Empty Sighs & Wine

It was midday and Niall was gone and Zayn was pushing his luck.

He was limping around the little makeshift campsite as best he could, trying to get used to the stabs of pain he would apparently need to endure if he wanted to walk. There was no time to sit around and whine over it. He was on a mission and there was only so much time before he had to chalk it up to loss.

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

Zayn honestly hadn't put any thought to meeting any of the other people in the group that Niall had alluded to. He didn't care to. Even Niall was a bit of an interference in his plans, but he was tolerable and had a rough night. A cuddle here or there wouldn't really be too much. It also wouldn't be often.

He looked up at the one addressing him, a curly-haired lad with happy eyes and a crooked smile. He pushed it again, "You should be lying down. Niall said there was something wrong with your leg?"

"I'm fine. Just wanna get moving."

Curly bounded up to him, long legs carrying him across the campsite in milliseconds. He took a hold of Zayn's arm and said, "I know. We don't really wanna sit around, either, but sometimes you've gotta stop and sit back or you're not gonna be much use. You can't go forever."

Zayn knew that he was probably right; he had been with a group for who knows how long. He would know more than Zayn how long people can go and when they should relax. He was around them. Zayn was not.

"I'm Harry," Curly — Harry — kept going. There didn't seem to be an end to his words, just an ever-flowing stream. "And you're Zayn, that's what Niall said."

"Is Niall the leader?"

Harry found that one a riot. He dropped Zayn's arm to laugh, a good one that seemed to shake him a little bit. He shook his head, apparently deciding Zayn didn't know better, he was new to the game.

"No, no. The leader position always looks up for grabs. It's a constant battle between Liam and Lou, the strongest and the oldest. But, um, the leader is me." He said it so quietly Zayn couldn't be positive he said it at all. He was the leader? He didn't look to be in the position to kill a butterfly.

Before it could be questioned, he motioned towards another set of tents, one across from the other. "That one," he points to the right, "is where Lou and I sleep. And that one," then to the left, "is where Liam and Niall usually sleep. Though, now that you're here, Niall might cozy up to you. He likes new faces."

Zayn can only shrug off the fact that Niall is probably all over him because he's just a new face. That was fine. He already thought the Irishman a nuisance, anyway. More chipper and talkative than even Harry. There was no place for that in a world like this.

"Maybe Lou's in. I know Liam went with Niall, so maybe..." Before he finished, he abandoned Zayn in favor of ripping open the tent, surprising whoever was inside. They let out a shout, an irate, "Harry!", and crawled out, anyway, but not without a slight scowl.

They looked to be anything but a threat. Small, curvy, and playing every part of a disgruntled kitten, Zayn couldn't quite see what the lad brought to the monster-fighting table. But, then again, there was Niall, even less scary. No one seemed to do much damage in the group. Everyone was soft. How did they survive?

"Zayn, Louis. Louis, Zayn!"

Louis grumbled a little something, but once he realized he was meeting a new face, he turned on his people personality and came up to Zayn with the most scrutinizing blue eyes. "Hello."

"Um. Hey."

Louis takes it upon himself to shake Zayn's hand, dropping it soon enough once something beyond Zayn catches his interest. "Oh, you're the lad Niall brought in," he said once he walks off, poking at an empty box close to the tent Zayn crawled out of. "You shouldn't be walking around, y'know. Should pro'lly have a seat. Take it easy."

"It's no fun that way," Zayn muttered, watching Louis' blank expression break into one of amusement, a smirk making its way across his face.

"A funny one. I like this one."

He started kicking the box around, balancing it on his foot before tossing it up and kicking it around a little more, like a football. He must have considered Harry's long legs a goal, because once the box hit him, Louis was thrusting a fist in the air.

"Excuse him," Harry sighed, sounding much like an overworked parent. "The lack of football in his life is slowly driving him insane."

"There's no lack, Hazza, everything's a ball if you have enough imagination."

He turned his gaze back to Zayn so suddenly he should have had some sort of whiplash. "You, are there any bandages I need to change?" He eyed the thigh with the bullet wound, taking no one's response — or lack thereof — into consideration. "Must've hurt a whole lot, being shot. You had a couple claws and scratches too. Must've stung, yeah?" he asked as he left the scene once more, wiggling his way into his tent and returning with a handful of bandages and alcohol, still with the price tag on the bottle. "Sit."

Zayn followed his command, figuring that he was the one Niall was blabbering on about when they first spoke. The one with the nurse for a mum, the one who patched him up before. He seemed too flighty to be much of a medic, but then, Zayn didn't feel too much in his leg anyway, not unless he pushed it, like he's been doing all afternoon. Whatever Louis did, apparently he did it well.

"S'gonna sting, mate, hold your teeth."

"How do I—fucking Christ!"

Harry cringed at the volume, but Louis just snickered and went in on the bandages. Zayn didn't even notice his old ones had been removed. He was a quick one.

"How the hell do I "hold my teeth," I don't…?" he muttered, feeling very much a child.

"In the time it takes you to think about how you'd do that, I've already done the thing that hurts." He shrugs and pulls the wrapping tight, his eyes narrowed. "Use it for all the lads, somehow it still works."

The moment Louis finished up, Niall returned, accompanied by a taller, fitter member of the team. That one must have been Liam. He appeared to be the only one that could really stand his ground in the group, with Harry a straggling second. He stood before Niall, who was dirty and exhausted and small, and said, "Town ahead of us has been completely wiped out. It's empty, and most of the resources have already been snatched."

"We got a couple things, though!" Niall chirped from behind, coming around with a strange array of things in his mud-stained hands. "Found a pot. And some other things."

"A pot," Harry murmured, stepping forth. His face no longer held the brightness Zayn had scrunched his nose at, but a look of authority. Perhaps that was how he got the position of leader. "Still acts as a weapon if we're on our last leg." He took it from Niall with ease, slender fingers curling around the handle and stealing it away. "You've got things in here."

"Oh! Yeah, just a few little ones. Like a little hunting knife, found it under someone's old jeep. Wires were shot but the knife's always good. And-and when Liam and I crawled through a petrol station I found a gun behind the counter."

"And you put it in the pot."

"Storage."

Harry nodded, set the pot on the ground at his heel. He had become a different person in just a couple of seconds. He turned his back on the other half of the group, nudging Louis and telling him to check them over for scratches and scrapes. In the blink of an eye, he was grinning again. Truly terrifying.

"You found noodles, too?" he asked, attracting Louis' attention. "I thought everything was cleaned out?"

"Well, yeah, but Niall kept digging through glass and shit. He found some things," Liam said, letting Louis look over his exposed arms. "Like pot noodles."

"A job well done, Nialler," muttered Louis, already reaching back for that alcohol bottle of his. Zayn, tired of standing around aimlessly, handed it to him and retreated back to the tent he slept it. He was truly useless until his leg was alright and they got moving. His sisters, his family, who knew where they were? Certainly not him. He'd already be at their side if he did.

"Hi, Zayn." Niall was crawling into the tent then, sitting on his knees and smiling all the while. "How's your leg?"

"Worthless as ever," he groaned, his head in his hands. "I'm fucking useless, Niall. I can't do a thing until I can move without cringing and my sisters are as good as dead."

"Hey, now, don't say that. Louis said your leg should feel a little better soon, so we can just get going. I'm sure…well. Um. It'll be alright, yeah?"

Zayn shrugged. "Sure." Things weren't going to be alright until he was well. He was dragging down a group of survivors, responsible for all of them instead of just himself and himself alone. Another con with working with others: one goes down, the rest can't help but follow.

And who had time for that?