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nickngregTitle: Into the halls of silent kings, part one
Author: Neko
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: R
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Summary: Time blurs into eternity (AU)
Note: Yesterday I requested post apocalyptic fic, because I like that sort of thing, and then figured maybe I should respond to my own challenge. This started as a ficlet and has now ballooned into a series. Don't ask me what I was thinking. I'll try to post a chapter at least once a week, but be forewarned: these types of stories take me forever to write.
Warning: Contains content that may not be suitable for all readers. (read: this a dark, bleak story that contains or will contain graphic imagery --no non con, character death or other, squicky topics, though)
~*~
The tanks are moving again.
Rolling across the ground, shaking the earth until he thinks it might just tear apart at the seams. It wouldn't have seemed possible before, but he knows better now. Has seen it first hand and when the tremors reach his feet, he sways against them and tells himself not to fall.
He doesn't, but his knees buckle, pain radiating up his leg and the wound on his thigh throbs dully with something he can only assume must be pain. He doesn't know anymore; he's no longer able to distinguish between hurt and discomfort.
Somewhere behind him he can hear the others. Whispering and hiding, waiting for the great, hulking, steel beasts to pass. They take their time, rambling across the earth until finally the dust settles, the last of the tanks disappearing over the horizon and only then does he step out from behind the outcrop of rocks.
"Come on. They're gone," he says, but he's not really sure who he's addressing.
Anyone who will listen, maybe, but he only really cares about Greg.
He doesn't know the others. Hasn't even bothered asking their names and when he sets out, boot crunching against the hard, rocky ground, he doesn't turn around to see if they're following.
He doesn't think they care anyway, because every day the group gets smaller, people scattering to go their own way and he's starting to think that it might actually be easier if he and Greg just slipped away. Vanished in the middle of the night to fend for themselves and when they reach the torn ground where the tanks passed not ten minutes earlier, he pauses and kneels to run his fingers through the overturned earth.
"What is it?" Greg asks, sounding tired and defeated, frightened in way Nick's almost used to. Not quite, though, because he doesn't think anyone should ever get used to being so afraid.
"Nothing," he replies, standing and dusting his hands off on his jeans. "Come on, they'll be coming back."
He can tell, just from the way the ground is torn apart, that this is a regular route. There's probably a compound nearby, which means they need to move. Get as far away as they can and when he glances up, taking in the dim, cloud covered sky, he can tell they only have a few hours of what now passes as daylight left.
Greg falls into step beside him, walking almost aimlessly and Nick wonders if anyone actually knows where they're going. If they'll ever find some place safe or if the entire world is like this now; barren expanses of wasteland stretching as far as the eye can see.
He can't even pinpoint how long they've been walking. Months, maybe, but it feels longer. Like years and when they crest a ridge, Nick takes a moment to stare out over the never-ending landscape. It's the same in every direction and he doesn't realize he's stopped until he feels Greg's hand on his forearm, squeezing just hard enough to get his attention and Nick blinks before glancing over.
"We should stop. Ration out what's left of the water," Greg says, and Nick can't help but wonder when he became so accepting of all of this.
"In a bit," he replies, shaking off a wave of exhaustion and pushing forward.
~*~
He didn't think it was possible for clouds to move so quickly. In fact, if he wasn't seeing it with his own two eyes, he probably wouldn't believe it. Even with the proof right above him, he doubts, blaming the sight on lack of sleep and dehydration.
"They're creepy, aren't they?" Greg asks, and Nick glances over before turning his attention back to the sky.
"I don't know how you can watch them. They make me dizzy," Greg continues, but he lies down next to Nick, their shoulders touching and when Nick glances over, Greg's eyes are wide open, staring up at the early morning sky.
Green tinged this time, and Nick can't help but wonder just what chemical is circulating through the atmosphere today. Greg probably knows, but Nick's too busy watching the clouds move to ask. They remind him of waves rippling through water or snakes moving across dry sand. They skip, swirling and rolling forward, each set vanishing over the horizon almost as soon as it comes, only to be replaced by the next wave.
"We should get moving," Nick says, almost absently and when he sits up, he can't help but notice that half the camp is already gone.
Set out into the desert and Nick briefly considers taking Greg and heading south. Down to the ocean because he can't help but wonder just what the clouds look like reflected overtop of water.
"I packed our stuff," Greg says, nodding to two blanket rolls and a backpack, the sum contents of a life Nick can no longer remember.
"Thanks," he hears himself answer, the word muffled by a rumbling in the distance.
Thunder.
~*~
The rain lasts for three days. Scorching the ground and by the time it vanishes, the clouds have shifted to a hazy shade of red. It's not the first time their journey has been halted by rain.
Nick absently scratches against his neck, running fingers over what's left of a chemical burn. It itches, making him twitch every time his shirt shifts against it. They didn't quite find shelter in time.
"Don't," Greg's voice echoes behind him and Nick glances up in time to see Greg ducking through the doorway of what was once a plane hanger.
It's nothing more than pieces of discarded steel now; warped and battered, rusted by time and weather, but Nick knows they're lucky to have found it.
"I'm..." not, he was going to say, but Greg's shushing him before he can get the words out.
Closing the distance between them and pulling out the first aid kit Nick remembers Greg stealing from the lab what now seems a lifetime ago.
"Hold still," he orders, fingers cold and soothing as he rubs some sort of cream over the wound on Nick's neck. "How's the leg?" And Nick never would have pictured Greg as a doctor, but he's been fussing over Nick's injuries pretty much since day one, so it's not hard to see now.
"Better," Nick replies, flexing the torn muscle and feeling only the tiniest remnant of pain.
"Good," Greg says, pulling away and turning his attention to the small burn on the back of his hand.
They got off easy.
~*~
There's no one left by the time they decide to angle north-west. Nick doesn't remember when the rest of the group scattered, but he thinks it's probably for the best. They've run into four patrols in the last two days, forcing them to alter course and he tells himself it's easier to hide when it's just the two of them.
Besides, this way he doesn't have to worry about anyone else. He doesn't have to stress about finding water for the entire group or a shelter big enough to protect them all from the next storm. It's just him and Greg and Nick can handle that. At least, he thinks he can. Hopes he can because the last thing he wants to do is be left alone out here. Or leave Greg alone out here.
The landscape changes a little each day. Flat planes curving up into soft hills, soft hills giving way to rolling foot hills until, eventually, a line of mountains hover in the distance. Part of him wants to turn away, not even bother trying to cross them, because he's pretty sure that would amount to suicide. But there's a chance there's water. Better still, shelter and maybe even safety and they both could use a few days rest.
Greg doesn't say anything when Nick starts toward them, but Nick can tell just from Greg's expression that he approves of the idea. It's better than wandering aimlessly, anyway, and Nick can't help but feel just a little bit relieved at finally having a destination to move toward.
"We're going to need warm clothes," Greg says, and Nick laughs before he realizes what Greg's looking at.
Snow capped peaks and snow means water. If they're lucky, it might even be deep enough to have avoided complete contamination.
"We'll find something," he replies, not bothering to mention that most of the world's cities have been destroyed and the chances of finding even remnants of civilization is next to non-existent.
~*~
The trees are stripped bare. Skeletal remains of what were once majestic evergreens and Nick shivers as they pass under their dead branches. In a way, he almost envies them.
Their death was quick, brought with the first of the rains and they won't have to sit and wait, watching as everything else crumbles around them until, eventually, there's nothing left. Nick shakes his head at the thought, wondering exactly when he lost his mind.
The air around them is thin, clearer than it was down below, but still saturated with the heavy scent of smoke and decay. The scent of man and all the terrible things they're capable of and Nick draws his makeshift scarf tight around his nose.
They eventually did find a city, or what was left of it. They didn't stay long, knowing the cities were no longer safe. Just long enough to salvage what supplies they could, but even those were limited. It left Nick wondering just how many others were out here searching for salvation.
"We should stop, it's going to be dark soon," Greg says beside him and Nick doesn't bother asking how he knows.
It's impossible to tell this high up, shadows from the surrounding mountains combining with the low light of the sky and bathing the entire world in perpetual twilight.
"Okay," he replies instead, eyes sweeping across the area until he spots a small fissure in the rock face.
It's not that deep, but deep enough for them to get out of the wind, maybe even start a fire without it being seen and Nick can't remember the last time either of them were warm. He laughs at that, recalling how desperate he was to make it up into the mountains if only to escape the heat.
"We should try hunting, or something," Nick suggests, his stomach rumbling as if to emphasize his point. They ran out of food two days ago.
His clothes are already loose, his jeans hanging off his hips and every time Greg twists, Nick can't help but notice the way his skin clings to his bones.
"You really think there's something left alive up here?" Greg asks, hopeful for once and Nick forces himself to smile.
"We are," he replies, simply, like the answer should elude all of Greg's fears.
Greg doesn't respond, but he nods, smiling bright for the first time in longer than Nick can remember.
~*~
Twice Greg's hand slips from his grip and Nick's forced to slow down just to find it again. He can just make out Greg talking, protesting the pace and telling Nick to go on without him. To save himself while there's still a chance but the last thing Nick intends to do is leave Greg alone to face what's behind them.
They've been running for days. Through twisted mountain passes, across frozen lakes and Nick knows it's only a matter of time before they'll be forced to stop. The thought doesn't stop him from tightening his grip on Greg's hand, pulling until they're stumbling back into the wilderness, tree branches beating against them as the move forward, into the unknown.
~*~
Voices echo from behind the door, vibrating off the metal walls of their cell and Nick cringes as the door creaks open, light spilling into the room and momentarily blinding him. He tightens his grip on Greg, feeling Greg tremble against him and Nick vows not to let them take him this time.
Never again, in fact, and when he hears the muffled shouts of one of the others, followed by barked orders in a language he doesn't recognize, Nick releases a breath and pulls Greg that much closer.
~*~
He thinks it's been seven days.
He can't be certain, but he's pretty sure they come once a day, and since they've come seven times, that means it's been seven days. Seven days trapped in a small, metal tube with nearly fifty others, all crowded together, sharing body heat and sleeping space and Nick tries not to vomit as the scent of human excrement reaches his nose.
Greg's sleeping again; a fitful, restless sleep that speaks of nightmares and, for a moment, Nick's tempted to wake him. He doesn't, instead sliding into the space behind Greg, draping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. Greg tenses beneath him, relaxing a second later and Nick coos by his ear, whispering words of comfort before placing a kiss to the back of Greg's neck.
Greg stills instantly and when the door opens, Nick mentally chants eight days and closes his eyes.
~*~
The wound on his leg is infected. He can feel it spreading, heat radiating up the side of his body and whenever he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the soft brush of death's wings. Death never comes, though, leaving him to suffer through yet another day and Nick always finds himself disappointed.
He doesn't mention it to Greg, but he can tell Greg knows. Tell just by the way Greg watches him, eyes wide and worried like he's afraid Nick's going to slip out from beneath him at any moment and when, finally, the day is over and they're allowed to sleep, Nick drags Greg into a corner and kisses him hard, reassurance that they're still alive, for now.
~*~
He wakes to bright light, reflecting off every surface and it takes Nick a moment to realize the voice by his ear is Greg's. Whispering words of encouragement and when Nick opens his eyes, blinking against the spot light above him, Greg squeezes his hand and smiles.
Says words like thank, God and rescued and resistance, but it's not until later, when he's recuperating in what passes as an infirmary, that Nick remembers.
The war isn't over. It's only just begun.
Fin
Author: Neko
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: R
Disclaimer: So not mine.
Summary: Time blurs into eternity (AU)
Note: Yesterday I requested post apocalyptic fic, because I like that sort of thing, and then figured maybe I should respond to my own challenge. This started as a ficlet and has now ballooned into a series. Don't ask me what I was thinking. I'll try to post a chapter at least once a week, but be forewarned: these types of stories take me forever to write.
Warning: Contains content that may not be suitable for all readers. (read: this a dark, bleak story that contains or will contain graphic imagery --no non con, character death or other, squicky topics, though)
~*~
The tanks are moving again.
Rolling across the ground, shaking the earth until he thinks it might just tear apart at the seams. It wouldn't have seemed possible before, but he knows better now. Has seen it first hand and when the tremors reach his feet, he sways against them and tells himself not to fall.
He doesn't, but his knees buckle, pain radiating up his leg and the wound on his thigh throbs dully with something he can only assume must be pain. He doesn't know anymore; he's no longer able to distinguish between hurt and discomfort.
Somewhere behind him he can hear the others. Whispering and hiding, waiting for the great, hulking, steel beasts to pass. They take their time, rambling across the earth until finally the dust settles, the last of the tanks disappearing over the horizon and only then does he step out from behind the outcrop of rocks.
"Come on. They're gone," he says, but he's not really sure who he's addressing.
Anyone who will listen, maybe, but he only really cares about Greg.
He doesn't know the others. Hasn't even bothered asking their names and when he sets out, boot crunching against the hard, rocky ground, he doesn't turn around to see if they're following.
He doesn't think they care anyway, because every day the group gets smaller, people scattering to go their own way and he's starting to think that it might actually be easier if he and Greg just slipped away. Vanished in the middle of the night to fend for themselves and when they reach the torn ground where the tanks passed not ten minutes earlier, he pauses and kneels to run his fingers through the overturned earth.
"What is it?" Greg asks, sounding tired and defeated, frightened in way Nick's almost used to. Not quite, though, because he doesn't think anyone should ever get used to being so afraid.
"Nothing," he replies, standing and dusting his hands off on his jeans. "Come on, they'll be coming back."
He can tell, just from the way the ground is torn apart, that this is a regular route. There's probably a compound nearby, which means they need to move. Get as far away as they can and when he glances up, taking in the dim, cloud covered sky, he can tell they only have a few hours of what now passes as daylight left.
Greg falls into step beside him, walking almost aimlessly and Nick wonders if anyone actually knows where they're going. If they'll ever find some place safe or if the entire world is like this now; barren expanses of wasteland stretching as far as the eye can see.
He can't even pinpoint how long they've been walking. Months, maybe, but it feels longer. Like years and when they crest a ridge, Nick takes a moment to stare out over the never-ending landscape. It's the same in every direction and he doesn't realize he's stopped until he feels Greg's hand on his forearm, squeezing just hard enough to get his attention and Nick blinks before glancing over.
"We should stop. Ration out what's left of the water," Greg says, and Nick can't help but wonder when he became so accepting of all of this.
"In a bit," he replies, shaking off a wave of exhaustion and pushing forward.
~*~
He didn't think it was possible for clouds to move so quickly. In fact, if he wasn't seeing it with his own two eyes, he probably wouldn't believe it. Even with the proof right above him, he doubts, blaming the sight on lack of sleep and dehydration.
"They're creepy, aren't they?" Greg asks, and Nick glances over before turning his attention back to the sky.
"I don't know how you can watch them. They make me dizzy," Greg continues, but he lies down next to Nick, their shoulders touching and when Nick glances over, Greg's eyes are wide open, staring up at the early morning sky.
Green tinged this time, and Nick can't help but wonder just what chemical is circulating through the atmosphere today. Greg probably knows, but Nick's too busy watching the clouds move to ask. They remind him of waves rippling through water or snakes moving across dry sand. They skip, swirling and rolling forward, each set vanishing over the horizon almost as soon as it comes, only to be replaced by the next wave.
"We should get moving," Nick says, almost absently and when he sits up, he can't help but notice that half the camp is already gone.
Set out into the desert and Nick briefly considers taking Greg and heading south. Down to the ocean because he can't help but wonder just what the clouds look like reflected overtop of water.
"I packed our stuff," Greg says, nodding to two blanket rolls and a backpack, the sum contents of a life Nick can no longer remember.
"Thanks," he hears himself answer, the word muffled by a rumbling in the distance.
Thunder.
~*~
The rain lasts for three days. Scorching the ground and by the time it vanishes, the clouds have shifted to a hazy shade of red. It's not the first time their journey has been halted by rain.
Nick absently scratches against his neck, running fingers over what's left of a chemical burn. It itches, making him twitch every time his shirt shifts against it. They didn't quite find shelter in time.
"Don't," Greg's voice echoes behind him and Nick glances up in time to see Greg ducking through the doorway of what was once a plane hanger.
It's nothing more than pieces of discarded steel now; warped and battered, rusted by time and weather, but Nick knows they're lucky to have found it.
"I'm..." not, he was going to say, but Greg's shushing him before he can get the words out.
Closing the distance between them and pulling out the first aid kit Nick remembers Greg stealing from the lab what now seems a lifetime ago.
"Hold still," he orders, fingers cold and soothing as he rubs some sort of cream over the wound on Nick's neck. "How's the leg?" And Nick never would have pictured Greg as a doctor, but he's been fussing over Nick's injuries pretty much since day one, so it's not hard to see now.
"Better," Nick replies, flexing the torn muscle and feeling only the tiniest remnant of pain.
"Good," Greg says, pulling away and turning his attention to the small burn on the back of his hand.
They got off easy.
~*~
There's no one left by the time they decide to angle north-west. Nick doesn't remember when the rest of the group scattered, but he thinks it's probably for the best. They've run into four patrols in the last two days, forcing them to alter course and he tells himself it's easier to hide when it's just the two of them.
Besides, this way he doesn't have to worry about anyone else. He doesn't have to stress about finding water for the entire group or a shelter big enough to protect them all from the next storm. It's just him and Greg and Nick can handle that. At least, he thinks he can. Hopes he can because the last thing he wants to do is be left alone out here. Or leave Greg alone out here.
The landscape changes a little each day. Flat planes curving up into soft hills, soft hills giving way to rolling foot hills until, eventually, a line of mountains hover in the distance. Part of him wants to turn away, not even bother trying to cross them, because he's pretty sure that would amount to suicide. But there's a chance there's water. Better still, shelter and maybe even safety and they both could use a few days rest.
Greg doesn't say anything when Nick starts toward them, but Nick can tell just from Greg's expression that he approves of the idea. It's better than wandering aimlessly, anyway, and Nick can't help but feel just a little bit relieved at finally having a destination to move toward.
"We're going to need warm clothes," Greg says, and Nick laughs before he realizes what Greg's looking at.
Snow capped peaks and snow means water. If they're lucky, it might even be deep enough to have avoided complete contamination.
"We'll find something," he replies, not bothering to mention that most of the world's cities have been destroyed and the chances of finding even remnants of civilization is next to non-existent.
~*~
The trees are stripped bare. Skeletal remains of what were once majestic evergreens and Nick shivers as they pass under their dead branches. In a way, he almost envies them.
Their death was quick, brought with the first of the rains and they won't have to sit and wait, watching as everything else crumbles around them until, eventually, there's nothing left. Nick shakes his head at the thought, wondering exactly when he lost his mind.
The air around them is thin, clearer than it was down below, but still saturated with the heavy scent of smoke and decay. The scent of man and all the terrible things they're capable of and Nick draws his makeshift scarf tight around his nose.
They eventually did find a city, or what was left of it. They didn't stay long, knowing the cities were no longer safe. Just long enough to salvage what supplies they could, but even those were limited. It left Nick wondering just how many others were out here searching for salvation.
"We should stop, it's going to be dark soon," Greg says beside him and Nick doesn't bother asking how he knows.
It's impossible to tell this high up, shadows from the surrounding mountains combining with the low light of the sky and bathing the entire world in perpetual twilight.
"Okay," he replies instead, eyes sweeping across the area until he spots a small fissure in the rock face.
It's not that deep, but deep enough for them to get out of the wind, maybe even start a fire without it being seen and Nick can't remember the last time either of them were warm. He laughs at that, recalling how desperate he was to make it up into the mountains if only to escape the heat.
"We should try hunting, or something," Nick suggests, his stomach rumbling as if to emphasize his point. They ran out of food two days ago.
His clothes are already loose, his jeans hanging off his hips and every time Greg twists, Nick can't help but notice the way his skin clings to his bones.
"You really think there's something left alive up here?" Greg asks, hopeful for once and Nick forces himself to smile.
"We are," he replies, simply, like the answer should elude all of Greg's fears.
Greg doesn't respond, but he nods, smiling bright for the first time in longer than Nick can remember.
~*~
Twice Greg's hand slips from his grip and Nick's forced to slow down just to find it again. He can just make out Greg talking, protesting the pace and telling Nick to go on without him. To save himself while there's still a chance but the last thing Nick intends to do is leave Greg alone to face what's behind them.
They've been running for days. Through twisted mountain passes, across frozen lakes and Nick knows it's only a matter of time before they'll be forced to stop. The thought doesn't stop him from tightening his grip on Greg's hand, pulling until they're stumbling back into the wilderness, tree branches beating against them as the move forward, into the unknown.
~*~
Voices echo from behind the door, vibrating off the metal walls of their cell and Nick cringes as the door creaks open, light spilling into the room and momentarily blinding him. He tightens his grip on Greg, feeling Greg tremble against him and Nick vows not to let them take him this time.
Never again, in fact, and when he hears the muffled shouts of one of the others, followed by barked orders in a language he doesn't recognize, Nick releases a breath and pulls Greg that much closer.
~*~
He thinks it's been seven days.
He can't be certain, but he's pretty sure they come once a day, and since they've come seven times, that means it's been seven days. Seven days trapped in a small, metal tube with nearly fifty others, all crowded together, sharing body heat and sleeping space and Nick tries not to vomit as the scent of human excrement reaches his nose.
Greg's sleeping again; a fitful, restless sleep that speaks of nightmares and, for a moment, Nick's tempted to wake him. He doesn't, instead sliding into the space behind Greg, draping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. Greg tenses beneath him, relaxing a second later and Nick coos by his ear, whispering words of comfort before placing a kiss to the back of Greg's neck.
Greg stills instantly and when the door opens, Nick mentally chants eight days and closes his eyes.
~*~
The wound on his leg is infected. He can feel it spreading, heat radiating up the side of his body and whenever he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the soft brush of death's wings. Death never comes, though, leaving him to suffer through yet another day and Nick always finds himself disappointed.
He doesn't mention it to Greg, but he can tell Greg knows. Tell just by the way Greg watches him, eyes wide and worried like he's afraid Nick's going to slip out from beneath him at any moment and when, finally, the day is over and they're allowed to sleep, Nick drags Greg into a corner and kisses him hard, reassurance that they're still alive, for now.
~*~
He wakes to bright light, reflecting off every surface and it takes Nick a moment to realize the voice by his ear is Greg's. Whispering words of encouragement and when Nick opens his eyes, blinking against the spot light above him, Greg squeezes his hand and smiles.
Says words like thank, God and rescued and resistance, but it's not until later, when he's recuperating in what passes as an infirmary, that Nick remembers.
The war isn't over. It's only just begun.
Fin
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