small hands gently pushed the backs of your shoulders, followed by a spill of familiar laughter, jolting you from your sleep. your immediate instinct was to reach for the knife in your backpack, but ask your eyes found the culprit, your heart instantly melted. the little boy, with that button nose and gap-toothed smile, dark curls stop his head.

"sam, hey," you smiled at the boy, noting the orange paint across his face, imitating a superhero mask. it had been about ten days since you saw him last, since you last saw...

a larger figure immediately ran between you and sam. pushing sam gently backward, hostile eyes locked on yours. "what the fuck are you doing?" henry spat out, his hand reaching for the shotgun in his pocket. seriously? a shotgun? although maybe he was justified. a lot had changed since you last were in contact -- the resistors had ran out fedra -- meaning a whole new, but maybe equally as bad, force was now ruling kansas city. and no one really knew who to trust anymore.

but you knew the greater reason for why henry's hand was on the gun was your fault. it was that when henry sold out michael to fedra, abandoning the same leader of the resistance that we had followed so loyally, you abandoned him, and alerted kathleen of where he might be. because why would he have done that stupid, reckless thing? did he have no loyalty to the resistance after all? the only reason you ever met and fell in love was at an underground rally michael was speaking at. how could he throw that away? it felt like you didn't even know him.

but as henry and sam disappeared from public eye, and you didn't even know if they were dead or alive, you started to reflect on why he might of done it. you should have connected sam's growing fatigue, how deeply he was wounded simply by running into that stair banister, how henry sought out physical therapists for sam's joint pain. and suddenly you felt stupid for betraying henry; you should've trusted that he had solid motives for what he did. the one thing henry valued above all was his kid brother.

sam banged on his brother's leg, signing that he was the one that found you, that you didn't do anything. bless the little boy's heart, he definitely had no idea what you did to him and henry. your hands were held up in surrender. "i'm sorry," was all you could muster, your eyes searching his, trying to convey that you really meant it.

henry's eyes traced over your appearance, your clothes dirtied, hair put into a bun that was falling apart, backpack that was previously clutched to your side as you fell accidentally asleep against a pole in this abandoned tunnel system, the one you two had mapped out together. you was obviously on the run. his hand fell from the gun in his pocket.

you could remember every great memory you ever shared before everything fell apart. how he first introduced you to sam, who made it his mission to teach you sign language. how you two snuck around on the tops of abandoned buildings, laughing with exhilaration. how you laid atop a picnic blanket in an empty park, and you taught him the constellations as his eyes were locked on your face rather than the sky.

"you did it to heal him, didn't you?" you spoke then, breaking the silence, your head nodding lightly towards the younger boy, who smiled at you again.

henry's eyes seemed to be speaking a million words, and you wondered if his mind was also replaying those same memories. he nodded then, and a tear slipped from the corner of his left eye. your lip quivered.

henry wanted nothing more than to accept your apology, to wrap his arms around you and tell you he was sorry too, sorry for not telling you before he turned in michael, sorry for fleeing so quickly. because the one thing he learned from this apocalypse was to hold the people you love close, and to never let go of them for as long as possible. and man did he love you.

sam signed at henry again, "can she come with us?" then he signed at you as well, "can you come with us?"

henry's eyes flicked between sam's and yours.