attackonwalkers

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Connie had a terrible habit of wandering without notifying anyone that he'd be doing it. If no one ran into him while he was prepping to go, and asked what he was up to, he would leave people guessing when the last time they saw him was. He never planned on making anyone worry, of course, but Connie had long since gotten used to doing things on his own and though he liked the crowd he now ran with at the compound, it never occurred to him to report something like this to them.

It had only happened a few times in the month and a half since his arrival, and until then the longest he'd spent out was two nights. With all the fuss that was kicked up over that, he'd then tried to limit his outings to afternoon excursions or something that would get him in early the next morning before anyone realised he'd been gone at all, but this time he got distracted and ventured further without thinking on who might be wondering about his absence.

And so this time, it had been twelve days since anyone had last seen him.

He came back mid-morning with his old school backpack he'd managed to hang onto despite everything on one shoulder and a newly found but dirtied neon orange messenger bag over the other. Both were packed full of his findings, and he was chewing on some turkey jerky he'd uncovered in his travels as he strutted back into familiar territory.

His shirt had an entirely new tear in it, from getting snagged in a tree branch on his way down from where he'd been sleeping one night, and his hair tie had broken, leaving his mass of hair bobbing with every step, but Connie was, in fact, completely okay.

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Marco has managed to accept that Connie, wild-child that he is, will sometimes disappear for a day or maybe (only the one time) two. It makes him worry, especially since Connie won't go with Sasha, Annie, Reiner or Bertolt, but he can't make the teenager do anything he won't want to.

And then one day turns into two turns into three, and it's nearly two weeks. A week in, Marco was still pretending Connie was probably okay, but it was obvious to anyone around him that he was worried.

Connie wasn't as young as his students had been, but it felt like the same kind of pain in his chest when he thought of Connie dying. When he thought of Connie alone, without anyone to help him - even if that had been how he'd managed it at first.

Which is why, when he spots Connie on his way to get rid of some actual trash-trash (Sasha has been showing him how to save animal skins and bones, which might be trash to people like Jean but useful for what she's teaching them) he spots the familiar mass of hair.

He stops, stares, drops the bag he's holding and lets out a sharp cry of "Connie!" in uncharacteristically loud fashion. Connie won't get much warning before he's scooped up in a huge hug. Not a Reiner-style bear hug, but something close to it. Probably more along the lines of 'relieved teacher'.

If someone really fought and insisted they come with him, Connie would not stop them, but he worried about having to be responsible for keeping an eye on anyone, even when they were far more qualified to protect themselves and others, and were worrying the same for him. Logically, he knew everyone had survived through the outbreak just as long as he had, but it was hard to not fall back on what he already knew worked to keep him safe, even if it meant doing it alone.

After nearly two weeks in dangerous territory, he couldn't be caught completely unaware, unable to drop his guard even within the relatively safe walls of the compound. Still, Marco was quick. Connie'd only managed to tell it was Marco calling for him and had turned mostly towards him before being wrapped up by the older man.

Connie was at a point in his life where he hadn't been hugged by many teachers after grade school, usually sticking to a firm handshake if there had to be any contact at all, so Connie couldn't really identify the nuances that separated it from other hugs, but he didn't really care. He would have let his bags drop if Marco had left him the space to do so, wrapping his arms around Marco as much as he could with them still weighing his shoulders down, and patting his back.

"Wow, gramps, calm down. You're gonna break a hip moving that fast."

Marco is hopefully not crushing anything that Connie salvaged that he was hoping to keep whole. Mainly, he's just focused on gathering all of Connie and his bags up into his arms, giving a laugh that sounds suspiciously like it could have been a sob if he hadn't forced the laughter out of his throat.

"I'm gonna break your hip for leaving for so long!" Marco retorts instead, loosening the hold on Connie only to slide his hand up into his (dirty, leaf-flecked, and still so happy it was there to be touched) hair, ruffling it and sending it sprawling into Connie's face. "You didn't tell us you were going to be gone that long. We thought..."

His voice cracks, and he doesn't go on. Connie probably figures what they thought, and instead, Marco drags an arm around Connie's neck to give him another hug.

"Jesus, I'm glad you're okay..."

Connie doesn't make a habit of grabbing things that break too easily, because he drops his bag often, whenever he needs to run or fight, or sometimes by accident when he's climbing with it. Even with how tight Marco's got him, nothing should have gotten truly wrecked by it.

He's got another snip on the tip of his tongue but quiets at the crack in Marco's voice, and looks up at him from under the curls of hair once again in his eyes.

"Yeah, man. I'm fine. Seriously. I tried to come back after like three days but I saw a swarm that pushed me kinda far away, and then, y'know, unexplored territory and I got curious. . ."

Marco wouldn't know. Of the group, he's probably the least inclined to wander. He'd only done it out of necessity; the compound was good for him, in that sense, because it was a sense of stability in their fucked-up world now.

At the same time, he doesn't chide Connie for it. He's mostly upset that they hadn't heard anything, not because Connie wanted to explore after the swarm pushed him.

"I know," he settles on, sliding his hand to rest on Connie's shoulder and giving him a little squeeze there. "I'm just - glad you're alive, okay? I'm gonna start breeding carrier pigeons at this rate."

So he can find you all!

It's hard work, pretending not to give a shit when your friend is missing.

Jean knows Connie likes to go wandering, and he also knows that Connie can take care of himself. Still, as the days stretch into a week, and then two, he feels a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, one that won't go away. The nightmares start up again, and he even has to sink to creeping into Marco's bed in the middle of the night, just to get cuddled so everyone else can sleep.

By the time the two week mark rolls around, Jean has almost stopped looking for Connie when he draws watch, and has almost accepted that he'll never see his friend again. So when he spots someone strolling towards the compound, he doesn't immediately think it's Connie. It could just be a particularly stylish walker, and he gets ready to get off the roof and go stab it in the eye if it gets near the fence. But it's not moving like a walker, and when it starts getting closer, Jean realizes that he knows that strut. He knows the strut, and the hair poofing out everywhere, and he can't help the bright, excited grin that spreads across his face.

"Connie!" He yells it loud enough to alert the rest of the compound, and vaults down off the roof to run to the gate. "Connie, you stupid fucker, where've you been?!"

"Hey Jean!"

It would be hard to miss a shout like that, and even harder to miss the voice attached to it. Connie looks up, pushing his hair back from his forehead so he can actually see Jean as he's coming down from the roof, letting it fall again to wave.

It was a wonder he didn't get blindsided by a zombie when all that hair was in the way, but it was rare any of them ever came from above, and silently on top of that, so he'd managed to get by unscathed.

"Dunno," he admitted, and picked up the pace to catch up to Jean as the gates open, dropping his bags from his shoulders so he could stretch them out. He'd gone all morning without a break. "Someone stole, like, all the signs in the town I was in. Kinda weird, right?"

“Connie, you incorrigible fuck.” It’s impossible for Jean to keep the relief out of his voice, and as soon as he has the gate closed behind his friend, he’s slinging a rare, companionable arm around his shoulders. It’s not often that Jean seeks out any kind of physical reassurance or reaches out to anyone physically besides Marco, and the one-armed hug he gives Connie is as awkward as it is brief. “You can’t just take off like that, man!” he tells him as he pulls his arm back. “Sasha’s been a giant bitch to everyone, Bertolt’s been moping, Marco’s taking extra watches just in case you came back, and I…” He pulls himself up to his full height, looking down at his friend imperiously. “I have been the sole provider of hashtags and trending around here, and it’s been difficult to keep up. Hashtag: don’t do that again.”

He missed you, Connie. Really.

"Obviously I can take off just like that. Hashtag suck it nerd."

He felt bad to hear that people had been missing him, but talking to Jean left it hard for him to linger on that for long. He returns the hug with a solid pat to Jean's shoulder.

"But I probably won't, 'cause man I am mad tired of exploring. I mean, yeah, I'm gonna be buff as hell from carrying those bags everywhere but is it really worth it?" Not that he wasn't already well and fit from the past few months spent keeping himself safe, but he was convinced those bags would seem heavy no matter what. "And you gotta tell me, what has been trending, dude?"

Ah yes, proper manly forms of bonding. Awkward hugs and shoulder pats for life. Finally, someone who gets it.

Jean steps aside, holding his hand out to take one of those heavy bags, if Connie wants to part with it. "What'd you find? And lately, the biggest trends have been everyone worrying about your dumb ass."

Himself included, although he won't admit it.

The first night Connie was gone, Bertolt was torn between being angry and just plain upset. Someone either didn't see him, or they let him out without finding out where he was going. When one day turned into two and two turned into four, he didn't sleep until he was harassed into doing so. Sure, Connie was old enough to make his own choices, but those choices still affected the group.

He felt that Connie and everyone else he and Reiner had met and taken in along the way were his responsibility. Too many people had died and because Connie managed to slip past the guards... He even wondered if it was during his own watch. It couldn't have been his fault, right? Reiner had to reassure him god-only-knows how many times. It's no one's fault.

He'll be okay.

He'll be back.

He thought of Connie huddled in a tiny corner with walkers pounding on a door while he bled from a bite. He thought of him lying in a ditch from a broken ankle. He thought of him coming back to the compound, skin gray and bruised and bloodied. So when Bertolt heard the cries of 'Connie' near the fence, he mentally prepared himself for the worst when he stepped outside.

What he saw left him staring.

Connie was alive. He was alive and he wasn't bitten and he was okay and he was alive he's alive! But Bertolt doesn't move from his spot near the sleeping quarters. He didn't run down and greet him like everyone else did. Was he happy that the younger boy was alive? Of course. He just didn't know how to properly express it. So, he waits. He waits for the reunions to end and the sun to set before he finally makes an effort to track Connie down within the compound. When he finally finds him, Bertolt just sort of watches him.

"...Connie."

The hours since his return had dragged on, somehow seeming more tiring than the combined time he'd spent out there. He hadn't expected there to be such a fuss about it, that it would be a significantly bigger deal than when he'd been out those two nights.

Connie had proven he'd been able to go out alone before, but people still had actually thought he might have died. And honestly, Connie felt awful about making his new friends worry that much. He felt like he'd let them down, and it was weighing on him heavily. He wondered if this is guilty, scolded feeling was what his little brother went through when Connie had freaked out from worry over his broken arm at the hospital the morning after it happened. If not for the fact that no one let him, he might have skipped dinner, just to sleep it all off.

He was sitting on the floor, and had a hammer within arms reach. When he heard footsteps, Connie instinctively reached for it, but relaxed before his palm hit the handle. This was someone familiar, not the long dragging steps of a walker. He pulled back and resumed brushing through his drying hair, pulling out the last of what bits of leaves he hadn't managed to shake his run under the showers.

He only looked up when he'd finally been addressed.

"Oh, hey Bertolt."

When he finally spots the hammer on the ground, Bertolt goes on the defensive for a few seconds. It's easy to understand why he has the hammer, but at the same time it leaves him feeling uneasy. It's not stopping him from raising his hands up in both defense and to show he's unarmed though.

"...Want some help?"

He gestures to his hair, a small frown on his face. Part of him wanted to chew Connie out, but the other part wanted to make sure he was okay with his own eyes.

Connie wouldn't fault Bertolt if he was armed, honestly. He himself found it hard to walk around without anything on hand. It wasn't like he had a gun or knew how to use one even if he did, so he liked to keep near whatever it was that made him feel safe at the time.

"Sure, man. Thanks."

He gave one last run through his hair, almost certain he'd gotten everything, but he'd slept in a tree more than once over the past two weeks and he always spent the next days finding a leaf or two that slipped past his notice. It couldn't hurt. Plus, he'd been reminded more than once that day that accepting a friends help every so often would hurt even less.

He trusts the people in the compound more than he'd like to admit, even if he was still afraid of the day they discover his, Reiner, and Annie's secret. They were good people. Smart people.

"I used to get sticks stuck in my hair all the time when I was younger, so I know how it is."

Before the military, that is. He looks both ways down the hall, then he slips into Connie's room and carefully takes a seat behind him to start running his fingers through his hair. Hello, tiny leaf! "...We were worried sick about you, you know."

"I never did," he admitted, leaning into the touch on his hair a little. Sasha had taken to floofing his curls a lot, but mostly it was only ever him taking care of his own hair, and it felt nice. "Ever. When I was five I wanted to start shaving my head like every month. My mom talked me down into just getting a buzzcut every other one, so this is seriously the longest it's ever been."

He'd actually gone three months without a cut prior to everything, and after all his wandering and time in the compound, his hair had now done over a years worth of growing.

He turns so Bertolt can get the back of his head, and also so he doesn't have to look at him. He was wondering if Bertolt was going to say something about that, too. "Yeah... Sorry. I'm an idiot sometimes."

Bertolt makes an appreciative sound when Connie turns, picking out a few more leaves and some bark fragments that must've been hidden. It's been far too long since he's been able to fuss over someone's hair like this - not counting Reiner's, anyway. It's just as relaxing.

"There was this forest around where we grew up that we'd play in. Reiner and I have been inseparable since we could walk, so wherever he'd go I'd follow. I'd always hide in the bushes when we played hide and go seek, so every time we'd go home my mom would plop me down just like this and fuss over me." It's silly, but he felt like he needed to share that with Connie. It's something familiar at least.

He removes one hand from his hair to rest on Connie's shoulder, even going as far as to offer a small squeeze. "Reiner and I, we... worry a lot. I worry a lot. He tries to keep me calm, but we more or less promised to look after everyone here." Too many people have died because of them. If they could keep this ragtag group of survivors alive, then at least they could pretend to atone. "I don't want to lose another person I care about, so please... Please, try to not do that again. Not without letting us know at least."

Connie closed his eyes as Bertolt continued to pick through his hair, managing to relax a little under the attention. He listened to the story, thinking for a long moment about the ways his own mother used to fuss over him. Admittedly, he'd been troublesome and had given her far too many reasons to worry and fuss, but at least he could look back on that fondly now.

He sighed at the squeeze to his shoulder, staring and picking at a spot on the hem of his pants that had frayed.

"I won't. Seriously. I didn't mean to make everyone so worried. I just got so used to doing shit by myself since everything happened, and I kinda keep forgetting it doesn't have to be like that any more."

Bertolt doesn't mean to worry to much about him, but over the weeks he's started to view Connie as a little brother of sorts. It's definitely what Berwick would've done. "...Just between you and me, I used to be like that - set in my own ways, I mean. Before Reiner and I met Marco and Jean, it used to just be four of us. Reiner, Annie, Berwick, and myself. We..." He frowns softly, his stomach starting to drop as he starts to pick through his words. "We ended up losing Berwick and getting separated from Annie. After that, it was just the two of us for what felt like years to me. When we found Freckles and Ponyboy Kirschstein, I was terrified that they'd turn on us like other groups did to people."

Like what people did to lone soldiers or a small group of injured and weak ones.

"They didn't, but it took me a long time to stop looking over my shoulder so much. It's hard trying to adapt in this world but we look out for our own. You're one of us." Whether Connie likes it or not, he's family in Bertolt's eyes. Maybe they never would've met before the outbreak, but that's in the past. Right here, right now, that's what they were to Bertolt. Until something made Reiner change his mind or someone hurt him, that's how it'd stay, no matter how uneasy he felt from time ot time.

She finds that reading all the books she can get her hands on kills the time. Not all of it and that's mostly because Sasha doesn't understand some of the material in the books, but at least trying to figure out what words mean and what the concepts are keeps her busy enough to not worry about Connie. He keeps leaving them, out of nowhere, with no head's up about anything. And sure, she's offered to take him with her on supply runs if he just couldn't sit still, but he's never agreed. So she, like everybody else in the compound, sits and waits for him to return, if he returns.

Sometimes Sasha thinks he might not. This is one of those times.

One day was one thing, same for two days. Two whole weeks usually meant something bad went wrong. She didn't want anything bad to go wrong for any of them, but secretly, she thought that more about Connie. So the day he returns, dirty and ripped up, looking like a caveman with his hair free and wild, she drops the three year old Farmer's Almanac she was paging through and jumps up to greet him with a hug and a knock to the head that he probably doesn't feel through all that hair.

"Connie! You're alive! STOP DOING THAT!"

"Stop being alive?!"

If not for the hug that he'd rather be returning, he'd have backed out of it to cross his arms and call her rude, even though he understood that wasn't what she wanted him to stop doing.

But as it is, he's sliding his bags off his shoulders and letting them drop from his hands, before squeezing her round the middle. He did miss Sasha, thought of her while he was sorting through the goods of the houses he'd picked through, when he would usually only be looking for what could be useful for him alone.

"But, hey, I got you somethin'."

He can still call her rude. It's okay. It'll roll right off her back. "No, stop running off without us. We have to stick together, you know."

She knows he knows, but yet he still doesn't seem to listen. Maybe under all that hair, he has a thick head. Sasha could stand to scold him a little more for making her worry for two whole weeks, but like a magpie attracted to something shiny, her attention is pulled away from his misdeeds and onto this something.

"You got me something?" She pulls away, hands still on his shoulders, looking excited like a kid on Christmas. To be honest, this like Christmas for her. "Is it something to eat?"

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