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The sky was crumbling.
As Jim watched with wide, horrified eyes, he knew with absolute certainty that he would die if he didn’t run.
So he ran.
He ran as fast as he possibly could, tripping over his feet but never stopping, because if he stopped, he was dead. The crowd of people around him seemed to have the same thought, and the pack moved as one.
Swarms of machines came down from the sky, blotting out the sun, following the crowd with ease. They reached down with spindly metal arms and snatched up the people like grapes. The kid next to Jim was lifted up into the air, kicking and screaming, tears running down his face, and Jim froze. He ducked to the side just in time to avoid the claw coming for him, smashing into the side of a building ans scurrying into an open grate. He dropped down into what he guessed must be the sewers, taking deep breaths, adrenaline still thumping in his ears.
His eyes adjusted to the dimness, and he looked around. The round walls were covered in some sort of muck, slimy and glistening in the meager light. Some green plant, algae perhaps, was climbing up the walls, lining them with a dark emerald hue. Water that was most definitely not clean ran down the middle. Broken streams of light fell down from the grate.
Movent to his right caught his eye. He raised his fists, on guard, turning to find…
A kid. Like him.
He wore a beanie over his ears, and strangely formal clothing otherwise, though the blue sweater and black slacks were covered in muck. Jim supposed his own t-shirt and jeans were as dirty as his. Black hair poked out from under the boy’s beanie, somehow neat even through all the chaos. Chocolate eyes looked him over. “Who are you? State your name,” he said, face inscrutable but voice betraying some fear.
“I’m Jim,” he breathed. “Jim Kirk.”
The kid continued to eye him suspiciously. “Are you human?”
“Last I checked, yes,” Jim tried to joke, smile pulling at his lips. The kid didn’t laugh or even smile at his joke, though he supposed that was fair. They were in an apocalypse after all. Oh fuck, they were in an apocalypse!
“I am Spock,” said the boy.
“Spock,” Jim repeated, trying the name out. It felt foreign on his tongue.
“We must move. We haven’t much time,” said Spock, pushing past him and walking briskly down the tunnel.
“Where are we going?” Jim asked, jogging behind him.
“Away from here,” was Spock’s only answer.
Jim thought of the crowd he had just escaped. “What about everyone else?”
“We can do nothing to help them.”
“What about my family?” Jim gasped, remembering Sam, alone at home. Jim was supposed to be getting groceries. “There’s no way I’m leaving them.”
Spock didn’t even stop walking. “You are welcome to try to help them if you like, but I cannot help you.”
“Why not?” Jim challenged, trying not to show how desperate he was. “What about your family?”
“I have no family.”
Jim stopped walking. Spock noticed and stopped as well.
“Why do you stop?”
A pause. “I’m sorry. About your family.”
Spock didn’t make eye contact. “There is nothing to apologize for.”
“I know. I’m still sorry.” He raised a hand to put in on Spock’s shoulder, but he flinched.
“Please refrain from touching me,” he said, almost breathlessly.
“Okay,” said Jim putting his hand down, guilt churning in his stomach. He made Spock uncomfortable. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“We don’t have time for this.”
“Please come with me to save my family,” Jim pleaded. “ Please. ”
Spock surveyed him with tired eyes. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay,” he repeated.
Jim almost cried in relief. “Okay.”
-----
Jim’s house wasn’t very far by subway, like he’d come on the way, but now to make their way back on foot would be a much longer journey. Especially since he had no knowledge of the sewer pipe system in the city. Two hours or so would be his estimate if he were on the sidewalk, but he was anything but.
Thankfully, Spock was some sort of genius, because he knew the cardinal directions, and Jim knew his house was roughly northeast from where he was on he surface.
The trek northeast had so far been spent in silence, and Jim felt like he would explode if it went on any longer.
“What… is your favorite… color?” Jim fumbled, desperate to fill the silence.
“‘Favorite color?’” Spock inquired.
“Yeah. Don’t you have one?”
Spock shook his head. “It is illogical to have a preference among what are simply variations in light.”
Jim stared, mouth open. “But they’re such pretty variations in light!”
Spock’s face stayed the exact same as it had the entire time Jim had known him, which wasn’t that long, but seriously, was his face paralyzed or something? “Such emotional sentiments are-- were discouraged in my household.”
Were. Jim tried not to think about the past tense. Or the fact that, apparently, Spock wasn’t allowed to show emotions. “Well, why don’t you pick one now?”
“Excuse me?”
“Pick a favorite color.”
Spock was silent. Jim was about to say something when Spock spoke up.
“Blue.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” Spock looked away. “Blue.”
“Good choice,” Jim smiled.
The sewers ahead of them were largely the same as the ones behind them. Algae, goo, shit river down the middle, the like. Silence reigned again, except this time it was a comfortable one. The sound of running water filled the tunnel, the steady padding of their feet mixing in and creating what Jim could almost pretend was music.
He watched Spock march on ahead of him, leading the way. Spock walked rhythmically, every step and every movement planned and deliberate. Now that Jim was looking more closely, he could see that not all the grime on Spock’s blue sweater was from the sewer. As dirty as it was down there, there wasn’t much actual dirt, not as much as there was on Spock’s sweater, anyhow.
There also wasn’t much blood in the sewer, either.
“What’s yours?”
It took Jim a moment to register that Spock had spoken, and another to register what he was referring to. “My favorite color?”
“Yes,” Spock confirmed.
“Gold. Like the stars.”
Spock nodded, chin tilting up at the memory of the night sky.
“Good choice,” Spock echoed.
-----
After going a while in the sewers, it was decided that to be able to actually reach the house, it would be necessary to leave the sewers and walk topside the last few minutes, because as convenient as it would be, there was no sewer entrance to Jim’s house. Or at least, not one they could use.
Jim climbed the ladder first, having won that right after a fierce debate over who would risk their life. He gazed with trepidation through the hole in the manhole cover, watching for movement. When he saw nothing, he carefully lifted the cover and slid it as silently as he could to the side. He hoisted himself out of the hole and pulled Spock up after him.
Jim looked around. He recognised this alley, hardly two minutes from his home. Bingo.
He slinked quietly out of the alleyway into destruction.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
All the buildings around them had been torn down. It was completely silent. There was nothing and no one around.
A rock fell into the pit of Jim’s stomach. Sam.
He bolted to his house.
Jim’s house could barely be called that. It had been reduced to rubble.
He sprinted forward, tears falling freely down his face. “Sam! Sam!”
He ran through the splintered doorframe, though it didn’t serve its purpose anymore with the walls around it nonexistent and door ripped off its hinges. “Sam! Sam, please!” he wailed. “Please, where are you?”
The living room was to his right, containing ruined couches and a misshapen coffee table. All his books, from the torn down second floor, lay destroyed on the ground, but he barely registered them. He barely saw the kitchen either, granite countertops to his left snapped in half, cabinets hanging open on broken hinges. He didn’t notice the stairs that led up to nothing, or the water had puddled near where the toilet had been shattered. He dashed through the house, eyes searching for the one thing that wasn’t there.
Sam was nowhere to be seen.
“Sam!” he screeched, tears streaming down his face, throat and lungs burning, “SAM!”
He collapsed onto his knees, unable to comprehend what had happened. “Sam,” he whispered.
“He has been taken.” Jim looked up to see Spock, standing at his side. For the first time since he’s known him, Spock looked truly sad. He placed his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “I grieve with thee,” he rasped.
And Jim just… broke. He sobbed harder than he ever had before, shaking with the weight of what had transpired in the shattered house.
He felt tentative arms around him. Spock. He instantly melted into the hug, burying his face in Spock’s chest.
“He’s gone,” he sobbed, “He’s gone.”
“I know,” said Spock simply, sadly, and sent Jim into another round of tears.
-----
They stayed in that position, Jim crumpled up against Spock, long after Jim had run out of tears. The silence rang around them, broken only by Jim’s sniffling.
“Jim,” said Spock after a long while, “We have to go.”
He took a deep breath. “I know,” he said, but made no motion to get up.
“We have to go,” Spock repeated softly. “They will come for us. We must move.”
“I don’t want to leave him,” Jim choked out.
“He is not here. We must move, or we will end up in the same place as he.”
“What happens when they take you?” he whispered, still no moving. “Do you think he’s still alive?”
“I do not know. However, the odds are 189873.9763 to one that we will survive if we stay here.”
That got Jim to laugh a little, much to Spock’s confusion. “What is funny?”
“You calculated the odds?”
“Naturally.”
“How???”
“With… my brain,” said Spock, tilting his head in confusion, and Jim laughed again, not all the way, but enough to get him to move.
He stood up, extending a hand down to Spock, who took it but didn’t even use it as he stood up himself. “Let’s go, Spock.”
Spock looked at him with something unreadable in his eyes. “Let’s go,” he echoed.
-----
There were woods near the Kirk house, perfect for two boys trying to survive the apocalypse. They set up camp, Jim building a shelter while Spock worked on gathering food.
The sun was soon to set when Spock came back, several pouches fashioned out of leaves filled with berries. Jim finished off they shelter and came to sit by Spock where he was attempting to build a fire without much success.
“Do you know how to make a fire?” asked Jim.
“In theory, yes,” Spock grunted, rubbing the rocks together with all his strength.
“Have you ever made a fire before?” he said, smile pulling at his lips. God, he was tired.
“No,” Spock admitted.
“Here, let me do it,” Jim said, taking the rocks from Spock’s hands.
In five minutes, the had a fire. Spock quickly sat down next to it.
“Are you cold?” Jim asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“...”
“Spock.”
“I am adequate.”
“ Spock.”
Spock didn’t answer. Jim had heard enough. He plopped down next to his friend, carefully putting an arm around him, ready to pull back if Spock asked him to.
He didn’t.
The sun set after not too long, but Jim didn’t want to move, and evidently neither did Spock. After a while, Jim sighed and said, “C’mon Spock. Let’s lie down.”
The shuffled a little, never breaking apart, until they were horizontal. Jim was practically spooning Spock, he realized with a start. But Spock made no move to end the contact, and Jim didn’t want to stop either.
-----
The morning came, golden and beautiful. Jim noticed Spock was awake, his sharp eyes wide open, but they were still in the same position.
“Good morning, Jim,” he said.
“G’mornin’ Spock,” Jim replied tiredly.
They were gonna make it.