Archive of Our Own ^beta

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„Never been happier to be on a plane right now.“ Spencer sighs.

„You hate flying“, Ryan takes a swig from his glass of tomato-juice.

„Yes, but the sooner we’re out of here, grab Brendon and Jon and hide in that cabin in the woods, the better. I want us to be together until everything is over.“

Spencer huffs, buries deeper in his seat and closes his eyes.

Ryan loves him, okay, but sometimes Spencer acts as if it’s the end of the world, even if they’re just going to write their next album in a rented holiday home outside L.A.

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“I didn’t think community-service was such lonely work,” Alexis sighs. “The name itself would suggest a lot more people working together. Not just me being out there and doing all these boring tasks.”

Ted grabs the phone a bit harder. “If you wouldn’t call me every fifteen minutes, you might have finished already.”

“If you wouldn’t call Ted every fifteen minutes,” Ted hears David’s voice through the speaker, “you might have left your room to go out to do your service already!”

Ted can almost hear Alexis roll her eyes at her brother. It will be a long, long day.

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Frank doesn’t feel well. Everyone in the bus knows. Everyone has known for several days when he tried to hide his used tissues, failed to stifle his coughs and put on a second hoodie although it’s spring and it’s not cold anymore.

But as long as Frank’s not acknowledging it, no one mentions it. That’s the rule.

No one mentions it in front of Frank, that is.

“I’m sure it’s just a cold,” Mikey tells his brother.

Gerard is not so sure. He worries. He’ll stock up on vegetable soup and paracetamol at the next motorway-service-station, just to be prepared.

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“Don’t come closer,” Frank warns. He’s buried deep into his bunk and his voice is almost gone. “I might be contagious, I hope it’s not the flu.”

Gerard squeezes in next to Frank. “We all got our shots before the tour, don’t you remember? It’s a simple cold and you just need a good night’s sleep. And the veggie soup that I just heated up.”

He touches Frank’s forehead. “You’re not hot. That came out wrong,” he grins, “you don’t feel feverish.”

Frank looks at him and smiles back. He might not be contagious, but Gerard’s smile is totally infectious.

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Healing?

Michonne doesn’t think that she’ll ever will. But coping does get easier. She feels like herself more often than not. Doesn’t struggle to combine the parts of her personality.

Happy?

That’s a word that has no place in her life. But watching the children puts a smile on her face, defending their home makes her content, contributing to the alliance keeps her busy. Being a mother, a fighter and a diplomat – she might have become all those in her former life, too.

But one thing that she never thought she’d be as perfect as she is now is

waiting.

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Desert roads are mostly straight, no curves that would make the Trans Am swerve.

The wind blasts through Poison’s hair, he can’t feel the stinging heat of the sun, and the air almost smells fresh. Ghoul, in the seat next to him must feel the same, he has raised both his arms and is whooping with excitement.

Of course, straight roads also give no shelter from the lasers the Dracs are constantly shooting from their van that follows the Trans Am.

Well, that’s their life now. Poison puts his foot down to make the car accelerate as much as possible.

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“… happy birthday to you,
happy birthday, dear Corona,
ah-and- fuck you, too!”

The Doctor opens the bathroom-door, their face incredulous. “What are you doing!”

“I’m washing my hands, just like grandma taught us: 30 seconds, two times Happy Birthday. - No idea who this Corona is, though.”

The Doctor lowers their head into their hands.

“Don’t touch your face!”

“Fascinating! But this is wrong. Come on, the TARDIS can help making it right.”

Can we go back to when David Bowie was healthy? My gran said when he died in 2016 that this was the beginning of the end.”

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“According to my research guys feel flattered when I try to kiss them.”

Spencer has heard Brendon say strange things before, but that - “What? Research?”

Brendon slumps down on the couch next to him. “Of ten guys only two declined. Politely. So I guess they also felt flattered.”

Spencer looks up from his magazine. Brendon looks serious. “Why would you kiss ten guys? Why research?”

“To gain courage for what I’m going to do now.” Brendon comes closer and kisses him.

Spencer doesn’t feel flattered. Spencer feels happily surprised getting what he’s always desired. He leans in and kisses back.

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“Nightfever, nightfever!” Deniz hears the music already outside the apartment. When he opens the door he sees his father and Roman trying to outdo each other shaking their bodies. He can’t control his giggle.

“What?” Roman turns and grins, “don’t you like it? Your dad performs the dance moves almost better than in the movie.”

“I know the song but have never seen the movie.”

“Impossible! Every respectable gay guy has to watch the movie, and if it’s just to admire John Travolta’s bum.”

“Okay tonight, but please keep on dancing so I can admire your bum some more, too.”

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When they unpacked the boxes from their most recent raid, a hidden warehouse close to Battery City, everyone was disappointed at first. All boxes contained toilet paper.

Poison had expected food or medicine, Ghoul had hoped for explosives, Kobra and Jet wouldn’t have said no to some more technical equipment and the girl had hoped for books or toys.

But in the end the soft tissue was a rarity in the desert. It turned out to be a valuable good to exchange for other things. And they enjoyed using it as well.

The Apocalypse really makes you appreciate toilet paper.

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Brendon lies on the huge hotel-bed, flat on his stomach, arms and legs spread wide, his naked body already glistening with sweat.

Spencer is just looking for now. He was watching when Brendon slowly undressed, relaxed, and presented himself to Spencer, willing to let him do anything today.

Spencer wants to give Brendon what Brendon wants. Even if he’s the one who calls the shots, he doesn’t feel dominant. He admires how open and trusting Brendon is in bed, how this makes Spencer aware of his responsibility.

Spencer takes a deep breath and takes his first step towards the bed.

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“I feel so much better, thank you for pampering me over the last days.” Frank sits in the bus-lounge, still wearing three layers and wrapped in a blanket, but his eyes are sparkling and he doesn’t sound congested anymore.

On the table in front of him there is a variety of flyers. “I asked the local roadies to bring back take-out menus. We’ll get delivered whatever you want, you deserve to choose after everything you did for me when I was ill.”

Gerard grins, he already has the choice narrowed down to two delivery-services.

“And later, we’ll totally bone!”

“Okay!”

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“La la la la, Friday I’m in love…” Roman hums, “damn.”

“Huh? Only Friday?”

“Haha, of course not, I’m in love with you eight days a week! Oh god!” Roman starts humming again “…ain't got nothing but love, babe..”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get rid of this fucking earworm, but as soon as one leaves my head, there’s the next one following right after.”

“I know the cure for this: don't tell me you're too blind to see, never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you…”

“Aaargh!”

Deniz runs.

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Drawing comics was what he always did before. Perched in his small room, on the bed, a sketchbook on his knees, that’s how he spent his little free time back in Battery City. Art was his escape from the dreary life he lived.

Now, in the desert, there is no free time. Art is a weapon now.

In broad strokes he paints his words on the huge billboard, knowing the Killjoys are keeping an eye out for arriving Dracs.

His art has to be bold, colourful and bright, already attracting the zone-runners’ attention from a distance:

YOU ARE NOT ALONE!