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Philip Blake x Reader - Part II

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She stared at it, the muscles in her jaw jumping. Its hungry, grinding teeth gnawed on that fraying fabric endlessly. Her face quivered with shock and nausea. 

She slammed the harsh, cold metal into its temple. The shriek she'd been holding in finally emitted in a wail of pain and fury and exhaustion. 

She hacked at it until she could hardly swing anymore. Her arms trembled and her elbows creaked. 

She knew she'd have to set out soon; she could already hear the walkers moaning.

Her tongue was swathed in velvet, and her sobs caught in the dry stitches of her teeth.

"God help me," she gasped. She felt her whole body tremble when she heaved herself off of her haunches. She looked over at the horizon, gauging her time to find a shelter. She guessed she had about an hour. She felt warmth spring in her eyes again, like water from a well.

She blinked them away and started walking again, with cinderblock feet and a churning stomach.

She came upon a small outcropping, only a few feet up. It would be a climb, and a risky one at that, but she needed to take the chance. 

She tucked her gun into her belt and flung herself at the stony face. A few rotting rocks crumbled in her hand, but she got a grip. She heaved herself up another few feet, to another crack in the dusty slab. She hauled herself over the edge and let out a long breath. She turned and looked around, to find another figure there in the shadow of the overhang. 

It growled and reached, but she saw that its lower half was torn off, stuck under a rock. She saw the bitemarks on its shoulder; the guy must have climbed up trying to escape, and got stuck. Maybe he'd done it on purpose. Maybe he'd trapped himself to save another.

She bashed its skull into bits and kicked the remains over the edge, dismissing the thought of its humanity. She slumped down against the opposite wall, watching the sun sink low, limbs heavy and eyelids heavier. She felt an overwhelming weight on her shoulders grind against her collarbone. Her lungs sucked in another breath, the air weighted by humidity.

She let out a long scream, her bones buzzing. 

She should have never gotten out of the car. She should have told him to turn around. Maybe he'd be alive. Maybe she wouldn't have gotten lost in this goddamned woods. She wouldn't be trapped like a baby bird in the nest, fearing the dangers below. 

She kicked her legs and screamed again, but it tapered off into a hoarse sob.

She closed her eyes and took another breath, leaning back against the powdery sandstone, listening to the crackling of heavy steps. Walkers were skulking below, moaning and gnawing at anything they could find. 

She curled against the wall, and tucked her knees into her chest. 

Thirst suddenly clenched her throat. It reminded her of her sentient state; she still needed food and water.

She curled up and closed her eyes, ignoring her body's cry for nourishment. She felt a hazy sleep settle over her like a blanket, it's blurry warmth comforting her. 

When the sun struck her face, stirring her from darkness, she let out a soft whimper. She did not want to wake up. She squinted at the forest stretching out before her, her eyes level with the low branches of the towering trees. She looked down. 

She supposed the walkers that had accumulated there in the night had dispersed, for there were none now. She clambered down from her perch, watchful of her knife. She tried to remember her path from the day before, searching desperately for the sign of broken branches and trampled underbrush. She only saw the same, generic scene; red dirt, occasional poison ivy, saplings and blood trails. She had to find a body of water fast. She felt the burn of muscles in her arms, and her scorched skin screaming for a bath and a drink. 

She recalled seeing a small stream just before she'd seen that walker. She couldn't recall how far back it had been, but she remembered the trail for the most part. 

She followed what she thought was the right direction, until she came upon the walker she'd mutilated. The fabric rested in a unctuous pool of fluid, sopping with the runny substance.

She shadowed her path from the day before and she eventually found that stream. She took off her boots and her belt, and rolled up her jeans before wading into the shallow, clear water. She took a tentative sip, before slurping as much as she could. She scrubbed herself with her cracked and bitten nails, until her skin felt raw and red. She rinsed her grimy hair in the water, until it flowed clean.

She stood up and squeezed the wetness out of her hair and clothes, trying to dry it as much as possible before she set off on another long journey. She filled the flask in her pocket with water before putting her boots back on. She retied her belt, and wiped off the bloody stock of her gun. She looked down at the sandy sludge as she tied her shoes, and she noticed an imprint, one from a shoe.

She squinted, and there, in the dirt, were familiar bootprints. 

She trailed the stumbling, dragging prints, her hope deflating as she went. These weren't living prints. These were too loose, too reckless. She followed them until she reached a small pool, where they disappeared into the water. 

Her last shred of conviction was decimated. The string of hope she'd had was gone. 

He was dead. There was no thinking otherwise. 

She forced her legs forward, on quivering knees and with shaking hands. She shot a rabbit on her way through a meadow, and she came upon a cabin, surrounded by trees and a tall fence. She couldn't see inside, but she didn't hear a lot of noise, so she assumed it was pretty empty.  

She jiggled the gate open and cautiously proceeded inside. She clicked the lock behind her and cocked her gun. There was a walker in the yard, and she cudgeled it quickly and efficiently. Now was not the time for anger or emotion; this was a time for skillful planning. She might have found a place to stay for the moment, and that was key to surviving out here. 

She crept through the kitchen and downstairs bathroom, both empty. The closets and the basement were abandoned, and all tidied up. She assumed it had been a hunting lodge at some point, because it hadn't been inhabited during the fallout. There were guns and ammunition in glass cases and metal boxes, organized on shelves in a storage closet, and she took note. There were gaslights all around, with their glass bulbs full of fuel. She was suspicious of the pristine household, but her sense of eagerness overwhelmed it. 

She ventured upstairs, and looked into the bedrooms. She checked the all the bedrooms but the master bedroom. All the beds were made. She could smell the inhabitants before she opened the door of the master bedroom. One lay with his brains sprayed against the wall, a gun in his lap, and a note crumpled beside him. The other was tied to a chair, reanimated. Chains and ropes held her fast against the back, while cuffs kept her hands from scratching her bindings away. 

___________ plucked the paper gingerly from beside the man and read it. His shaking scrawl read:

If you're reading this, I'm glad you're alive in this hell on Earth. There is food in the kitchen and there are weapons in the basement. Take what you can, when you can. Only me and Tara are left. I tied her up, because I can't put a bullet in her pretty head, not yet. But, I can't live with a dead woman anymore, and putting a bullet in my own skull is so much easier.

It was brutally brief. ___________ turned to the biter, who gnashed its teeth in vain, and pulled her knife from her belt. She stabbed it in the head, hard. 

She wanted to end it quickly. She was sure that's what he would have wanted. She exited the bedroom door and closed the door quietly. She went back down the stairs and into the basement, where she checked out the artillery, admiring the polished stocks. Though a film of dust layered everything, the guns had obviously been taken care of. She brushed her fingers over a slick ligneous weapon, watching as they left shining trails in the soot, but she refused to pick it up.

She retired upstairs and opened the cabinets. Mostly expired cans of fruit, but she found some chili and began heating it up on the stove which, thankfully, still worked. After a she finished eating, she checked the fridge. There was solidified milk and some yogurt cups, as well as some half-eated corn-on-the-cob. She pulled a can of Coke from its cardboard box and popped it open. The carbonated and sugary taste shocked her tongue, but it reminded her of a much more domestic time. 

She locked the door before plopping down on the couch and falling asleep promptly.

As much as she wanted to stay in the cabin, her knowledge of the couple upstairs, who were still rotting away, devastated her. When she woke the next morning, she grabbed her things, a can of Coke, two water bottles, and another can of chili. She could make a fire and reheat it if she needed. 

She made signs so that she would be able to return to the cabin if she needed to, but her desire to find her car again was pushing her farther away faster. 

She walked slowly through the woods, on lighter feet, careful of the sound this time. She passed through a section of weeds and came to a small cave, hidden behind a mask of ivy. She crouched down and examined it, carefully pulling the ivy apart. She'd stay there for the night. It looked like it hadn't been touched by walkers, and it gave her a vantage point to shoot out from. She set her bag down on the ground and hopped up onto a small bench of stone. She stretched out and watched the entrance, the muzzle of her gun pointed at the outside. Nothing ventured in, and after a while, she went out to gather firewood. She needed to cook the rabbit she'd been carrying around all day.

She came back and lit it with the matches Philip had tossed her. It had been less than two days ago that she'd left her house and left everything behind in order to find a place to live with a complete stranger. The fresh smell of sulphur filled her nose as she struck the red-tipped match to the box, and tossed it into the kindling. Eventually it caught, after a moment of fraught fanning and blowing on the half-dried branches. 

She felt the warmth envelop her, heating her somewhat damp clothes and perfuming her skin with the scent of smoke. 

She cooked her rabbit and ate what she could, but the meat was gamey and unsavory. 

She heard the crunching of sticks, and she pulled her gun out. 

A hand stretched through the ivy and pushed it open like a curtain.

Philip stood there, smothered in gore and leaning heavily on one leg. He was breathing hard, and his forehead was oozing. 

He stumbled in, and dropped his blood-soaked bag. He tripped over his own feet, hitting the ground hard. He pulled himself back up with a grunt, resting on his knees, mere inches from her face. He stared at her for a long time, and ___________ was unsure of what he would do. He pitched forward against her shoulder.

"You're alive," he breathed, his breath warm against her neck. His words warbled with blood and consolation. His hands flashed up to her arms and he squeezed them hard. His fingers pushed deep into her skin, and the dull, subdued throbbing there sharpened into a piercing pain. His eye was razor-edged, and his face was scribbled in anger. "I thought I lost you. And I can't lose another goddamn thing. I can't."

A soft shhh quieted the raging tempest in his eyes. He swallowed and loosened his grip, his fingers trembling against her soft skin. He pulled away, eyes cast elsewhere, suddenly overwhelmed with compunction. She stretched her hands out to his face, and held his head, running her thumbs slowly over his cheekbones. "It's okay." 

He pulled away and closed his eyes. He sat there for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed and his face downcast. "I'm so sorry. For all of it," he mumbled. 

He limped over to the stony cot without looking at her again. She noticed his ankle was swollen, but from what she could tell, it was only twisted.

"We'll head out again tomorrow," he said tiredly. "We'll find that place, I know it."

She nodded and returned to her position by the fire. She watched as it popped and snapped, hypnotizing her and relaxing her uncontrolled thoughts. She felt the heat begin to burn, lingering on her skin too long. It would burn out soon, since the small amount of kindling she'd gathered had burned up for the most part. She glanced over at him, his trembling figure facing the wall. 

She stood up and went over to him, hesitant to touch him. Finally, she allowed the back of her hand to brush against his cold skin, gentle and warm. He turned to her and she felt the muscles in his face curve into a small smile. He wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled her down next to him. "I am so sorry I let this happen."

"Not all your fault," she whispered. "We'll make it back to that place you wanted to, and we'll-"

"No, it's not safe traveling here. We'll go back to the car, and we'll find somewhere we can get to safely. There is another place, a good one, and we can drive there. I am not going to let this happen again." His tone hardened. "I am not going to let anything like this happen ever again."

He looked her over for a moment, eyes scanning every inch of her.

"Are you hurt? Did you get bit? Is there anything-"

"I'm fine. Are you?"

He nodded. "Hurt my ankle runnin', but nothing other than that."

"What about your head?" she asked, reaching up to touch the split there.

"When I fell, I hit my head against a rock, nothing too bad."

"You see any walkers?"

"Killed a few. Not too many. One bit my arm, but got nothing but a little bit of shirt. I hid out about a half-mile from here in a tree. The biters can't climb." He nodded over to his bag. "Lost a few weapons of mine, but I still got my knife. Where were you?"

She wavered for a moment, wondering if she should tell him about the cabin. She wanted to leave the forest and never come back to it, but he was hurt and exhausted and they might need a place to stay. "I stayed on a ledge, on a little overhang not too far from here. Nothing special. There was a walker up there, but it wasn't too hard to kill."

He nodded. "This place I know, it's a good one. It's a prison, surrounded by walls and it's real safe. Lots of supplies, and beds and it's safe from walkers. There's people there, lots of 'em. They're all bad people. Terrible people. They might try to kill you. I won't let 'em. You and I, we'll be safe, and we'll make it there, alright? I promise."

"People?" she asked, hope blossoming in her voice. "They live there, permanently?"

He nodded tersely. "Go on to bed, we'll talk more in the mornin'."

She smiled. "I'll keep watch, I got lots of sleep yesterday. I'll see you tomorrow." 

He tried to contradict her, but she cut him off. 

"Sleep, now."

He let out a long breath and closed his eyes. She sat down cross-legged by the fire and watched as it flickered and burned out. 

There were more people. There would be a refuge, a home for her again. A new family. She could hardly contain herself. She and Phillip could find a place, a good one, and stay. Maybe she'd let herself truly trust him, maybe she could learn more about him, once they settled in. 

There wasn't a damn thing that could convince her that they wouldn't be alright, and with that she sat up, until the morning light took over, and woke her sleeping companion.

He stretched out like a cat, yawning comically. "Mornin'."

"Morning," she nodded. "You ready to head back?"

He grunted and pulled himself to his feet, cringing. He limped over to his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "S'go now."

She followed after him and they walked through the woods together, not speaking a word to each other. 

There were substantially fewer biters than there were the day before, but she could tell that there would be many more when they neared the road. 

After an hour of slogging through the brush, Philip slumped to the ground. "I c-can't."

"No, come on," she whispered. "Please." She reached down to him, and took his hand. He held it for a moment. He pressed his lips to her knuckles.

"I can't, I'm too tired. I'm just slowin' you down. You can make it." He smiled bittersweetly at her. "I don't wanna keep you from goin' on."

She knelt down beside him. "I'm not going unless you're coming with me."

He shook his head. "Go. Take my things, there's a tent, and there's some other-"

"No." The word was vicious. He looked up into her face and he saw the fear and the anger and the determination written there. 

She wrapped her arm around him, and slung him over her shoulder. She stood up, and without much regard to the amount of pain he was in, jerked him along with her. He let out a short breath and the the weight balance suddenly shifted. She felt a crushing amount of it resting on her, and he was doing the best he could to hold himself up.

At that pace they'd never make it to the car alive. 

She prodded him a bit and he put more weight on his feet. And they traveled through the forest like that, one being dragged and one dragging, slow and steady and paranoid but satisfied. And as if the world had suddenly decided to bless them, she became aware of her location. She remembered that mangled tree, and that rock, and that blood-swathed area. She gently tugged him along, and they slowly made their way out through luck and some idea of direction, and into the clearing. Her car was still there, smeared in bloody handprints, dried in the sun.

He let out a shuddering breath and his head lolled. His legs began to tremble and __________ knew they'd give out. He tried to regain his footing. They made it to the car, where _____________ opened the back door and lay him down. She rounded to the driver's side and got in, tapping the wires and speeding away from the woods as quickly as fast at that car could go.

He stirred after an hour or so, sighing and letting out soft, pained noises. "Where a-am I?"

"We're headed out on a longer road. You tell me where to go. We gotta find this prison now."

He sat up and leaned against the back of her seat, resting his head on the side of the headrest. "You keep on this road for miles, until you see the next highway sign. It's up by Nunez."

She nodded and pressed a little harder on the gas.

His eyes didn't stray from her. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."

He reached over and tucked some hair behind her ear. "Want me to drive?"

"You can't even walk."

"Driving doesn't require that, darlin'." He arched an eyebrow and put a hand on her arm. "You pull over right now."

“No, really, I’m alright.”

She felt him squeeze her arm a little, soft fingerprints pressing in. “Please let me.”

She pulled over and closed her eyes. She felt a heavy sob building, tumbling forth from the back of her throat. She felt tears roll down her cheeks in waves. 

He pulled himself forward, his face crumpling into a concerned mess of lines and worry. He wiped her tears away with one swipe of his thumb. "Don't cry now, darlin', you're alright. I'm alright, we're all alright."

"I thought you were dead." Her tone was biting, but her voice cracked.

"Now, now, honey I-"

"I thought that you'd just left me all alone and that you were gone forever and you're the last person I have. Why would you do that to me? Goddamn it Philip, why?" Her words were sharp and painful, like angry little hornets, stinging him everywhere.

"Got to learn to lose some people in this life, darlin'. You can't just-"

"You've said it yourself, you can't lose anybody either!" He reached over to her but she swatted him away. "I left my home with you, intending to find a place with you, because I haven't got anyone left. And damn me to hell for this, but I know that you are not everything you've said you are, but I wanna know you as the man who I can trust until this hell ends. Don't ever leave me again." The hornets died away, and a cold rain had begun falling on him, her tears flowing like rivers. 

He reached over, but when she tried to push him away, he grabbed her tighter. He pulled her over the stickshift and into his arms and held her, his arms like straitjacket straps. His strong scent swept over her, all leather and smoke. His breath smelled like whiskey and honey, warm and sweet. He ran his nose along her cheek, taking her own smell in. Pine trees and dust, flowers. Lily of the valley. The spice of dried sweat and the sharpness of metal and blood clung to both of them.

He pressed his lips to her ear. "Shh, I am not gonna leave you again. I promise."

She felt his eyelashes sweep across her face, fluttering butterfly wings. 

"I ain't gonna let anything happen to you. I promise."

She turned her cheek slightly, looking into his stone-cold eyes, and pressed her lips to his. Warmth and wetness were the only things she tasted. The gentle heat of his lips pressed its way into her mouth, his breath rushing into her lungs like fire. His fingers trembled as they reached up to her jaw. He pulled her face closer. Bone trembled against bone and he held her rosepetal lips gently between his teeth. She drew away, but he could still taste her on his tongue. 

She pulled back out onto the highway and he fell asleep again, praying they'd make it to Nunez before dark.

When he woke up, the stars were glittering and his driver was still going. 

"Exit is in three, four miles maybe."

She jumped. "God Philip, you scared the hell out of me."

He smiled. "Well, wouldn't want you missing our stop."

She sighed and nodded. "These people are murderers, are you sure you want to stay with them?"

"Of course, I wouldn'ta made you drive so far if I wasn't sure of my intentions."

She nodded again, slightly unsure. Finally, they pulled through a long dirt road, until he told her to stop.

"We'll wait 'til sunrise to go in. They have a gate, a strong one. We can't push through, they gotta open it for us."

She nodded. She curled up in the backseat and he followed suit, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his lips to her temple. 

"You trust me right, darlin'?" he asked.

"Of course I do."

He hummed a low lullaby, before the soft words emerged from his lips, "Bye, baby Bunting, Daddy’s gone a-hunting." He continued humming, before the air warmed with his libretto again. "Gone to get a rabbit skin." He pressed her head to his chest and buried his face in her hair. "To wrap the baby Bunting in."

She slipped into sleep after a short time, exhausted from the driving and stress. He smoothed her hair down and kissed her forehead before doing the same.

The morning came soon enough, and Philip hopped into the driver's seat. They drove for a couple more minutes before they came to a stop.

He got out and cocked his gun, and he waved her over. 

"What are you doing? Philip, why do you have your gun?" _________ blinked sleepily, squinting at the bright sun filtering in through the windshield. 

"Can't be too careful. I won't kill anybody, 'less I have to."

"Philip?" Her face was a blend of disbelief and horror, and the familiar fear from the first day she'd met him had risen to her face once again. He reached over to her and patted her head gently.

"I promise, honey, I'm not a bad man. I'm only doing my job. My job consists of one thing, and that's protecting you. I'll do anything to protect you, keep you safe." He gave her a small smile. "Now come on, let's go in. We can't lose any more time, and we're sitting ducks out here."

He walked with deadly meaningful strides through the brush, his boots punching down into the soft earth with cold, hard conviction. She felt a true fear course through her, watching as his face darkened with every step. Her hands trembled but she tightened her grip around her gun. They'd have to fight, if these people were as terrible as Philip had said. ___________ would have to be ready for it, and that meant there could be no fear. 

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