Fic: Merlin; If You Were the Last Man on Earth
Title: If You Were the Last Man on Earth
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: R - comic violence and mentions of sex
Pairing/Characters: Merlin/Arthur, mentions of Gwen, Gwen's dad, Will and Lancelot
Disclaimer: I own neither Merlin nor Shaun of the Dead, I am not getting any money from this. If I were I would not be panicking so much about how I'm ever going to pay back my student loan.
Warnings: AU, Attempts at humour, Crack... Cracky-violence, Zombies. Character death - but in a humorous fashion, I swear.
Spoilers: None, no really, none whatsoever.
Author’s Note: A line came into my mind that was clearly from an epic zombie!fic... I decided that I didn't have time and wrote zombie!crack!fic.
Many thanks once again to wrennette who was nice enough to laugh while beta-ing.
Summary: The world is being overrun by zombies and Merlin and Arthur are two of the last living people on the planet, they think.
“Of all the possible things to happen,” Arthur said, looking as though he wanted to punch the walls. “I have to be stuck in a bloody sewer with you.” The adjective wasn’t merely an expletive either. Somehow, the blood from the streets above had found its way down and the water - liquid - at their feet could just be seen to be a pinkish colour.
“You know, I would have thought the coming apocalypse and the army of zombies trying to eat our brains would have been more of an issue,” his companion shot back.
“Zombies, I can handle; the apocalypse, I can handle; being trapped underground with only you for company? That is enough to make me want to die.”
“It really brings new meanings to the phrase ‘not if you were the last man on earth’, doesn’t it?” Merlin agreed equably.
“Honestly… anyone else. It could have been anyone who I bumped into after that guy tried to kill me, but no. It had to be you.”
“I saved your life.”
“I didn’t need you to save my life. I was doing fine on my own.”
“He was about to tear your arm off.”
“That didn’t mean you had to go and blow off his head.”
“He was a zombie; he was killing you. I assure you, had I known how grateful you wouldn’t be, I wouldn’t have wasted my ammunition.”
“Where did you even get a shot gun?” Arthur asked incredulously, “It not like we’re in America. Who owns a shot gun?”
“My friend Gwen,” Merlin said a little reluctantly, stroking his hand down the weapon’s barrel, “her Dad’s a farmer. I was up there when this all started… I drove into town and I thought I’d better have some form of protection with me.”
“I don’t know what I’m more surprised about - that you were stupid enough to drive towards the place full of zombies, or sensible enough to bring a weapon.”
“It was better than the farm,” Merlin replied, seriously. “You don’t know fear until you’ve been pursued by a herd of zombie cows.”
“Zombie cows… how? No, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t even want to know.” Arthur broke off. “What about Gwen and her Dad, did they…?” Merlin just shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Merlin told him. “The last time I saw her I took her head off with a chainsaw, so I think she’s over it by now.”
“Dear Lord… A chainsaw? You took off your friend’s head with a chainsaw?”
“She was a zombie at the time.”
“Because that makes it alright.”
“Uh… yes, I really think it does.”
“Fair point.”
They sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, trying to ignore the fact that above their heads the armies of the undead were flooding the streets and laying waste to civilisation as they knew it. In the end Arthur had to break the silence before he killed himself, or Merlin, not that that would be any great loss.
“It still had to be you, though, didn’t it. I mean, in films the people who are left at the end are usually at least the attractive ones - or the ones with more than two brain cells. It’s clear that God hates me, leaving me with you.”
“It could be worse,” Merlin said cheerily, “you could be a zombie.”
“I think I’d prefer that. Then I wouldn’t have to put up with your feeble attempts at humour…” Merlin shrugged, as though he hadn’t a care in the world, much less a shot gun propped against his side and a machete they had taken from one of the shops on the high street next to him.
“Sorry to be so annoying. I just thought it might help if we at least found something amusing in the situation.”
“It might have been, if I had found you at all amusing.”
“I thought the comment about the cricket bat was quite good.”
“That was supposed to be a joke?” Arthur asked. “I just thought you were being useless. And what about that comment about Bill Nighy?” Merlin stared at him in horror, a look that had not even crossed his face when the football team of child zombies had chased them down Murray Street.
“You haven’t seen Shaun of the Dead?” he asked.
“No.”
“It’s a classic… it’s brilliant. It’s hilarious!” Merlin exclaimed, getting far more worked up than he ever had over blowing off the heads of the walking dead. “Bill Nighy’s his step-father who got turned into a zombie… Shaun uses a cricket bat. It’s brilliant. There’s this scene where they’re in a pub, bludgeoning zombies with pool cues to Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen. It’s epic!”
Arthur felt that talking about comedy zombie films when they’re pretty much living in a real one, except with much less of the comedy, is in poor taste. He said as much.
“I prefer laughing to crying,” Merlin replied simply, shooting him a look. Arthur knew he must look a sight: his blond hair matted down with blood, his clothes streaked in the same. Sewer sludge was coating the bottoms of his trousers and he knew that there was a huge rip across his shirt. “Or dying, for that matter.”
“Why couldn’t I have been stuck in a sewer with Lance?” Arthur asks of no one in particular - there’s no one left to ask, except Merlin. “He wouldn’t have been half as annoying as you.”
“Sorry, but he’s out there lurching with the best of them,” Merlin replied. “I saw him on Penmouth Road.”
“Shit,” Arthur said with feeling.
“My thoughts exactly.”
“So, what exactly does one do when waiting to be killed by zombies in a sewer?” There was a pause.
“We could have sex,” Merlin suggested.
“I was looking for serious suggestions.”
“I am serious… I mean, it’s just us right, as far as we know, and I can’t really see anything we can do to stop it, so we might as well enjoy ourselves.”
“You would enjoy yourself,” Arthur corrected, “I would be utterly mortified.”
“But no one would ever find out, because they’re all dead.”
“I would know.”
“Not for long… we’ll need to go up and look for food sooner or later.” Merlin sighed. “It’s times like this I wish I’d listened to Will.”
“Who’s Will?” In the few months Arthur has known Merlin, shopping at the newsagents across the street where the dark-haired man works, he can’t remember hearing of a Will. Of course, he could be mistaken, the man always chattered on at him as he bought the paper and Arthur had learnt to tune him out quite fast. Lance had always said Merlin had a crush on him - it was strange that he would never get to tell his flatmate that he was right.
“Friend of mine,” Merlin clarified, “lives outside town. He told me a few years ago the apocalypse was coming, I laughed. His house had a huge cellar, stone walls. I saw it once: he’d filled it with food and water, even installed a toilet and a huge metal door. He said he could outlast the world in there.”
“I hate people like that,” Arthur commented.
“But he was right though,”
“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t crazy.”
“I think that’s probably the definition of not crazy, actually.”
Arthur thought about it all. There was Will, down there in his cellar, alone, eating out of tins and drinking stale water, all the time thinking I told you so but never having anyone to say it to. Lance, lurching down the street, he head askew and his voice hoarse. Gwen, whoever she was, decapitated with her father’s chainsaw. The world was really and truly going to end. There was no going back, no happy ending. No credits would roll, no music would start and the house lights would never go up. And he was stuck there at the end of it all with Merlin, the weird guy from the shop with the ears that stuck out too far and the smile that made people wonder what he was planning to kill them with (a chainsaw, apparently). It could be worse, he had said. And that was the joke, because it blatantly couldn’t be worse. Ever.
He thought all of that, and he could tell that Merlin was looking at him strangely, despite the dim light. He was probably wondering if he had to blow his head off with a shot gun. He opened his mouth to tell him to stop being an idiot and Arthur wasn’t becoming one of the undead, but what came out was:
“Okay then.”
“Okay then what?” Merlin asked stupidly. Arthur sighed in exasperation, bemoaning once more the chances of ending up stuck with the stupidest man in the world on the day when it ended. Though he wasn’t completely unattractive.
“Okay to the sex thing,” Arthur said with a shrug. “I suppose it probably will be your last request, after all.” And if there was anything Arthur knew, it was that the last requests of dying men should be honoured, even if they were idiots called Merlin.
“Oh… right, cool.”
The sex thing wasn’t really that bad. Okay, the sex thing was bloody brilliant, but Arthur was never going to tell Merlin that. He wanted to die with dignity. It was probably just the adrenaline anyway.
“That wasn’t that bad,” he said.
“That’s not what it sounded like when you were screaming my name,” Merlin replied, entirely too smugly for Arthur’s peace of mind. “In fact, I think you might have told me I was the best you’d ever had at some point.”
“I said no such thing,” Arthur snapped, although truth be told, his brain had been so utterly melted by the entire event that he wasn’t one hundred percent sure of anything he had said.
“Right, of course you didn’t.”
“I will go to my grave before I say anything else on the matter,” he said without thinking. As if to punctuate the comment they both heard the familiar groaning cry of ‘brains’ from above them.
“Right… yes, dying,” Merlin said, quite matter-of-factly, somehow already fully dressed again. “That would be next on our list, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know about you,” Arthur said, “but I don’t really feel like waiting for them to come and find us.”
“Me neither,” Merlin agreed, grinning cheerily, and that smile was not nearly as annoying when you knew what other things Merlin could do with his mouth. Arthur even found himself smiling back. “So what say we go out there and kick some zombie arse?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Arthur agreed, pulling his clothes back on. Merlin leaned over, lightning fast and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek.
“It’s been fun,” he said, and Arthur could read every underlying word: terrifying, unbelievable, horrible and so many more.
“I suppose it could have been worse,” he conceded, grabbing the machete as Merlin picked up the shot gun and the small amount of ammunition left, along with his own machete.
“Once more unto the breach, then?”
“Don’t butcher Shakespeare,” Arthur told him as they strode towards the sewer exit.
“Do you think that I could?” Merlin asked suddenly. “I mean, are the zombies just live humans who’ve been turned, or are the dead rising…? Because there are some very nasty things I’d like to do to Tennyson.”
“Just imagine they’re all him,” Arthur advised.
“Right… I still say we should have a cricket bat. It’s just not right fighting zombies without a cricket bat.” They got to the exit and shared a long look.
“Ready?”
“Lead on, MacDuff.”
“What did I tell you about Shakespeare?” Arthur muttered as he swung the door open and the moan of ‘brains’ rose in volume by several decibels. “That’s not even the right wording anyway. It’s ‘lay on, MacDuff’.”
“Trust you to be pedantic at the end of the world,” Merlin commented as the first wave of zombies caught sight of the two of them, standing grimly side-by-side.
“Can’t drop standards just because of a few zombies,” Arthur said, suddenly very calm.
“Of course not… so… how about after this is over we go out somewhere where shot guns aren’t necessary?” Merlin asked, almost cautiously, while he aimed the gun in question and blew two zombies away, quickly bringing it down to reload.
Arthur just cocked an eyebrow at him and Merlin shot him a half-hearted grin.
“Right. Sorry. Stupid question.”
“After this is over,” Arthur said, bringing up his machete as the zombies came closer. “I’m going to have a very stiff drink. If you happen to be there as well…” he let the sentence trail off.
“Good to know,” Merlin replied. “Right… I hate to break this off, but maybe we should be paying more attention to the living dead?” Arthur nodded.
“Try not to die… but considering they’re after brains, I doubt you have much to fear.”
“Same to you.”
“Right…” Arthur said, eyeing the oncoming army. “I’ll see you later, then.”
“Barring my untimely death, it’s a date.”
-
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: R - comic violence and mentions of sex
Pairing/Characters: Merlin/Arthur, mentions of Gwen, Gwen's dad, Will and Lancelot
Disclaimer: I own neither Merlin nor Shaun of the Dead, I am not getting any money from this. If I were I would not be panicking so much about how I'm ever going to pay back my student loan.
Warnings: AU, Attempts at humour, Crack... Cracky-violence, Zombies. Character death - but in a humorous fashion, I swear.
Spoilers: None, no really, none whatsoever.
Author’s Note: A line came into my mind that was clearly from an epic zombie!fic... I decided that I didn't have time and wrote zombie!crack!fic.
Many thanks once again to wrennette who was nice enough to laugh while beta-ing.
Summary: The world is being overrun by zombies and Merlin and Arthur are two of the last living people on the planet, they think.
“Of all the possible things to happen,” Arthur said, looking as though he wanted to punch the walls. “I have to be stuck in a bloody sewer with you.” The adjective wasn’t merely an expletive either. Somehow, the blood from the streets above had found its way down and the water - liquid - at their feet could just be seen to be a pinkish colour.
“You know, I would have thought the coming apocalypse and the army of zombies trying to eat our brains would have been more of an issue,” his companion shot back.
“Zombies, I can handle; the apocalypse, I can handle; being trapped underground with only you for company? That is enough to make me want to die.”
“It really brings new meanings to the phrase ‘not if you were the last man on earth’, doesn’t it?” Merlin agreed equably.
“Honestly… anyone else. It could have been anyone who I bumped into after that guy tried to kill me, but no. It had to be you.”
“I saved your life.”
“I didn’t need you to save my life. I was doing fine on my own.”
“He was about to tear your arm off.”
“That didn’t mean you had to go and blow off his head.”
“He was a zombie; he was killing you. I assure you, had I known how grateful you wouldn’t be, I wouldn’t have wasted my ammunition.”
“Where did you even get a shot gun?” Arthur asked incredulously, “It not like we’re in America. Who owns a shot gun?”
“My friend Gwen,” Merlin said a little reluctantly, stroking his hand down the weapon’s barrel, “her Dad’s a farmer. I was up there when this all started… I drove into town and I thought I’d better have some form of protection with me.”
“I don’t know what I’m more surprised about - that you were stupid enough to drive towards the place full of zombies, or sensible enough to bring a weapon.”
“It was better than the farm,” Merlin replied, seriously. “You don’t know fear until you’ve been pursued by a herd of zombie cows.”
“Zombie cows… how? No, wait, don’t tell me. I don’t even want to know.” Arthur broke off. “What about Gwen and her Dad, did they…?” Merlin just shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Merlin told him. “The last time I saw her I took her head off with a chainsaw, so I think she’s over it by now.”
“Dear Lord… A chainsaw? You took off your friend’s head with a chainsaw?”
“She was a zombie at the time.”
“Because that makes it alright.”
“Uh… yes, I really think it does.”
“Fair point.”
They sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, trying to ignore the fact that above their heads the armies of the undead were flooding the streets and laying waste to civilisation as they knew it. In the end Arthur had to break the silence before he killed himself, or Merlin, not that that would be any great loss.
“It still had to be you, though, didn’t it. I mean, in films the people who are left at the end are usually at least the attractive ones - or the ones with more than two brain cells. It’s clear that God hates me, leaving me with you.”
“It could be worse,” Merlin said cheerily, “you could be a zombie.”
“I think I’d prefer that. Then I wouldn’t have to put up with your feeble attempts at humour…” Merlin shrugged, as though he hadn’t a care in the world, much less a shot gun propped against his side and a machete they had taken from one of the shops on the high street next to him.
“Sorry to be so annoying. I just thought it might help if we at least found something amusing in the situation.”
“It might have been, if I had found you at all amusing.”
“I thought the comment about the cricket bat was quite good.”
“That was supposed to be a joke?” Arthur asked. “I just thought you were being useless. And what about that comment about Bill Nighy?” Merlin stared at him in horror, a look that had not even crossed his face when the football team of child zombies had chased them down Murray Street.
“You haven’t seen Shaun of the Dead?” he asked.
“No.”
“It’s a classic… it’s brilliant. It’s hilarious!” Merlin exclaimed, getting far more worked up than he ever had over blowing off the heads of the walking dead. “Bill Nighy’s his step-father who got turned into a zombie… Shaun uses a cricket bat. It’s brilliant. There’s this scene where they’re in a pub, bludgeoning zombies with pool cues to Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen. It’s epic!”
Arthur felt that talking about comedy zombie films when they’re pretty much living in a real one, except with much less of the comedy, is in poor taste. He said as much.
“I prefer laughing to crying,” Merlin replied simply, shooting him a look. Arthur knew he must look a sight: his blond hair matted down with blood, his clothes streaked in the same. Sewer sludge was coating the bottoms of his trousers and he knew that there was a huge rip across his shirt. “Or dying, for that matter.”
“Why couldn’t I have been stuck in a sewer with Lance?” Arthur asks of no one in particular - there’s no one left to ask, except Merlin. “He wouldn’t have been half as annoying as you.”
“Sorry, but he’s out there lurching with the best of them,” Merlin replied. “I saw him on Penmouth Road.”
“Shit,” Arthur said with feeling.
“My thoughts exactly.”
“So, what exactly does one do when waiting to be killed by zombies in a sewer?” There was a pause.
“We could have sex,” Merlin suggested.
“I was looking for serious suggestions.”
“I am serious… I mean, it’s just us right, as far as we know, and I can’t really see anything we can do to stop it, so we might as well enjoy ourselves.”
“You would enjoy yourself,” Arthur corrected, “I would be utterly mortified.”
“But no one would ever find out, because they’re all dead.”
“I would know.”
“Not for long… we’ll need to go up and look for food sooner or later.” Merlin sighed. “It’s times like this I wish I’d listened to Will.”
“Who’s Will?” In the few months Arthur has known Merlin, shopping at the newsagents across the street where the dark-haired man works, he can’t remember hearing of a Will. Of course, he could be mistaken, the man always chattered on at him as he bought the paper and Arthur had learnt to tune him out quite fast. Lance had always said Merlin had a crush on him - it was strange that he would never get to tell his flatmate that he was right.
“Friend of mine,” Merlin clarified, “lives outside town. He told me a few years ago the apocalypse was coming, I laughed. His house had a huge cellar, stone walls. I saw it once: he’d filled it with food and water, even installed a toilet and a huge metal door. He said he could outlast the world in there.”
“I hate people like that,” Arthur commented.
“But he was right though,”
“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t crazy.”
“I think that’s probably the definition of not crazy, actually.”
Arthur thought about it all. There was Will, down there in his cellar, alone, eating out of tins and drinking stale water, all the time thinking I told you so but never having anyone to say it to. Lance, lurching down the street, he head askew and his voice hoarse. Gwen, whoever she was, decapitated with her father’s chainsaw. The world was really and truly going to end. There was no going back, no happy ending. No credits would roll, no music would start and the house lights would never go up. And he was stuck there at the end of it all with Merlin, the weird guy from the shop with the ears that stuck out too far and the smile that made people wonder what he was planning to kill them with (a chainsaw, apparently). It could be worse, he had said. And that was the joke, because it blatantly couldn’t be worse. Ever.
He thought all of that, and he could tell that Merlin was looking at him strangely, despite the dim light. He was probably wondering if he had to blow his head off with a shot gun. He opened his mouth to tell him to stop being an idiot and Arthur wasn’t becoming one of the undead, but what came out was:
“Okay then.”
“Okay then what?” Merlin asked stupidly. Arthur sighed in exasperation, bemoaning once more the chances of ending up stuck with the stupidest man in the world on the day when it ended. Though he wasn’t completely unattractive.
“Okay to the sex thing,” Arthur said with a shrug. “I suppose it probably will be your last request, after all.” And if there was anything Arthur knew, it was that the last requests of dying men should be honoured, even if they were idiots called Merlin.
“Oh… right, cool.”
The sex thing wasn’t really that bad. Okay, the sex thing was bloody brilliant, but Arthur was never going to tell Merlin that. He wanted to die with dignity. It was probably just the adrenaline anyway.
“That wasn’t that bad,” he said.
“That’s not what it sounded like when you were screaming my name,” Merlin replied, entirely too smugly for Arthur’s peace of mind. “In fact, I think you might have told me I was the best you’d ever had at some point.”
“I said no such thing,” Arthur snapped, although truth be told, his brain had been so utterly melted by the entire event that he wasn’t one hundred percent sure of anything he had said.
“Right, of course you didn’t.”
“I will go to my grave before I say anything else on the matter,” he said without thinking. As if to punctuate the comment they both heard the familiar groaning cry of ‘brains’ from above them.
“Right… yes, dying,” Merlin said, quite matter-of-factly, somehow already fully dressed again. “That would be next on our list, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know about you,” Arthur said, “but I don’t really feel like waiting for them to come and find us.”
“Me neither,” Merlin agreed, grinning cheerily, and that smile was not nearly as annoying when you knew what other things Merlin could do with his mouth. Arthur even found himself smiling back. “So what say we go out there and kick some zombie arse?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Arthur agreed, pulling his clothes back on. Merlin leaned over, lightning fast and gave him a swift kiss on the cheek.
“It’s been fun,” he said, and Arthur could read every underlying word: terrifying, unbelievable, horrible and so many more.
“I suppose it could have been worse,” he conceded, grabbing the machete as Merlin picked up the shot gun and the small amount of ammunition left, along with his own machete.
“Once more unto the breach, then?”
“Don’t butcher Shakespeare,” Arthur told him as they strode towards the sewer exit.
“Do you think that I could?” Merlin asked suddenly. “I mean, are the zombies just live humans who’ve been turned, or are the dead rising…? Because there are some very nasty things I’d like to do to Tennyson.”
“Just imagine they’re all him,” Arthur advised.
“Right… I still say we should have a cricket bat. It’s just not right fighting zombies without a cricket bat.” They got to the exit and shared a long look.
“Ready?”
“Lead on, MacDuff.”
“What did I tell you about Shakespeare?” Arthur muttered as he swung the door open and the moan of ‘brains’ rose in volume by several decibels. “That’s not even the right wording anyway. It’s ‘lay on, MacDuff’.”
“Trust you to be pedantic at the end of the world,” Merlin commented as the first wave of zombies caught sight of the two of them, standing grimly side-by-side.
“Can’t drop standards just because of a few zombies,” Arthur said, suddenly very calm.
“Of course not… so… how about after this is over we go out somewhere where shot guns aren’t necessary?” Merlin asked, almost cautiously, while he aimed the gun in question and blew two zombies away, quickly bringing it down to reload.
Arthur just cocked an eyebrow at him and Merlin shot him a half-hearted grin.
“Right. Sorry. Stupid question.”
“After this is over,” Arthur said, bringing up his machete as the zombies came closer. “I’m going to have a very stiff drink. If you happen to be there as well…” he let the sentence trail off.
“Good to know,” Merlin replied. “Right… I hate to break this off, but maybe we should be paying more attention to the living dead?” Arthur nodded.
“Try not to die… but considering they’re after brains, I doubt you have much to fear.”
“Same to you.”
“Right…” Arthur said, eyeing the oncoming army. “I’ll see you later, then.”
“Barring my untimely death, it’s a date.”
-