Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Breathe in. Breathe out. Hold your breath.

Breathe in... Breathe out...

God, I'm dizzy.

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 I glance around nervously, checking for infected of all shapes and sizes, any of which could end my life with a single bite. The streets are... Curiously empty. Not a single survivor anywhere...

And then I hear it.

The rasping breaths of someone not quite dead yet. An infected? No. They don't breathe. I twitch a little as I close my eyes to focus in on where the sound is coming from. When I pin-point it, I snap them back open and start running as fast as I can with my pack on my shoulders. At the beginning of the apocalypse, the government, when it was still a thing, advised people to live with the 'every man for himself' mindset. The people that listened to that advice? Well... They aren't really people anymore. I keep running, forcing my breaths to be regular and even while I track the ever-quickening wheezing, absolutely determined to help whoever this is.

Aha! There.

I skid to a stop, slipping my pack off my shoulders and onto the ground as I kneel down, turning the person this way and that to check for infection sites. If I even so much as touch an infected, I could get serious radiation poisoning, so it is safer to be careful and check everywhere... Nothing. Good. Whoever this person is will heal up with some medical attention. So I grab the nearest bottle of general flu medicine and pour some directly down their throat. Once I finish repacking all of my precious equipment, I haul them over my shoulders and start the long trek back to my camp. I know that is the only place this guy could possibly be safe enough from the infected to heal.

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Three hours later...

I regain consciousness with a heaving gasp, immediately trying to sit up but being stopped by... Are those hands? Who would be touching me? How am I not dead? Where the hell am I?!

I took in a deep breath, counting to 20 in my head as I calm myself down, before I open my eyes and look around. I try to say something... anything... But the words simply won’t come out. I take an anxious glance at who I assume to be is my saviour, and I’m stunned into staring by the complete beauty of his shining auburn hair.

When my vision fully clears (about ten minutes later) I desperately pantomime a pad of paper and a pen, praying to a god that I don't believe in that he would understand what I was trying to convey. Thankfully, he understands the quick motions of my hands, and retrieves a notebook. So that I can scribble down all of my questions of course. He seems pleasantly surprised by my activeness either way . The first question I ‘ ask’ him is his name. He responds with a name that is quite clearly an alias, and doesn’t make very much sense in a world such as ours. Car Crash... what an intriguing young man.

His bright, hopeful, green eyes stand out to me the most... where have my glasses gone...? I so desperately want to be able to see them clearly. I draw a pair of glasses on the pad of paper, and almost instantly they are in my hands. I slide the arms over my ears, and I can’t help the slight blush that blooms on my cheeks at the sight of him. He is ... roughish. A young face defined by years of suffering and cruelty, and a body built for survival. His ringlets of bouncing brown hair shift as he tilts his head... shit. He’d seen me staring.

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Oh no. Oh no. They’re staring. Have I done something? It feels like their eyes are boring into me; their deep, ruby eyes tracing my face and then trailing down my body. I tilt my head to one side, uncomfortable, and they are almost hidden from my view by my hair falling into my face. I think that this is what ants and other bugs feel like while they were being studied... except my scientist isn’t a scientist. They are a survivor, around my age, with ombre orange and yellow hair and a lean physique, barely any muscle or fat covering their bones.

“Hey! Uhm... Is there something you need? You keep looking at me.”

I watch as they frantically scribble on the notepad yet again, and I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding as it is revealed to me that they hadn’t seen another person in a very long time. Whew, that would have been awkward. I turn so that I’m facing away from them, picking up a cooked can of beans to offer it to them, assuming they would be hungry. Which I am right about. It shocks me considerably when they take the can and inhale almost all of the food within seconds. Okay then... they clearly don’t remember what manners are. Perhaps I could offer them water? Or maybe something else to eat. I really don’t know how to interact with people. It’s been a long time since I spoke to anyone, afraid of losing again in the same way that I lost her.

No. Now is not the time to be thinking of the past. She wouldn’t want me to think of her in moments like this. Moments where I should be hoping for a future that this person might be. Moments where I have a chance to move on. I shake my head, trying to clear thoughts of her dark blue hair out of my mind, and wave to grab the attention of the ginger person I was in the company of. I offer them a rag to clean their mouth with, a little disgusted at the juices that definitely didn’t look like anything else...

What?

Has it seriously been that long? Holy moly. Woah, okay, those are intrusive thoughts alright. This poor dude barely has enough energy to sit up and I’m thinking about that? They’re probably not even into guys or anything. I shake my head a second time, trying to clear the dirty water that was my muddled thoughts, and turn away from them, running my fingers through my curls anxiously. I have to keep it together. This is the first human contact I've had in months and my stupid teenage brain is already trying to ruin it for me. Perhaps I don’t really want to start a new relationship, but it has been long enough since her death and I don’t want to grieve any longer, so I am choosing to give this strange, mute, redhead a chance.

Little did I know what I’d be getting myself into.

Chapter Text

About a week has passed since ‘Car Crash’ rescued me. It’s weird, co-existing with someone else after almost dying, but it’s nice. He does his best to care for me, going on supply runs and cooking food to the best of his ability, but I wish he didn’t have to strain so much because of how weak I am. I can barely even carry my old weapons anymore, which means that if I were to be attacked, I would most likely succumb. Each day goes by, and we see no sign of any infected. No sign of the disease that spread like wildfire. It’s oddly... peaceful. Living a life where the only company I have is a cute brunette boy who can barely speak a word without stuttering. At least I can speak to him now.

Wait. Cute? What... no. I’m not attracted to anyone. This is an end of the world scenario! I shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. Flamethrower from the past, from the before, probably would have stared, but that’s not me. I’m going to focus on recovering. On making myself stronger. Speaking of... I stand up, holding a hand to my head as dizziness washes over me, but I don’t fall, taking a few uneasy steps as the black cloud blurring my vision clears. I wonder where Car Crash got off to... he didn’t say he was going for a supply run today, did he?

No, he didn’t. I find him hunched over a pair of combat boots, shining them with deep black polish. I can’t help but wonder why he’s polishing them, as there isn’t anyone to impress. He probably has experience or something, which then means that there’s a reason for him shining these boots, right? Might as well ask. “Hey, Crash, why are you polishing those boots?”

Seeing the blush bloom on his cheeks as a result of the nickname makes me smile, but the way he stutters out his answer makes it wider. It’s cute, how he can barely get the words out. I vaguely hear him respond with something about mud protection, but I’m too focused on his reactions and the way he stammers to really listen. I shake my head, breaking out of my daze just like that and move to sit next to him. I then take his other boot in my hand to inspect the condition of it, wondering if my less violent skills could be of use.

I find, almost gleefully, that they can. The stitching of his boot is slowly coming loose and sewing used to be one of my favourite hobbies. I pull my small sewing kit out of my pocket and find a sharp needle that could pierce through the rubber of the sole of his boot, the motions engrained in my muscle memory. I’m careful not to prick myself as I start repairing the shoe, the in and out of the needle calming to my apocalypse addled mind. I realise slowly that I missed this. I missed the mundane, which is slightly ironic if you ask me. 

When I’m done with my stitches, I set the brown leather in my hand back down on the floor, and I notice that he’s staring at my hands. My dirty, stain riddled hands. I wonder why he’s staring there of all places. My face is handsome enough, and I’m aware that my figure isn’t what it used to be. I don’t want to harm my own ego, however, so we aren’t going to follow that train of thought. As soon as he catches me staring back, he averts his gaze, glaring into the floor like it had done something. I can imagine a small fire catching on the floor, because that’s how hot his gaze is burning.

I laugh, and elbow him gently in the ribs, making a joke about how hard he’s staring at the floor as I do so. I then stand up, and go over to our gas cooker, planning to cook him a meal, if only to fluster him. I know that my cooking skills aren’t as good as his, but it’s time to give him a break, as he’s been doing everything around here for a lot longer than he should have. Hm... what to make? I scan the shelves, looking for something that wouldn’t be too bland, and then an idea hits me.

I tell Crash that I’m going out as I grab my recently found bow and my protective gear, and he doesn’t say anything against it. With no objections, it must be a relatively safe idea, right? The previously mentioned idea is this: Go out, travel the short distance to the forest, shoot a rabbit or squirrel, cook fresh meat. Relatively simple, right?

Wrong. I return to the base camp almost 2 hours later, having finally caught and killed a rabbit. I hope that I’m not leaving a trail of blood, but the cloth I wrapped the carcass in got soaked with the red fluid very quickly. The camp is eerily quiet when I eventually return, and I force myself to believe that this simply means that Crash is sleeping. I leave the dead rabbit in the area that’s sectioned off for cooking, and remove my weapons and hunting gloves, before going to find the brunette I am cohabiting with.

I’m relieved when I find that he is just napping, curled up in the hammock we set up together when we realised that our shelter only had limited furniture. I leave him to his nap after depositing my gear and dirty jacket next to my own hammock and return to the ‘kitchen’ with a pep in my step. It takes me a while to de-skin and properly cut the rabbit meat, but the smell of the stew that I make with it and a few self-grown veggies is worth it. I honestly think that I’m proud of this meal, as it’s a change from the usual bland beans and rice.

“What’s that smell?”

I jump as Crash comes into the kitchen, the delectable scent of my cooking must have woken him up. “Rabbit stew.” I respond honestly, in answer to his question, and I can’t help but smile at the light that brightens his face considerably. I go through the motions of pouring him a portion with immense joy, and the noises he makes aren’t exactly innocent, but they’re wanted either way. He likes my stew! How amazing. As I take a sip of the thick liquid, I see why he enjoys it so much. The flavours of the vegetables burst over my tongue, and I take a few moments to savour the taste of fresh, home-cooked food.

It almost reminds me of my mother’s cooking, may she rest in peace. As I close my eyes, I reminisce on what I’ve lost, and then I move on, focusing on the taste of food that I’ve made. Within 20 minutes, all of the stew is gone, most of it having been eaten by Crash. He was clearly hungry after his nap, but I won’t bother him about it. A guy’s gotta eat, right? I clean our bowls with a small amount of clean water, and then store them back in the box they came from.

Crash blinks owlishly at me as I move, and I get the feeling that he wants to ask me something, but I don’t press. It’d be bad for whatever we’re building together to pressure him, and I rather enjoy our friendship. With that thought comes a yawn, and I realise that I am incredibly tired, so I wave goodnight to my companion and head over to my hammock, fully intending to rest until the next day. Unfortunately, my rest doesn’t last long, as I'm woken by the hushed voice of my friend, calling my name in between soft hiccups.

Wait ... had he been crying? I sit up, and wipe the drowsiness from my eyes, looking at him with a question evident in my irises. What could have happened to upset him enough for tears? I’m quiet for a while, contemplating how to handle this, and he must take this as a sign that I’m not going to help because he backs away slightly.

Chapter Text

I take a step away from them, feeling foolish that I trusted them enough to think that they’d help. I reach up to wipe the sorrowful salt from my eyes and face, hoping that I’d be able to move on. I am wrong. Just feeling the wetness on my cheeks threatens to start the waterfalls of tears all over again, and I sniffle, barely holding it together. It’s hard to read Flame. Their face is always pretty closed, their emotions concealed... but when I take a closer look, I realise that they look like they want to help, sympathy and concern shining in their irises.

Wait... concern? I blink, and the worry is still there. I feel so bad that I’m the reason they have to feel this way, and the tears threaten to fall again. They see this, and I’m suddenly enveloped in warmth. I realise that they’ve wrapped their arms around me. I can’t help but sob now, their embrace comforting in my sorrows. They don’t even know what’s wrong, and they’re here, comforting me... I’ve never experienced this before, such unconditional care. Not even my parents cared this much, when they were still alive, because my siblings were always more important. But... now... I’m Flame’s sole focus.

I... don’t know how I feel about this. I feel myself dozing off in their arms, and so I let sleep take me, exhausted from waking up in the middle of the night, and drained from crying and panicking.

When I wake up again, I’m nestled comfortably in a warm space. I’m tempted to go back to sleep, but something makes me pause. Why am I so warm? My hammock is usually freezing when I wake up... so where has this warmth come from? I open my eyes slowly, and I’m met with the sight of a chest... Flame’s chest... Flame’s naked chest. Holy shit. I’m in Flame’s hammock! This is embarrassing... but if I move, they’ll wake up, and they need their rest... I can feel my face going red as I process the situation, but I really don’t want to move, comfortable and safe for the first time since this whole mess started.

I shift a small amount, moving my face away from their chest so that I’m not smelling their ‘scent’, but settle down completely after that, resting quietly as I try to remember how on Earth I ended up here. Oh, right. I’d fallen asleep in their arms after my panic. Oh no... they’ve seen me cry. How am I supposed to act strong and manly if they’ve seen me cry? And they’re probably going to ask me about what happened. I can’t tell them that! They’ll know that I was thinking about her, and all of our experiences together aren’t going to mean anything! This is horrible. I’ve just got to pray they don’t ask.

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As I wake, I can feel Crash’s cold body against mine. It’s nice. I usually run really hot, so his cool skin is a mercy. He’s unusually still... maybe he’s embarrassed? I am shirtless, and I haven’t exactly got a small chest. Maybe I should check up on him. I gently nudge him, and he startles a little before settling back down, still wrapped in my arms as if they were a blanket. So he is awake... but he chose to stay. I open my eyes, and look down at him. Aww... how cute. His cheeks are pink, probably due to the close contact, and he’s avoiding eye contact like I would avoid an infected.

Dork. That’s the first word that comes to mind when I look at him a second time. He seems comfortable, so I don’t move much, simply pulling him closer to nuzzle my face into his hair, his soft curls tickling my nose. He makes a small noise, it sounds kind of like a purr, and shivers, before he goes lax in my arms once again. However nice this is, we do have a long day ahead of us. You see, we’ll be going into the big city to scour an apartment block. They’re usually full to the brim of foods and supplies that will be beneficial to us, but they also run the added risk of running into infected, like clickers and snappers, and not being able to escape.

I would hate to be the one to bring it up... but we’ll be wasting precious daylight if we don’t leave now. The worst kind of infected come out at night. The golems. Because they’re so big, they hibernate during the day to conserve energy. I’ve never personally come across one, but the survivor camps are always full of rumours and tales about them so I had always tried my best to avoid going out at night. Very few people survive golem attacks, and I don’t want to become part of that statistic. I’m certain that Crash doesn’t want to either, so I gently nudge him and whisper quietly.

“Crash, we need to get up. Today is supply day, and we’re wasting daylight.”

He groans, and I hear him mumble something about being comfy, but he gets up anyway, stretching as he slips out of the hammock. I sit up, and follow him out, chuckling as his face goes red at the sight of my shirtless torso. He knew that I was trans before this moment, but we’d never been in a situation where it’d be a problem because I always made sure to bathe in the river after him and wash my clothes when he was out. I can see why I’d done that now. He’s very clearly struggling to keep his eyes on my face, and that just makes my grin wider.

“Like what you see?”

Talk about one liners. Those words are all it takes for him to dash away, gathering his day clothes in a rush as he mumbles apologies and swiftly makes his escape. It’ll be fun to break the news to him that I’m ace, eventually, but for now I’m going to let him live out his teenage fantasies. I get dressed slightly slower than he had, taking a few long moments to fold my clothes and tie my boots exceptionally tight, if only to give him time to calm down. I pull my knife out from under my pillow and slip it into my boot as a last resort weapon. I’d always preferred to use my bow anyway, which I grab off the wall and swing over my back.

When I leave our shared room again, I find Crash cooking a breakfast of plain oatmeal and self-harvested honey. It is one of the better breakfasts he can offer for the two of us, so I’m not going to complain. I sit at our fold-out table, cleaning under my nails with the tip of an arrow as I wait. This is another one of those things that my brunette companion finds scarily attractive, and so I’ve made a habit out of it. He serves the oatmeal with surprising grace, sliding a spoon into my hand afterwards.

The food is warm, and it settles in my belly nicely as I eat it, savouring the taste of the only sweetness I’d get to eat that day. Crash settles in front of me, and he steals a few bites of my oatmeal in a moment of bravery, grinning and snickering. I pull an offended face, but I’m more embarrassed than anything. He seems proud of what he’d done, so I leave him to it, finishing my food so he won’t do it again. I stand, going to wash the slime off my bowl for fear of attracting ants. I then check my gear over, afraid of it breaking while I’m supposed to use it.

I watch as Crash also washes out his bowl and then tests out his knives. I do have to confess, the 'swish' of his blades flying through the air, followed by the 'thunk' of them hitting their desired targets is oddly satisfying. He's good with them, and I find myself with the urge to tell him that, my mind admittedly running a little wild with thoughts of him protecting me. When you've been alone for as long as I have, human contact is… a wild experience.

"Ready to put those skills to use Crash? You're a good shot, I'll give you that. C'mon, let's go."