[Original] Bay/Corvin | Red
Title: Red
Summary: The world ends, and he's left with a wolf and a lot of bodies. [Red Riding Hood apocalypse verse]
Fandom: Original
Characters/Pairings: Bay/Corvin
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG; non-graphic descriptions of death
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 1179
Author's Notes: For the 30 days writing challenge. Prompt #3: image. Also inspired by the comment-fic prompt: "Any, any children's series/story, post-apocalyptic AU" with a few tweaks.
"Cor, get these to your grandmother while you're on the way to your function," his mother says, pushing tupperware containers full of cookies and jam and spaghetti into his arms. "No hanky-panky, understand, and remember to text me!"
He grins at her, opening his mouth to accept a tiny misshapen chocolate chip cookie bit before packing the containers into his duffle bag. "It's a camping trip, mom, not a function," he calls over his shoulder, as he walks out of the front door. Bay's waiting, back slumped against the wall in his usual lean way, a ring of keys swinging by the crook of his finger.
They mount their bikes and cycle their way down the streets. Corvin's grandmother lives near the edge of the city, near their camping ground. They sing snatches of songs to each other as the city recedes and the country beckons.
"What'd you tell your mom?" Bay asks, a smile on his face. He loves the way the breeze whips past them, Corvin knows.
"Camping trip with the gang." They turn left and into the woods. "She told me not to get too handsy with anyone."
Bay's barking laugh startles the birds enough for them to scatter into the sky. "That's a shame." He attempts to leer, but it only serves to make Corvin snicker at the mildly constipated look on his face.
Gran accepts the food with a wry smile, and tells them to drop by for breakfast in the morning. She looks Bay over and raises an eyebrow, and Corvin can't help the blush that spreads all the way down to his chest. "He's cute."
Corvin wants to add that Bay's pretty damned dangerous too, but bites his tongue in favour of watching Bay squirm under his grandmother's gaze.
*
They make camp just before the sun starts to dip below the horizon. Bay tosses Corvin a sandwich and they sit at the edge of the cliff, watching seabirds squabble in the salty air.
The full moon creeps up when they're kissing, Corvin having the sense to stuff the sandwich wrappers into the pockets of his jeans before Bay shoves him against the rough bark of the tree. Corvin inhales deeply when Bay pulls away, a mischievous glint in his eyes before he shifts into his wolf form and steps out of his clothes.
"Oh go on then," Corvin says, picking up the shirt and jeans. "I'll wait here. Go for your stupid run."
Bay whines and knocks into him purposely before bounding off into the darkness. It doesn't take long for him to get back; Corvin's just about finished Chapter Two of his book before a naked Bay is climbing into their tent and diving into their sleeping bag. His toes are slightly damp and cold, and Corvin kicks them away from where they're nestled on top of his feet. Bay huffs a breath into Corvin's neck in response, eyes closing as he falls asleep.
Corvin contemplates Chuck Palahniuk for a moment or two, and decides to turn in as well, switching off the lamp and allowing Bay to burrow deeper into his side. He fades to sleep with quiet snores just below his ear and a splayed arm across his stomach.
*
"Gran?" he yells, Bay at his side. Their bikes are resting against the walls of the cottage. The door opens when he pushes it softly, and an uneasy feeling starts to grow up his throat from the pit of his stomach when his grandmother still doesn't answer.
It's Bay who gasps and drags Corvin away. The body is stained with blood and there are bloody footprints all around the small place.
"I've got to go home," Corvin says, swallowing his fear. "Bay, we've got to-"
"Yeah."
They ride quickly back to the city, not noticing nature this time. Corvin just wants to go home, wants to cry into his mother's shoulder and hug his family tight, so his brakes squeal as he stops next to a suddenly frozen Bay.
The city's awfully quiet. There's no bustle, no humming of engines or honking of horns except for one long beep that goes on and on. The people in the cars look like they're sleeping, almost. Those on the street look like they died in mid-whatever. Corvin thinks the woman lying outside the bookstore might be his Maths teacher in secondary school.
Their bicycles are forgotten as they walk through the streets. Some people look untouched; others have bitemarks - fangs, Corvin notes - on their skin. Some are clean, while others are bloody and torn up, like Gran. They reach Bay's home first. Corvin doesn't go in, just stands in the middle of the lawn trying to wake himself up to no avail. Bay comes rushing out in wolf form a few minutes later, howling and whimpering into Corvin's chest, body shivering with anxiety and fear and grief.
*
Corvin walks up to the house where he had lived once. It's quiet, the wind carrying the faintest of bells to her ears, and he pauses right in front of the creaky white steps. It's tempting to call out, to ask if anyone's home, but he already knows the answer.
The wolf pads its way close to him, nuzzling at his skin, and he reaches down to scratch it behind the ears absently. Bay nudges the back of his right leg, once, twice, until he sighs and climbs the few steps and goes inside.
He spots a few carnations in the vase on the living table. His mother is lying on the sofa, pale with two red spots on her neck. She looks tired, as she always used to. Corvin places a carnation on her and moves on through the house, the wolf still sitting in the doorway patiently. He finds Blake halfway up the stairs, in her favourite polka-dot dress. She smells of his mother's best perfume, and it doesn't take long to figure out why; Reed is a few steps above her, blood all over his shirt. There's a discarded bouquet outside Blake's room. Dad's in the study, slumped over the computer desk, drops of blood on the papers. He'd been working on his firm's contracts, Corvin supposes. He was constantly bringing work home.
He packs a few things, clothes and pictures, mostly. He takes a flashlight, a bunch of batteries and raids the kitchen for food and drink. The wolf is still waiting, brilliant brown eyes flashing in the afternoon light.
"Goodbye," he says, and his voice shivers but doesn't break. The house doesn't smell like carnations anymore, he thinks, as he stands in the doorway with a rucksack and his wolf. It doesn't smell of baking and Blake's soap and the faint scent of A4 papers and ink. It smells musty, and coppery, and it's not his home anymore, really. It's a tomb, and it reeks of death.
He throws up in the bushes in front of the house, then follows Bay to the curb. They sit there for a while. wolf and boy, wondering what will happen next.
Summary: The world ends, and he's left with a wolf and a lot of bodies. [Red Riding Hood apocalypse verse]
Fandom: Original
Characters/Pairings: Bay/Corvin
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG; non-graphic descriptions of death
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 1179
Author's Notes: For the 30 days writing challenge. Prompt #3: image. Also inspired by the comment-fic prompt: "Any, any children's series/story, post-apocalyptic AU" with a few tweaks.
"Cor, get these to your grandmother while you're on the way to your function," his mother says, pushing tupperware containers full of cookies and jam and spaghetti into his arms. "No hanky-panky, understand, and remember to text me!"
He grins at her, opening his mouth to accept a tiny misshapen chocolate chip cookie bit before packing the containers into his duffle bag. "It's a camping trip, mom, not a function," he calls over his shoulder, as he walks out of the front door. Bay's waiting, back slumped against the wall in his usual lean way, a ring of keys swinging by the crook of his finger.
They mount their bikes and cycle their way down the streets. Corvin's grandmother lives near the edge of the city, near their camping ground. They sing snatches of songs to each other as the city recedes and the country beckons.
"What'd you tell your mom?" Bay asks, a smile on his face. He loves the way the breeze whips past them, Corvin knows.
"Camping trip with the gang." They turn left and into the woods. "She told me not to get too handsy with anyone."
Bay's barking laugh startles the birds enough for them to scatter into the sky. "That's a shame." He attempts to leer, but it only serves to make Corvin snicker at the mildly constipated look on his face.
Gran accepts the food with a wry smile, and tells them to drop by for breakfast in the morning. She looks Bay over and raises an eyebrow, and Corvin can't help the blush that spreads all the way down to his chest. "He's cute."
Corvin wants to add that Bay's pretty damned dangerous too, but bites his tongue in favour of watching Bay squirm under his grandmother's gaze.
*
They make camp just before the sun starts to dip below the horizon. Bay tosses Corvin a sandwich and they sit at the edge of the cliff, watching seabirds squabble in the salty air.
The full moon creeps up when they're kissing, Corvin having the sense to stuff the sandwich wrappers into the pockets of his jeans before Bay shoves him against the rough bark of the tree. Corvin inhales deeply when Bay pulls away, a mischievous glint in his eyes before he shifts into his wolf form and steps out of his clothes.
"Oh go on then," Corvin says, picking up the shirt and jeans. "I'll wait here. Go for your stupid run."
Bay whines and knocks into him purposely before bounding off into the darkness. It doesn't take long for him to get back; Corvin's just about finished Chapter Two of his book before a naked Bay is climbing into their tent and diving into their sleeping bag. His toes are slightly damp and cold, and Corvin kicks them away from where they're nestled on top of his feet. Bay huffs a breath into Corvin's neck in response, eyes closing as he falls asleep.
Corvin contemplates Chuck Palahniuk for a moment or two, and decides to turn in as well, switching off the lamp and allowing Bay to burrow deeper into his side. He fades to sleep with quiet snores just below his ear and a splayed arm across his stomach.
*
"Gran?" he yells, Bay at his side. Their bikes are resting against the walls of the cottage. The door opens when he pushes it softly, and an uneasy feeling starts to grow up his throat from the pit of his stomach when his grandmother still doesn't answer.
It's Bay who gasps and drags Corvin away. The body is stained with blood and there are bloody footprints all around the small place.
"I've got to go home," Corvin says, swallowing his fear. "Bay, we've got to-"
"Yeah."
They ride quickly back to the city, not noticing nature this time. Corvin just wants to go home, wants to cry into his mother's shoulder and hug his family tight, so his brakes squeal as he stops next to a suddenly frozen Bay.
The city's awfully quiet. There's no bustle, no humming of engines or honking of horns except for one long beep that goes on and on. The people in the cars look like they're sleeping, almost. Those on the street look like they died in mid-whatever. Corvin thinks the woman lying outside the bookstore might be his Maths teacher in secondary school.
Their bicycles are forgotten as they walk through the streets. Some people look untouched; others have bitemarks - fangs, Corvin notes - on their skin. Some are clean, while others are bloody and torn up, like Gran. They reach Bay's home first. Corvin doesn't go in, just stands in the middle of the lawn trying to wake himself up to no avail. Bay comes rushing out in wolf form a few minutes later, howling and whimpering into Corvin's chest, body shivering with anxiety and fear and grief.
*
Corvin walks up to the house where he had lived once. It's quiet, the wind carrying the faintest of bells to her ears, and he pauses right in front of the creaky white steps. It's tempting to call out, to ask if anyone's home, but he already knows the answer.
The wolf pads its way close to him, nuzzling at his skin, and he reaches down to scratch it behind the ears absently. Bay nudges the back of his right leg, once, twice, until he sighs and climbs the few steps and goes inside.
He spots a few carnations in the vase on the living table. His mother is lying on the sofa, pale with two red spots on her neck. She looks tired, as she always used to. Corvin places a carnation on her and moves on through the house, the wolf still sitting in the doorway patiently. He finds Blake halfway up the stairs, in her favourite polka-dot dress. She smells of his mother's best perfume, and it doesn't take long to figure out why; Reed is a few steps above her, blood all over his shirt. There's a discarded bouquet outside Blake's room. Dad's in the study, slumped over the computer desk, drops of blood on the papers. He'd been working on his firm's contracts, Corvin supposes. He was constantly bringing work home.
He packs a few things, clothes and pictures, mostly. He takes a flashlight, a bunch of batteries and raids the kitchen for food and drink. The wolf is still waiting, brilliant brown eyes flashing in the afternoon light.
"Goodbye," he says, and his voice shivers but doesn't break. The house doesn't smell like carnations anymore, he thinks, as he stands in the doorway with a rucksack and his wolf. It doesn't smell of baking and Blake's soap and the faint scent of A4 papers and ink. It smells musty, and coppery, and it's not his home anymore, really. It's a tomb, and it reeks of death.
He throws up in the bushes in front of the house, then follows Bay to the curb. They sit there for a while. wolf and boy, wondering what will happen next.