Chapter Text
Hank Olson hadn’t ever imagined he’d be in such a grim, unforgiving situation. He hadn’t ever imagined that he would lose his dear wife, Clementine. She was his light, after all. His reason for waking up every morning, he always told her that, followed by a kiss on the forehead. She was his reason for continuing on. The gentle kisses on the cheek after those long, draining work days gave life a new meaning.
She was his light, she was his sunshine.
On December 9th, 1978, she died.
“Hank,” she started, her voice trembling but not breaking. No, she was too strong for that. Hank had always admired that fact about his wife— she was incredible at keeping calm. He had a tendency to shut down and act unwise in tense situations. “Hank, baby? Don’t you think we should stop? It’s gettin’ awful dark.” She asked, leaning over the center console of the car. Her dark, loose curls fell over her face but she brushed them back, a soft sigh leaving her parted lips.
Hank looked at himself in the mirror, groaning to himself. He was tired, Lord knows, but stopping now would mean death, he convinced himself of it. The news had told them about these things: sick, violent people turned down a path of destruction and cannibalism due to a mysterious virus. They’d eat your skin off the bone. They’d vomit hot blood all over your open wounds, they’d eat your heart out as if you were nothing, and hadn’t ever been anything more than just a meal.
It was all unexplained. The government was clueless. Clementine wasn’t surprised. Hank didn’t want to admit it, but he had lost hope in them as well. In his defense, it was quite difficult to feel confident in your administration when they were essentially letting it happen. No cure and no announcement about their “efforts” had to mean they weren’t trying hard enough.
“Clem, I would, but I just don’t feel too good about this area.” He explained, ignoring the way his eyelids drooped, begging for him to just sleep. He glanced over at her as they cruised slowly, watching as the wind tousled her hair again. He smiled softly as she pouted faintly, already slowing down.
“Thanks, love. I get it— I really do, but you should at least try to sleep. Just for ten minutes. I’ll drive?”
“I’ll sleep when we get the fuck out of Boston. You saw how many cases we had in our area?”
“Hank.”
“Fine, fine. I won’t sleep though— ‘m not tired.”
She gave him a look, then raised her eyebrow as if she didn’t believe him, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the door.
Hank just grinned, kissing her hand twice before unbuckling his seatbelt. He had barely gotten out of the vehicle when he heard her curse— something she never did— before the low groan of one of those vile creatures filled his ears. He doesn’t think he’s ever moved faster in his goddamn life, but still, it was futile.
When he rounded the front of the car and tugged at her arm, she was batting him away. Something was holding her by the leg, tugging hard enough to pull her hip out of place. She screamed and Hank nearly vomited as he heard the snap, followed by a squelch that made her head bow as she sobbed, a pleading, guttural sound.
The infected person was large. Clementine was tall, taller than Hank, but this man had the muscles of someone who spent most of their free time working out, Hank noticed. He was covered in something that smelt putrid and rotten, possibly vomit or blood. Whatever it was, dripped down from his chin, and stained his shirt a deep, revolting brown.
“Hank— Hank! Listen to me, you have to go, now.”
“No, fuck! No— no, I can’t. I can’t just— just leave you! Please, don’t go. We can find a nice doctor, they’ll fix it. They’ll fix you,” he replied, rambling on as she finally tore herself away, falling to the ground in a crumpled heap. Her head hit something, a rock, or just the cold, hard ground, and she winced at the impact, something clear and liquid flowing from her nose and ears.
Hank opened his mouth to protest again, but his body flinched away as she was bit, her helpless groans turning into gurgled cries as she vomited, unexpectedly so. Her eyes rolled back as her attacker helped himself to whatever he could bite— her ankle, her calf, her knee, and Hank fell flat before scrambling backwards. Tears blurred his vision as he used the car to steady himself, fumbling with the open door and reaching to close Clementine’s. He didn’t exactly register what he said then, he just knew it had to be some sort of pathetic, useless apology.
He had failed. He had a job, a duty, something that he promised her father he’d fulfill with zero doubts as he shook his hand for the first time.
He was supposed to protect her. Clementine was capable and strong— she always had been, she didn’t need anyone to fight her battles for her, but this? This was hopeless. Neither of them saw it coming. Neither of them could stop it.
Hank drove aimlessly, his chest heaving as he wheezed, unable to cry any longer. Those few hours were spent replaying the moment, wondering what he could have done differently.
If he had moved faster, she could have still been with him.
If he hadn’t agreed to switch seats, she would still be alive. They’d make it out of Boston— maybe to Maine, or something.
He didn’t care about where he was headed. He was fine with anywhere. Maybe he would stop the car here and let something come get him. Hell, maybe dying wouldn’t be so bad if it meant that he’d be with her again.
Hank wondered if he’d be forgiven. He wondered if when they met again, Clementine would welcome him with open arms, kiss his head like she always did and let him spin her around in his arms, or if she’d push him away, curse him out and storm off. He wouldn’t be surprised. He had gotten her killed, he thought.
It was his fault. It was his fault, and he deserved to die because of that. He could do it, too. He could let his car ram into a tree— send himself flying out the windshield. It’d work. Anything to put himself out of his misery.
Despite these thoughts, Hank Olson was a coward at heart. He wouldn’t kill himself. Not yet, anyway. For now, he would keep driving for as long as the car had gas in its tank.
The soft, steady sound of Hank’s footsteps filled his ears, setting a rhythm as he dragged himself along the road. He didn’t have much. A bag that held a blanket, one half-empty bottle of water, two small cans of food, and one of Clementine’s scarves. She had left it in her seat before she got out of the car, so he figured he’d bring it along.
In his hand, Hank held a bat. It was in the back of the car. Clementine insisted they bring it “just in case,” and Hank agreed almost immediately, despite not thinking anything would happen to them.
Who knew the thing that’d break him out of the assumption that he was immortal would be his wife succumbing to the very thing he had gravely underestimated?
He swayed slightly, tripping over his own feet as he snapped himself out of his daze. For some odd reason, Hank felt as if he were being watched.
He turned, observing the area around him. One gas station, a thick patch of trees, and an endless stretch of road. There wasn’t shit in Maine, apparently. He had to ditch the car a while back— the tank was fully emptied. He figured he’d either walk himself to death, or get killed in the process. Either worked for him at this point.
Hank turned back around, a shiver wracking down his spine as he continued to walk. If it were an infected person, they’d be reaching him now, snapping limbs out of place and digging into him just as they had with Clementine. Remembering it makes him feel ill. Maybe it was a deer, or a rabbit of some sort. Some kind of animal was the only other viable explanation he could conjure up.
He ambled along until he reached the gas station, pushing the door open tiredly. The shelves were somewhat empty. There were some drinks, room temperature by now. Some candy bars still sat untouched, and things that were spoiled were either left on the ground, or opened to be inspected, before ultimately being tossed.
Hank picked up a candy bar, laughing bitterly to himself before taking it. He doubted he’d actually eat it, he didn’t have much of an appetite after Clementine passed away, understandably.
“Are you aware that exploring by yourself is a death wish?” A voice suddenly asked him, eerily calm with its warning. Hank turned at once, dropping the chocolate with a curse.
“Shit! What the fuck are you talking about?” He asked, trying to ignore the tremor in his hands as this stranger analyzed him. The man's gaze seemed to burn into him, scrutinizing him thoroughly.
“There are lunatics running about. Not scared of gettin’ bit?”
Hank just blinked, in complete and utter disbelief.
“Who are you?” The man asked, approaching without a care for personal space. Hank stumbled, swearing as his back hit the wall.
“Who the hell are you? You’re the one cornering a stranger. What kind of asshole does that shit?” Hank deflected, a defiant glint in his eyes.
“Stebbins. Now we’re not strangers,” Stebbins offered, his voice flat as he noticed the tear streaks on Hank’s face. He didn’t point them out, but Hank knew that Stebbins noticed them.
“Olson. Will you kindly fuck off now? I’m busy.” Hank scoffed, sliding past him with a tired eye roll.
“Busy with what? Waiting for someone to come along and finish you off? You already look half dead if you ask me, Olson. You’re exhausted,” he started, ignoring Hank’s increasingly irritable demeanor.
“Seriously— fuck off. I’m fine.”
“You’re almost through now. I can see it on you, anyone with workin’ eyes could.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, are you this annoying to every poor soul you meet?” Hank asked, putting a hand up to his forehead with a groan. He didn’t know why he was still humoring the conversation.
“No. I can just tell you need help. You’re alone. In this area that’s a death wish. You suicidal?” Stebbins raised an eyebrow.
“Wh— No? No! You don’t just ask people shit like that.” Hank stammered, increasingly uncomfortable. Stebbins seemed to see right through him. He hadn’t ever met a man so observant and perceptive. Or, maybe Hank was just easy to read.
A small bout of silence passed between them as Hank shoveled whatever into his bag— candy, canned food, and pretty much anything that wasn’t expired or opened already.
“I was just about to head home.” Stebbins eventually said.
“That’s nice, Stebbins.”
“You can come with.”
“What, and trust a total stranger? I’m not a dumbass.”
“Mommy told you not to trust people like me? She scared you might follow some creep into his van?” Stebbins mocked. Hank rolled his eyes.
“I’m twenty four, asshole. I know better than that, she doesn’t need to tell me.”
“You don’t look it.”
“Tell me something I haven’t heard before.” Hank huffed. He twisted the ring on his finger— a nervous habit.
Stebbins raised both eyebrows expectantly, wondering if Hank planned on coming with. Stebbins seemed to have a stable shelter. Food, water, warmth, all of that sounded nice, but Hank was awfully stubborn— his parents had always said so. His sister often noted it with the utmost disdain anytime he pissed her off back home.
“How do I know you don’t wanna kill me? You’re real fuckin’ suspicious.”
“If I wanted to, you’d be dead by now. It’s just us here. You only have that bat, I’m assumin’. I’ve got a gun, so I win.” Stebbins said, shrugging. Hank didn’t meet his eyes.
“Fine. Fine, since you’re so adamant on helping. Is this community service to you or somethin’? A bit of charity work?” Hank asked sarcastically, following Stebbins as he walked out of the store. He wondered why Stebbins told him exactly what weapon he had. That was a bit of a bold move on his part— Hank could’ve had a concealed weapon, but he didn’t, so it was fine, he supposed.
“Maybe. I love helping the less fortunate.” Stebbins replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. A small smirk crept onto his face as they fell into step together.
Hank wondered if he should trust him. Stebbins seemed to mean well, he just sucked ass at showing it, he reckoned. He’d figure out if this was a mistake in due time though. For now, they walked down the road, side by side, eyes ahead.
“What brings you to Maine, Olson? You’ve got a different accent.” Stebbins eventually asked, breaking the silence. The sun was setting again— Hank had been walking for hours. He hadn’t been too tired, but his legs did feel a bit weird, as if they were made of jelly. He cursed and Stebbins glanced, but he didn’t ask him what was wrong.
“Travel. I heard Maine was lovely during the winter.” Hank replied sarcastically. Stebbins huffed a laugh, but Hank cleared his throat. Talking about Clementine still stung. He glanced down to his ring. “No, in all seriousness, Boston just wasn’t really safe anymore. Too many cases in the area.”
“I see. You walked here?”
“Oh, fuck no. I drove. But I ran out of gas and ditched the car.”
“That’s unfortunate. You come here alone?” Stebbins asked that question Hank had dreaded. He looked away from the ring, turning the conversation and topic over to Stebbins.
“Come to think of it, you don’t sound like a local either.” He said. Stebbins hummed in response, choosing to ignore the swift change in topic. Hank let out a sigh of relief. “Southern?”
“Yeah. Texas.” Stebbins smiled faintly. Hank wondered what could’ve possibly brought him all the way up to the middle of fucking nowhere, but he didn’t press.
“I figured. You sound like a cowboy.” Hank grinned. Stebbins laughed dryly, but something made it clear he didn’t mind the teasing.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Stebbins replied, his tone even but a little lighter now. Hank was starting to regret not agreeing to come with sooner. This wasn’t half bad.
Maybe being with someone else helped him feel better. If he were still alone, he would’ve spiraled a long, long time ago.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Hank replied quietly. A brief moment of silence passed them before Stebbins glanced around.
“Nearly there now,” he said.
“Is it just you? Where we’re going, I mean. You live alone?”
“Don’t wanna be alone with me?” Stebbins asked jokingly.
“It isn’t that, dumbass. I’m just wondering.” Hank sighed. He didn’t mind a crowd, but he’d have to prepare himself for the questioning, he figured.
“No, I don’t live alone. It’s a pretty small group. They’re nice enough.”
“Do they know you’re coming back with someone else or do you do this often?” Hank asked sarcastically.
“They’ll live,” he started, looking down at Hank. “You needed the help, didn’t you? I doubt they’ll have a problem. Even if they do at first, it isn’t anything to worry about. If you’re growing on me already, they’ll like you too. It’s hard to impress me.” Stebbins claimed.
Hank didn’t know what to make of that, but he took it for now.