.”

Stiles did as he was told as soon as they were safely out the door, pulling the grenade from his jacket pocket and tossing it back into the building to further complicate the cannibals day, or possibly kill a whole bunch of them, whichever worked, really. They didn’t make it very far before Juice led them behind a tipped over pick-up sitting on what used to be a patch of grass. He shoved Stiles to the ground and covered his body to shield him from the debris of the explosion. One grenade was enough to bring down a section of the building, but two brought the entire thing down.

“My knight in shining armor.” Stiles coughed out, his body constricting in pain at the weight of Juice on top of him. “You okay?”

“I think so.” Juice seemed to realize the position he was in was hindering Stiles ability to breathe. He jumped to his feet and held out a hand to him. “Are you okay?”

“No worse than I was earlier.” He took Juice’s hand and used it to leverage himself up and into a standing position. “Grenades, man, very efficient.”

“Yeah.” He looked over his shoulder at the ruins of the building. “We don’t know if that was all of them, and that blast is going to draw every walker for miles. We need to figure out where we are so we can leave.”

“Beacon Hills.” Stiles deduced, reading off a sign he saw across the street. “Beacon Hills First National Bank.”

“That’s not a good thing. Beacon Hills is a dead zone hotspot.” Thank you, Mr. Ortiz, for stating the obvious. “We need to find a car and get the hell out of here.”

“I know where we can find one.” He had to leave Roscoe behind when they evacuated, but that didn’t mean he just left her in the garage at his dad’s house. No, he took special care to make sure his jeep was safe. “It’s a long walk.”

The adrenaline rush wore off about the same time they hit the tree line of the preserve. The bone deep exhaustion, the cuts, bruises, and injuries they incurred at the cannibals warehouse or prior to that were making themselves known. It was taking its toll, making them feel run down and weary.

Juice could see that the blood loss Stiles had suffered from his head wound and whatever the ‘resident sadist’ had done to him, was quickly catching up to him. His movements were almost lethargic. He was breathing harder, and it wasn’t from their trek through the woods. He kept bringing his shaking hands up to his head, as if he wanted to rub away the pain but knew it would only have the opposite effect.

“Hey, you, uh,” The only thing he could do to help Stiles was to try to take his mind off it. “You gonna tell me what you meant earlier?”

“About?”

“Having experience in killing feeling good?” It wasn’t the best topic choice, but it was the only one he could think of.

“You want the long version or the highlight reel?”

“We’ve got time. Give me the full story.”

“When the evacuation centers failed, we headed north. We settled down for a while in Washington, near Port Angeles. There was a house on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. It seemed like a good idea at the time. We fished in the sea and hunted in the woods. We only went into town if we needed to.” He assumed ‘we’ meant Stiles and the group he had been with. “We had a few run-ins with scavengers while in town. They would demand our supplies and we would give them up just to stay alive. I guess they figured if we would give them up so readily that we must have a stockpile back at our camp. They followed us up there.”

“What happened?” He knew the short answer. Stiles had been with a group and now he was alone. The scavengers had obviously attacked.

“They waited in the woods, trying to determine our setup. They shot flaming arrows into the windows of the house one morning. That’s how we woke up. It was all very medieval.” It was one hell of a wakeup call that was for sure. “They had guns too. They yelled that they would shoot the place up unless they got what they wanted. It was decided that my dad, being the sheriff, would go out and try to negotiate. I didn’t like that plan.”

Of course he did not like it. It would put his father in danger. Anyone who knew Stiles knew how much his dad meant to him.

“I grabbed my rifle and went to the second floor landing. I got my gun set up at one of the windows and I looked through the scope. I lined up my shot just in time to see the scavenger’s leader shoot my dad in the head.” Stiles face remained hard and his voice steady. “I pulled the trigger on my rifle without blinking. The leader was dead before my dad’s body hit the ground. His buddies weren’t expecting that, which allowed me to take out two of them before they realized where the gunfire was coming from. They started shooting back, but it didn’t distract me. I did not move from that spot until they were all dead.”

“What was your group doing?”

“The house was on fire from the arrows, so they were grabbing what they could. They retreated to the vehicles once I killed the last one.” In other words, nothing. They had done nothing to help Stiles. “I waited, kept my eyes trained on the forest, in case there were more scavengers hiding. I waited until the group was all loaded into their cars and they were calling for me to hurry up. The fire was pretty bad by the time I made it downstairs, the building integrity was compromised. It all came crumbling down before I reached the front door.”

“Were you hurt?” How could he have not been hurt?

“I was pinned down by a support beam from the ceiling.” He made a gesture from his left shoulder, across his chest, and to his right shoulder. “My hands got some nasty burns too, when I had to use them to lift it off.”

“No one helped you?”

“No one was there to help me.”

“Your group left you behind?” Was that why he had said they were just gone?

“My friends.” Stiles corrected. “They didn’t leave me behind. They thought I was dead.”

That was a copout if he ever heard one, but he wouldn’t call Stiles out on it.

“How long ago was this?” It was obvious it had been more than a little while, it showed in how hoarse Stiles voice was from lack of use. He had been on his own for some time, with no one to talk to but himself.

“Well, I holed up in an old lighthouse a few towns over to heal up. I had to stay there through winter. It was a really bad winter.” Stiles looked down at his fingers as if they held the answer to how long he had been traveling by himself. “It was safer to keep moving, so when spring came I started out on the old forest trails. I stayed close the coast, but the scavengers have taken those towns too, so I had to go east for a while.”

“How long, Stiles?”

“Um, counting the lighthouse,” Anything after the house on the cliffs counted, yeah. “A year, maybe longer.”

“Jesus.”

“Walker.” Stiles blurted out, confusing Juice for a moment before he nearly ran smack dab into one.

“Shit.” He pushed it away with what energy he had left before shoving a knife into its rotten skull. They could not use their guns in the forest, they reverberated. They had to stick to blades and hope they were quiet enough to be ignored.

“Get enough of that walker blood on you and you can walk through a hoard undetected.” The younger man claimed. “I learned that in Beaverton.”

“Handy skill.” He decided he did not want to know how Stiles learned that.

“How did you end up on your own?” Stiles questioned, tripping over a tree branch. “You said you were with the prospects, but they weren’t brought in with you.”

“They took off in my 4x4 the moment things got a little dangerous.” If they made it back to Charming, he would knock their teeth in for that. “They’re okay with walkers. It’s anything else that freaks them out. I got tackled by some little bastard and the only thing I saw was my trucks tires kicking up dust.”

“Prospects are pussies. Toughen them up or cut them loose.” If he were anyone else, he would ask what ‘cut them loose’ meant, but in this case, he assumed it meant stripping their patches. “Letting you get scooped up by scavengers makes them short on brains and loyalty. They should have backed you up.”

“Why didn’t your friends back you up?” They were in the house, packing their things, instead of defending their camp. “Why didn’t they fight back against the scavengers?”

“Oh, they have a strict no-kill policy.” Stiles snorted derisively. “They’ll kill walkers, but that’s it. A living being gets to live no matter what crimes they may have committed. They get to walk free because the True Alpha commands it.”

“True Alpha?” He knew about werewolves, knew Stiles had ended up in the middle of a pack during his sophomore year of high school, but he had never heard of a True Alpha.

“Scott. It happened after the dead started walking among us.” He waved the title off completely. “He believes all lives are precious. What those scavengers did to my dad would not change Scott’s mind. He would have made us let them go, and I was not about to let that happen. As soon as they touched my dad, I knew they wouldn’t be walking away.”

“You said killing felt good.” He brought the conversation back to the original point. “There’s a difference between feeling enraged and feeling good.”

“I didn’t feel anything when I did it. I was calm in a way I had never been before.” That was a side effect of the rage. “I stayed at the cliff house long enough to bury my dad. The fire was still burning, so I dragged the scavengers bodies into the flames. I was watching them burn and I felt bad.”

“Then why tell me you felt good?” He was contradicting himself.

“I didn’t feel bad about killing them. I felt bad about making it so quick.” He chuckled darkly to himself. “One shot was too simple, too easy. They should have suffered more.”

“It doesn’t mean you felt good about it.” It just meant that the need for vengeance did not fix the damage that had been done. “Revenge didn’t make you feel better about losing your dad. It didn’t make that pain go away. Torturing them wouldn’t have helped either.”

“Not in the long run, no, but for a few minutes I would have felt really good listening to them scream.” That might be true, but at some point, he would realize the blood on his hands could not be washed away with soap and water.

“If I didn’t know you, I might find you a little terrifying.” He did know Stiles, though. He knew the guilt would eat at him, even if the people he killed deserved it.

“Just a little?”

“A little being slightly more terrified than I was when I found a half-naked picture of myself in your porn stash.” The comment succeeded in lightening the mood and making Stiles nearly face plant.

“Y-You found, uh, a what? In where? I-In my, uh…” He was fucking adorable when he was flustered. “When would you even-“

“We’ve come up to Beacon Hills a few times to look for you. We’ve gone through your house, searched it top to bottom to see if maybe you left a message somewhere.” He couldn’t just leave a note on a coffee table, looters would find it. “Tig found the vanilla stuff under your mattress. The kinky stuff, including my picture, I found in the heating vent.”

“Kinky stuff…”

“No judgment. We’ve all got our special interests.” Some of he and Stiles’ even overlapped. “I am curious as to where you got that picture of me.”

“I, uh, I-I don’t have a good answer.”

“Why did you have it?”

“As if you don’t know.” Stiles scoffed as his cheeks flushed crimson. “I’ve had a crush on your forever. Everybody knows this.”

“Huh.”

“’Huh,’ he says.” Stiles mumbled as he glanced at something in the distance. “We’re here.”

“What the hell is that?” Aside from a debilitated house that looked like it had burned down years ago.

“The old Hale House. Roscoe’s in the tunnels just down that way.” The younger man pointed to a downward slope in the dirt not far from them. “The battery and spark plugs are in the house. I kept them separate on the off chance that someone would stumble upon Roscoe. I figured they would leave her alone if she didn’t run.”

“And Roscoe is…?”

“My jeep.”

“You have a jeep?”

“While you guys were locked up I got my license and my dad gave me his old jeep.” That must have happened before world went to shit.

“And you call her Roscoe?”

“You call yourself Juice.” Stiles said slowly as if he were an idiot.

“Why Roscoe? It’s not a name you hear every day, not in this century anyway.” Not that it wasn’t a nice name, just an odd choice.

“I know, that’s why I like it.” He quirked up his lips in a smile. “I’m not really up for driving. Can you handle a stick?”

“Is that an honest question or another euphemism?” He teased lightheartedly.

“Both.” Stiles sent him a flirtatious wink. “Answer the question.”

“Don’t worry.” He knocked his shoulders against the younger man’s. “I know my way around a stick very well.”

“Euphemism?” He asked hopefully.

“Yes and no.” He would let Stiles decide how he wanted to take that one. “Let’s get back on task, getting Roscoe running and getting the hell out of here.”

“Where are we going?” He was a little put off by the question, he figured Stiles already knew the answer.

“Charming.”

“I went to Charming when all this started.” His voice wavered as he spoke. “It was overrun.”

“We took it back.” It was a lot of work, but somehow they managed it. “The clubhouse and TM. We’ve been working on a few other places.”

“Wow.” Stiles muttered under his breath. “Did you guys really come up here to look for me? More than once?”

“Every time we got close to Beacon Hills, we would stop in and see if you came back.” If was almost funny how the one time he didn’t enter Beacon Hills on his own volition was the one time he actually found Stiles. “None of us believed you were dead.”

“Thank you.” Stiles leaned in to brush a kiss across his cheek. “For looking for me, for not…giving up.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He didn’t have to thank him at all, it was what friends and family did. “We still have to make it through the dead zone. The two hour drive is close to five now, and at night it’s closer to eight or nine.”

“Long night ahead of us.”

“Normally I wouldn’t take the chance of going at night.” It was increasingly dangerous with unforeseen obstacles, scavengers, and walkers. “Under the circumstances, I think we need to get there as quickly as possible, and that means taking some risks.”

“What circumstances?”

“You’re still bleeding, Stiles, on your chest and your head.” The head wound was the one he was really worried about. “I’m pretty sure the only reason you’re still standing is by sheer force of will. You need medical attention. You could have an infection, head trauma-“

“I get it.” He held up a hand to stop Juice’s onslaught of words. “Blood loss and head trauma are the reason I am letting you drive. I’m dizzy, I’ve got a migraine that won’t quit, and I feel like I’m going to puke up all my internal organs.”

“So, let’s get a move on.” It was enough they would have to take some serious detours to ensure they weren’t followed.

“That would be best, yeah.”

They did not wear kuttes on runs. They were too identifiable. If someone were scouting the group they had out, the kuttes would easily give away their location. It also served as a reminder for those they had lost, the ones who didn’t make it back from runs.

Juice’s kutte was draped over the reaper on the chapel table. It was all they had left of him. The Sons had all gathered around it, mourning the dead, or trying to. It still didn’t feel real, there had not been enough time for it to really sink in, and they couldn’t let it until they got things sorted out.

“We need to inventory everything Miles and V-Lin brought back.” In one respect, the mission was a success, they had what they needed, but they had lost a man to do it, which made it a failure. “And we need to figure out how to proceed from here on out in regards to them.”

“The prospects do not go out on runs anymore, unless two or more of us are with them.” Opie implemented a new rule.

“I second that.” Tig raised a hand. “Something ain’t right about what happened to Juice. They’re keeping something from us.”

“I know.” Jax scrubbed a hand down his face. “They’re holding something back.”

“They shouldn’t be wearing those kuttes if we can’t trust them.” Piney grumbled, taking a long pull from the bottle of whiskey that seemed to permanently reside in his hand.

“Let’s give it a few days before we decide anything.” They couldn’t afford to make any rash decisions. “Maybe their tongues will loosen up and we’ll get the truth.”

“I can get them talking.” Happy glared menacingly at the doors, knowing the prospects were out there having beers while Juice was lying dead somewhere.

“I know you can.” If Miles and V-Lin didn’t open their mouths soon, then he would set Hap loose on them. “We give it a few days and see what happens. Do we need to vote on this?”

“No.”

He put his foot down hard on the accelerator as they passed the Welcome to Charming sign. It was more about Stiles than it was his eagerness to get home. The younger man had folded in on himself, head resting on the passenger side window. His body was racked with tremors and he was sweating profusely, a sure sign of a fever and possible sign of infection. His breath was coming out in short puffs and every few seconds he let out a small whine of pain.

“Hey,” He took his hand off the gearshift to pat Stiles thigh. “We’re in Charming. We’ll be at the clubhouse in no time.”

“My grandfather’s buried here.” He mentioned sadly, sounding far less coherent than he had been earlier in the trip. “He’s not far from Thomas.”

“What?”

“My grandfather is buried here.” Stiles said again, not making any more sense than he had the first time. “I didn’t get to take my dad home. I had to bury him at the cliff house. I should have found a way to take him home, so he could be with my mom.”

“If you had tried to take him back to Beacon Hills, you would have been killed.” If it wasn’t the scavengers, it would have been the walkers, or a number of other things. “I didn’t really know your dad, but I don’t think he would have wanted you to risk your life to bury him. He would have wanted you to survive.”

Stiles did not have a response for that, which made him a little wary. He pulled his gaze from the road for moment to really look at the younger man. Stiles eyes were unfocused, lids fluttering in an effort to remain open. His was a sickly shade of pale that made him appear almost ghostlike.

“You gotta stay awake.” Awake was better, passing out was bad, especially if he had a concussion. “Just until we get to the clubhouse, then Tara will fix you up.”

“Don’t!” Stiles snapped at him. “Told you not to t-tell me who was alive.”

“Get over it.” He was confident they were still alive, even if Stiles was not. He had not been gone long enough for shit to hit the fan. “She’s going to need some information from you. What happened to your head? They hit you with something?”

“Two-by-four, I think.” With enough force behind the swing that could do some serious damage. “That’s what it felt like.”

“When did it happen?”

“Uh, last night? No. I was with you last night. Everything’s all muddled together. I don’t….” He made a frustrated noise in the back of this throat. “I-It was the night before last, it had to be.”

“Do you have any other injuries? Other than ones I already know about?”

“No.” He began to shake his head but regretted the decision when he grunted in pain. “I don’t think so. Are we almost there?”

“Yes.” He took a swift left turn off Main Street and onto Fairfield road.

The clubhouse was not always the last business on the far end of the street. They had put up a wall barrier to cut off access from the other side, allowing them to control who came and went. You could only enter with a vehicle through the main gate, but for safety purposes, there was an exit you could take out the back if you were going on foot.

“Okay. We’re here.” Juice stopped just short of the main gate, letting his eyes scan the guard post and finding no one there. “Shift change.”

“We have to wait for someone to come out and open it?”

“No, I can open it. It’s a combo lock accessible from both sides.” It made it easier to get in and out with little fuss. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take this,” Stiles removed his knife from the glove box and handed it over. “There are at least ten walkers between you and the gate. Take ‘em out quiet.”

“This isn’t my first time.” There were five walkers, actually, but if Stiles was seeing ten then he really needed to get to Tara sooner rather than later.

He smacked one walker with the car door as he opened it then quickly shoved a blade in its forehead while kicking the door shut. He pulled his knife free and repeated the process, minus the door action, with the remaining walkers, before jogging toward the gate. He jimmied the lock, trying to make as little noise as possible, until he could see the dial to input the numbers. He was just about to put in the combination when a shot rang out a little too close for comfort.

“Get away from the gate!” A familiar voice boomed from above.

Juice held a hand up toward the jeep, signaling for Stiles to stay put, then gazed up at the guard post to see that Miles standing there with a rifle pointed down at him. He stepped out of the shadows, assuming the prospect could not see him properly, and held his hands up in surrender for effect.

“Miles, it’s me.” Even in the darkness, he could see the prospects eyes go wide in shock. “It’s Juice. Stand down.”

“What are you doing here?” Seriously?

“I live here.” SAMCRO and TM had been his home a hell of a lot longer than they had been Miles’. “Open the gate.”

“I don’t know if I should.” What in the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“Open the gate or I will.” He was not in the mood for this shit.

“I’ll shoot you if you go near the lock again.” Miles threatened, gripping his gun a little tighter.

“Why the hell would you do that?” When did he become the bad guy here?

“How do I know you’re not here to hurt us?” He had no reason to hurt anyone inside. The only reason he was outside the gates to begin with was to protect them, to obtain the ammunition supply that would ensure their survival for the foreseeable future. “V-Lin and me, we left you, right? You’re here for payback.”

“Not my style, idiot.” He wasn’t there for retribution. ”Open th-“

“Juice!” He and Miles jerked their heads in the direction of the jeep, where Stiles had moved to the driver’s side and was sticking his head out the window. “Get out of the way. Move to the right.”

“Why?” He probably didn't want to know the answer to that.

“Get out of the car!” Miles yelled but Stiles did not pay him any mind.

“Get out of the way, Juice.” Well, he didn’t have to be told a third time.

The gate in front of Teller-Morrow used to be a flimsy chain-link. It had obviously been upgraded and reinforced. There was some kind of platform, a walkway, at the top that allowed the person on guard to move back and forth, to keep them busy instead of simply standing around. It was a good idea, though Stiles had every intention of making them regret it.

He wasn’t planning to slam through the gate, as a way to open it. They needed it to keep the compound safe. No, he was only going to give it a little love tap.

He waited until Juice was safely out of the way before carefully placing his foot on the gas. He did not let the gunshot fired at him or Juice’s outraged shout deter him from gently knocking the gate with his bumper. The force was enough for it to become unstable, to shake, making Miles lose his balance and tumble off and onto the road just a few feet from the jeep.

Juice stood a little shell-shocked off the side as Stiles all but fell out of the car, body weak from his injuries. He made sure to grab his gun off the seat as he did so, not wanting to be left unprotected with walkers around. Miles cries of pain would only draw more of them.

“Juice, open the gate.” He ordered as he gave Roscoe a once-over and found a bullet lodged in the driver side door.

“Probably woke up the entire club with that racket.” Juice commented but worked the lock anyway.

The prospect was lying in a crumpled mess. He probably had a broken leg and a fractured arm given the height he fell from and the way he landed. He was still trying to reach for his gun though, which had ended up not far from him on the ground.

“I can let go of you shooting at me, but not you shooting at my jeep.” He could have kicked the rifle out of his reach, but honestly, he didn’t have the energy or the coordination. And he was pissed, so that didn’t help the situation. Putting a bullet in Miles good hand was much more effective anyhow. “Now we’re even.”

“Stiles!” Juice chastised and leveled him with a what the fuck expression.

“Don’t ‘Stiles’ me. He’s lucky that bullet didn’t end up in his head, considering how blurry my vision is right now.” He scowled and waved a hand toward the gate. “Just get it open.”

“Tada.” Juice quipped and pulled the gate open, revealing several Sons, all with guns drawn and at the ready, running for the gate, only to stop suddenly at the scene.

“Juice?” The name was echoed by more than one man wearing a kutte.

“Stiles…” Jax breathed out in disbelief.

“You should get your guy before he becomes walker chow.” Stiles gestured to Miles. “Strip his patch. He’s doesn’t deserve to wear it.”

Part of him wanted to make a break for his jeep at the sight of the club members. He was anxious, unsure of himself, unsure if he could trust his mind. Juice must have sensed his trepidation, his urge to run, because he was at his side in a second. He wrapped his fingers around Stiles wrist to lead him to the group.

“Stiles-“

“Someone is fixing my jeep.” He cut Jax off to inform them. “The bullet is not an acceptable decal with that paint job.”

“Stiles!” Jax was a little harsher than necessary as he grabbed Stiles by the shoulders to capture his attention.

He flinched involuntarily at his brother’s touch, feeling a wave of panic wash over him. His eyes were drawn to where his brother’s fingers connected with the skin of his arm and whatever thoughts he had about this all being a fever-induced hallucination were wiped away. He could feel his brother’s touch, and that proved he was real, that it was not all just in his head. He spent so long believing his family was dead that it was almost too much to have them standing right there in front of him.

“Stiles?” Opie’s voice was softer as he addressed him. “You okay, little brother?”

“I’m tired.” It wasn’t the response they were looking for, but it was the only one he had.

“We’re gonna have Tara take a look at you, clean you up a bit, and then you can sleep, okay?” Jax loosened his grip, choosing to wrap an arm around him instead. “Abel and Thomas are going to be really excited to see you. They’ve been waiting a long time.”

“No! N-not like this, Jax, please.” He had blood and dirt caking almost every part of his body. He would look like a goddamn monster to those boys. “They can’t see me like this.”

“They’re asleep right now.” Good, that was good. “You can see them when you’re feeling better.”

“Let’s get you boys inside.” Chibs suggested. “Someone grab Miles, bring that jeep in, and lock the gate.”

Stiles nerves did not settle by the time they entered the clubhouse, in fact it was only his brother’s hold on him that got him to walk in to begin with. It had changed a bit. There were people scattered about in sleeping bags, at the tables, on cots, some awake and having conversations with one another, and others already down for the night.

“So many.” His throat tightened as he took it all in.

“Stiles?” Jax brought him in closer, forced him to meet his eye rather than the crowd surrounding them. “What is it?”

“So many of them.” He bit his lip nervously and ducked his head, partially hoping the floor would open up and swallow him down.

“He hasn’t been around people in a long time.” Juice kept his voice low, so the entire room did not hear.

“Chapel’s clear. Get these boys patched up in there. They’ll at least have some privacy.” Piney made his way over to them, placing a warm hand on the back of Stiles neck. “All right, son?”

“Yes.” He lied easily but the old man lifted an unimpressed brow at him. “No.”

“You will be.”

Stiles had been steady and strong throughout their captivity and trip to Charming. It was all a front, Juice saw that now. The moment he was in his brothers presence he let it all go. He allowed them to take the weight off his shoulders. He let his emotions, his fear and sadness, come to the surface for the first time in who knows how long, because he knew Jax and Opie would protect him, would care for him.

Tara was caring for him now, Juice was able to watch from his chair in the corner of the room. She had Stiles laid out on the chapel table, it wasn’t the most comfortable surface, but it was flat and wouldn’t jostle the way a bed would. She had cut away his shirt, was examining the damage on his chest with a pensive expression on her face. She had inspected his head wound already, had sighed tiredly, hooked him up to a few IV’s, medicines they had pilfered from St. Thomas after it was abandon, and then continued on with her examination, refusing to tell them anything until she was finished.

“Juicy,” Chibs fingers worked nimbly against his skin, checking for any scrapes or scratches that required more than just peroxide and a bandage. “Did you take a blow to the head too?”

“No. I’m fine.” He was the lucky one. “You should be helping Tara with him.”

It was the third time he had tried to divert Chibs attention to the younger man since Stiles lost consciousness. Tara had barely gotten through the usual ‘can you tell me your name, age, and current president’ questions that were generally asked when someone had a concussion, before the kid had passed out. If Opie hadn’t been standing right next to him he would have hurt himself further by smacking his head on the table.

“She’s got it handled. If she needs help she’ll ask for it.” That was true enough. Tara would not put Stiles at risk by trying to do it alone. “What happened with you and the prospects during the run?”

“I was checking that we hadn’t missed anything. Scavenger jumped me.” He should have been more careful, had someone watching his back. “The prospects got spooked and took off in the truck.”

“They didn’t try to help.” The Scot shot an ugly look to the chapel doors. They had left Miles in the main room by the bar, letting him know he would be last in line to receive first aid. “One scavenger took you down? Getting sloppy there, boy.”

“It was a really big guy.” Honestly, the guy was smaller than him, but took him by surprise. He really did not have to tackle him either. He would have been better off shooting him with the dart from afar. “Who had some equally big friends at the warehouse Stiles and I were held at.”

“How’d you guys get out of there?” Jax asked as he held out a beer to him while he and Opie both pulled chairs away from the table to offer Tara more room to work.

“Flashbangs and grenades.” It was a lot easier to get out of there then one would expect. “Stiles had the jeep stashed in the woods. We picked that up and headed here. Had to go a couple hours out of our way to make sure we weren’t followed.”

“Did they bring Stiles in after you-“

“Before.” He had woken up with Stiles in his face. “They had him a day longer or maybe a couple hours.”

“Do you know where he was before that?” Opie questioned, eyes finding Stiles prone form on the table.

“Wandering.” That is what he gathered from what Stiles had told him.

“Did he tell you where his dad was?” Piney asked as if he already knew the answer. There was only one real reason Stiles would be separated from his father.

“They were with his friends up in Washington. Scavengers attacked their camp. His dad was killed.” He wouldn’t reveal more than that. It was Stiles story to tell. “It happened over a year ago, but I don’t think he’s really had much time to deal with it. He talked a little about it in the car, he was sort of drifting, and he said some things. Maybe you should talk to him about it.”

“We will.” Jax assured him. “Thanks for bringing him home.”

“Is he going to be okay?” He looked to Tara for an answer, hoping he did not bring Stiles all the way here to watch him die.

“The lacerations on his chest are deep, some of them are infected. Antibiotic should clear it up.” Should, as in there was a chance it would not. “I’m more worried about the head wound. You said it was a two-by-four?”

“He thinks it was. He was hit from behind. Then he hit his head again at the warehouse.” When they were caught in the blowback from the explosion. “He was dizzy and nauseous. It was kinda hard for him to breathe. The confusion and vision problems didn’t start until we had been on the road a while.”

“It can take time for symptoms of a concussion to present. In situations like this, I would normally do an x-ray, or an MRI, maybe a CT-scan, to rule out bleeding or swelling of his brain.” She didn’t have access to that kind of equipment anymore. “We need to keep a close eye on him. Wake him up every few hours to check his blood pressure, to determine if he’s aware of his surroundings and things like that.”

“What about these burns here?” Piney pointed to the silver band spanning across the top half of Stiles chest and arms. “What do you do about those?”

“Those are healed.” She reached a hand out, as if she would run her fingers over them but stopped herself.

“Kid’s been through hell.” Piney combed his fingers through Stiles hair in a paternal gesture. “He fought to get here. He shouldn’t have had to fight to get passed the damn gate. What the hell happened out there?”

“Miles thought I came back looking for retaliation. He wasn’t going to let us through the gate.” He could bet that Miles reacted more out of fear and paranoia than he did ill intent. “Stiles rammed it, knocked Miles down. He shot him because was reaching for his rifle and he put a hole in the jeep.”

“Of course he did.”

“That’s enough for tonight.” Chibs declared suddenly. “You should shower and get to bed, Juicy. You’ve had a long couple of days.”

“Yeah, okay.” He was a little suspicious about why Chibs wanted him out of the room, but he figured it had to with Miles and he was better off not knowing. “For the record, if I wanted payback for being ditched, I’d take it up with Miles and V in the ring, not with Mayhem.”

“We’ll keep that in mind.”

“Wake me if anything changes with Stiles.” If something happened while he was sleeping, he wanted to know.

“Aww. You sweet on him, Juicy?” The Scot flashed him a playful grin.

“Shut up.” That was pretty much an admission and he wanted to smack himself for it.

“Something Ope and I should know?” He figured that was Jax’s polite way of asking if they needed to give him the protective big brother speech.

“I just want to know if he’ll be okay.” What could have possibly happened between them in only two days? Aside from some harmless flirting.

“He’s going to be fine.” If the antibiotic worked and his head trauma wasn’t worse than Tara thought it was, then he would fine, sure. “Shower and sleep, brother. We’ll come get you if anything changes with the boy.”

“Where am I sleeping?” When they came in, he had noticed the cot he normally slept on was taken by someone else.

“The couch in the apartment. We’re moving Stiles to the bed in there after he wakes up.” They had managed to shove a few beds and couches into the clubhouse and garage, after they moved out a bunch of other crap. Juice had never been offered the comfort of one before, usually ending up on the floor or pool table. “Rough few days, you could use the cushioning.”

“Thanks.”

They took cover in an abandon motel, some shoddy thing that probably wasn’t in the best shape before the dead rose. They piled into adjoining rooms, having learned the hard way that being separated was not the best idea.

“Anything?” Melissa asked as she handed out the last of their food rations.

“Three walkers in the room two doors down.” Derek handed off his portion to one of the humans who needed it more. “Eight in the level above us.”

“The doors are blocked and this is a second story room, so the window won’t be a problem. We’ll be safe here for the night.” Scott insisted, though they all knew safe was relative term these days. “Start fresh in the morning.”

“We’re going to need fuel, water, and food.” Chris listed off the main items they were always in need of. “Or we’re not going anywhere.”

“Where are we going?” Lydia grimaced as she took in the state of the room. “This isn’t the nicest place, but it wouldn’t be hard to secure. We can make a camp here for a while, not just the night.”

“No.” The true alpha shot her down. “You know we can’t. Staying in one place is too dangerous.”

“Yes, because being continuously on the move isn’t dangerous at all. With the scavengers and other packs, never mind the walking dead.” Peter drawled. “Gas isn’t easy to come by, yet we keep wasting what we have going from place to place with no end in sight. We can’t go on like this forever you know.”

“You can leave if you don’t like the way we do things, Peter.” Allison hinted not so subtly about wanting him gone.

“That is a fabulous idea.” It was an old argument and Peter never made it to the door without someone stopping him before, he doubted it would be any different this time.

“No one is going anywhere.” Scott spoke up a again, with a little less patience. “We stick together, just like we always have.”

“Then you need to start being realistic about what we are doing.” Cora rarely put in her two cents, tended to go along with whatever Derek chose to do, but sometimes the stupidity of the group just drove her mad. “We can’t keep driving. We need a permanent place to go. If you don’t want to do that, you don’t have to. The rest of us aren’t going to get ourselves killed because you’re running away from something you can’t actually run from.”

She hit the nail on the head and they all knew it. They had been on the run since Port Angeles, never stopping in one place for more than a few nights. They tried to put as much distance between them and that town as they possibly could, trying to get away from what happened there.

“Maybe we should go home.” Lydia proposed hesitantly. “Not to Beacon Hills, but to California. It’s familiar territory.”

“Most of Northern California was evacuated to coastal towns.” Deaton explained casting a cautious glance toward the alpha. “We can scour the refugee centers for supplies, or maybe a few of them are still standing.”

“We can find people we know. Other’s from Beacon Hills that survived, that stuck around.”

“I don’t know.” Scott ran a hand through his hair. “What do we do when we get there?”

“If we’re going to the coast we can always find a boat, anchor off shore, only come to port if we need supplies.” He was pretty sure that was the end game for most zombie flicks and it never turned out well.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

Stiles spent his first few days in Charming asleep more often than not. It wasn’t the restful kind of sleep though. When he wasn’t being woken up every few hours to answer questions, he was waking himself up, either from a nightmare or from the pain.

He was never really alone, he noticed that much once his fever broke and he was able to stay awake for more than five minutes at a time. Juice spent his nights on the couch on the opposite side of the room. Bobby or Piney would spend an hour or so reading a book at the desk. Gemma would come in to shove food down his throat. Jax and Opie cuddled with him in bed. Tara and Chibs would check over his injuries every so often. The company was nice, but made him feel a little claustrophobic, which was probably the point.

They let him hide away in the apartment for a whole week after Tara had given him the OK to get up and around again. He knew he should listen to them. He needed to move around again, get his muscles working. He was no use to anybody lying around in his own filth for days on end. He knew that but he didn’t care. A part of him just wanted to stay locked away and never get out of bed again.

His brothers must have sensed his plan to linger indefinitely, because they sent in the big guns. The big guns being Tig’s daughter Dawn swinging the door open, a wet sponge in her hands, and announcing that she was there to give him his afternoon bath. He scrambled out of bed so fast you wouldn’t think he had been hurt at all.

“That was a dirty play!” He yelled down the hallway, earning a round of chuckles from those who were gathered in the clubhouse.

He was out of bed, but he wasn’t up for seeing everyone. Instead, he steeled himself before climbing up the ladder that lead to the rooftop. His body twinged and ached with every move but he made it, it only took him three minutes longer than it normally would have.

He made his way to the edge, looking out at what was left of Charming. The town was surprisingly well preserved, even with the dead walking about. The hospital seemed to have taken the brunt of the destruction, the tops levels were gone, blasted by something. The rest of the town was still standing, more or less.

“Coming up here probably wasn’t the best idea.” Jax noted as he and Opie joined him. “It’s going to be a bitch for you to get back down.”

“I needed the fresh air.” He doubted they would have let him walk out the front door.

“Feeling better?”

“Mentally or physically?” They were two entirely different kinds of trauma. “Both are kind of shaky right now.”

“You’re out of bed, that’s progress.” There was no lack of sarcasm in Opie’s voice.

“Only to avoid an unwanted scrub down.” He shivered at the thought of it. “I can bathe myself, thanks.”

“You should, too. You stink.” Jax made a show of waving a hand under his nose. “We’ve got hot water and soap, when you’re ready.”

“And electricity.” Things that were very hard to come by these days. “Running a generator?”

“Yep.”

“You ever think putting some solar panels up?” The roofs on the surrounding buildings were perfect placement for optimal sunlight. “It’s more efficient in the long run. It’ll let you save the generator for emergencies.”

“Solar panels…” The blond mulled it over. “Hadn’t really thought about it.”

“What’s the long term strategy for maintaining this place?” They both looked a little puzzled by the question, which was answer enough. “There’s more to living than just surviving, you know.”

“The world ended, Stiles. There’s nothing left but survival.”

“You’re wrong. The world didn’t end.” It was a zombie-filled dystopian nightmare, sure, but it wasn’t over. “It may have gotten knocked down a few pegs, but we haven’t gone back to being cavemen. We still have knowledge and technology that the generations before us never had.”

“What’s your point?”

“If it really ended none of us would be alive. The world only ends when we stop fighting to right it.” If it had been the end there would be no living soul left among them. “You’ve gotten a great start here.”

“’A great start.’” He wasn’t surprised that Jax was offended by his words. “And what else do you think we should do?”

“Cordon off sections of the town at a time, clear them until they’re walker free. Build a wall around the town to ensure it stays that way. Maybe put two other walls up outside that one, in case someone attacks or a hoard finds it way here.” The secondary walls would go down first, giving them time to eliminate the threat before it came near the town. “Get some solar panels up. Start a farm and a vegetable garden. We can get the radio tower running for communications. Open one of the med clinics, since the hospital is a no-go.”

“I can see us clearing out a section, if only so we’re not all packed into the clubhouse and garage.” He could imagine how quickly that would get old. “Why the hell do we need to clear out the entire town? That’s overkill.”

“When Juice and I found our stuff in that warehouse, there were things left behind by the scavengers previous victims. There were teddy bears, action figures, and dolls. Things that belonged to kids.” He remembered wondering if the scavengers snatched the children from their families, if they were killed with their families, or if they were found traveling on the roads by themselves. “I forgot when I was on my own. I forgot that there are other people out there, good people. Those people need a place to go, somewhere safe.”

“You want us to clear the town and let strangers come in?” Jax asked incredulously. “You? The guy who nearly had a panic attack two weeks ago when he was confronted by a clubhouse full of people.”

“Look, I get the Anarchy on your kutte means going against the government, not living by the rules the rest of us have to - or had to.” They were outlaws for fucksake. “In this world, anarchy is everywhere. We need some form of society or everything falls to chaos. If no one tries to rebuild, then it will only get worse until we die long before we’re old, either by walkers, scavengers, or disease.”

“He’s not wrong.” Opie took his side on the matter.

“You think we are the right people to establish society?” Yeah, it did kind of sound like a bad joke when you thought about.

“The club has been a society in itself since its inception. You’re capable of creating a new one for people to live in.” They wouldn’t be the only ones. There would be other groups trying to do the same thing, he was sure of it. Not everyone still out there could be bad. “I’m not saying we put up signs and tell people we offer sanctuary. Let it work by word of mouth, travelers passing through. If they want to stay that’s fine, if they want a safe place to chill out before they’re on the road again, then that’s fine too.”

“And this is the right place for that?” It was as good a place as any.

“Charming’s a special town.”