(no subject)
Title: 187
Pairing: Gerard/Mikey/Brendon
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1877
Summary: It doesn't take long for the world to realise they're all fucked. It takes a little longer for Brendon to get lonely.
Warnings: mentions of suicide and genocide, not on screen.
Prompt used: rough for kiss bingo
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author's Notes: for akamine_chan. A while ago she wanted Waycest porn to help her cheer up. And so a month later I give you Waycest+Brendon pg rated apocalypse fic. Sorry.
It started with the red falling from the sky. It fell everywhere across the planet at the same time; 8 am in Chicago, 1 pm in London, 9 pm in Shanghai. It fell for twenty four hours.
In the first five minutes, before anyone realised it was global, there were theories. Dawn making snow look weird. A plane letting go of chemically altered feces. A wind picking up the blood of a nearby genocide. But it kept falling.
Twenty four hours after it stopped, the first hundred thousand people glowed red. They glowed for twenty four hours and then exploded, their mass converted to the red pellets that had fallen from the sky.
*
Brendon’s the last of his family.
Or, at least, he’s the last that he knows about. In this new apocalyptic world, it’s pretty much the same thing.
*
It was pretty intense, seeing the entire world going through Kubler-Ross at once. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, nearly everyone did them all. Some exploded before they got through the full course. And no doubt there are a handful of people that will deny what’s happening until they day they explode, stuck forever on stage one. But most of the citizens went through the stages of grief. Brendon, at least, knows he has. At this point, he is his own world.
Each of the latter stages only proved to destabilise the country more. Turns out a lot of people don’t mind the idea of killing their enemies, if there’s no future in which to get punished in. Rumor has it some combination of depression and fear had the population of China joining in a suicide pact. It’s possible it’s not true, but the country as a whole went off the grid months before the grid went down. Acceptance had most of the citizens that were left moving closer in to the downtowns of major cities. The government blocks were the only places that guaranteed food and electricity. A lot of people still found that important.
It was his fault he lost his family to bargaining. Sure it was bullshit that every Mormon was supposed to report to the nearest church and pray to Heavenly Father to make sure only the unworthy exploded. Every church was advertising their own brand of salvation, and each one was full of shit, but he didin’t have to say that. If he hadn’t said it, he could have left with the rest of the family. He’s still not sure if that would have been better.
*
Brendon’s not the last in his neighbourhood. There are brothers down the street, in the corner lot. He’s not sure if they’ve lived there since Before, or if they’re squatters. He hasn’t spied on them to see if he recognises their faces, and he was never one to attend the block parties anyway, always trying to live up to the family’s standards. When you can’t drink, you can’t dance, and you can’t listen to inappropriate music, the reasons for going to a block party are few.
For a long time he doesn’t go near them. It only stands to reason that those that decided to stay in the suburbs are weird souls. After all, he is. There are only a few good kinds of weird. Most are just scary.
And then one day, he’s already halfway up the sidewalk before he really realises what he’s doing, and it hits him. He’s lonely. Better risking weirdness than biding the time until his Glow day and being alone for every second of it. He finishes his walk up the planed stones and knocks on the door until it’s answered. Not with a friendly face, but a shout from the other side.
“What?”
“I’m Brendon Urie. I just want to hang out. I don’t have a weapon.”
“You’d say that if you didn’t,” comes through the still closed door.
“I could strip down at the window? Show you?” The need for this companionship is as strong as it is sudden. Stripping down is nothing in the long run.
“That-”
“Fuck sakes Gerard.” With the introduction of a second voice, the door opens. “Sorry about my brother,” the second voice says. “He gets kind of paranoid.”
“Understandable.” Like he said, weird souls.
“So you want to hang out?”
“It gets lonely.”
“So why don’t you just go downtown?” The question comes from the still unseen first voice. Brendon directs his answer to the shadows of the house.
“I burned those bridges.”
Neither of the brothers tell him anyone is allowed downtown, that no grudge can deny you access. The blond just steps to the side and gestures for Brendon to walk in.
*
They ran out of time to find a cure. Or maybe if they’d worked on it a hundred years no one would have found anything. There were a lot of things scientists worked on that couldn’t seem to be cured, like HIV or cancer or the cold. It’s pretty much a moot point now. Brendon isn’t a scientist or xenobiologist about to figure it out, and he doesn’t know anyone else who is. Rumor has it those occupations don’t exist anymore. Scientists got a lot of the blame, enough that each one had at least one person willing to draw and quarter them for creating the Red Death.
*
“Don’t you think that’s kind of obscene?” Brendon gestures to Gerard’s hair. He can barely look at it. He’s been in the Way house for nearly a day now -and it is their house, there are pictures of them as children, and Gerard knows way too much about the figurines in the basement bedroom to be faking it- and he’s barely looked at Gerard at all because of the bright red strands.
“I think it’s stupid to let some alien terraformer to dictate my style choices.”
Judging from the rest of the outfit, Gerard is no fashion plate, but whatever. Brendon wants to live with them, he can’t piss them off in the first day of being inside.
*
They did have time to figure some things out.
The pellets are practically indestructible. They’re light, like fingernail sized packing peanuts, except they don’t melt under fire or crush between fingers.
There’s no way to counteract the glowing.
The exploders aren’t contagious, if they explode on you you won’t be next. Necessarily. There’s always the random chance your hundred thousand is up.
*
Brendon blows Mikey one day. They’re outside, tending the garden that’ll keep them alive when the perishable food runs out, and for some reason he just drops to his knees and opens his mouth. He doesn’t really know why. His friends and family are dead, he is no longer himself.
Two days later Gerard is standing at the closed freezer, trying to decide by visualisation what to pull out to unthaw. For some reason Brendon unzips his jeans and bends over the white appliance. He doesn’t really know why. The world is ending, there’s no reason not to.
*
If human beings were a calm species, everything could have been okay.
At the time the Red Death began to fall, the population was a few million under seven billion. If a hundred thousand people died every day, assuming no population growth, it would have taken 187 years for the population to get wiped out. Two full generations and change, before the end.
Except the simple truth is no one in the history of mankind has ever accused humans of being rational.
When China was assumed dead that was over a billion people gone in one swoop. Add the rash of suicides and murders? It’s not gonna be 187 years.
*
It’s thirty days of not being that day’s hundred thousand before he catches Mikey and Gerard. A misused verb, really. Catching implies evasion, and they aren’t hiding it.They could have gone to one of the many empty houses on the block, but they didn’t. They stayed here, touching each other inside Gerard’s open doored bedroom.
He asks why, not remembering or not caring that he never had a why. He asks, looking at the ratty brown carpet instead of at the bruise pink lips they both have.
“Is there a reason not to? There’s no society to punish us, no parents to feel ashamed.”
Brendon thinks he should be disgusted. At the very least, there should be some uncomfortable correlations between the Ways having no morals and fucking each other, and the average citizen having no morals and killing their junior high enemy. But it’s hard to stick to moral high grounds when there is no life after death, and death is pretty damn inevitable.
*
Brendon only considered killing someone once. It was at the first and last apocalypse party he went to. Spencer and Ryan bugged him the whole day to come, and when he finally managed to sneak away, neither of them showed. He’d ended up drinking and dancing to the nineties music that he’d heard when he was in grade school, like the host was reliving her
lost childhood.
About ten red cups in, a jock started dancing with him. It was fun, until the boy kissed him and stuck his hand down his jeans. His lips were tacky with beer. When Brendon pulled away and asked why, the guy said because it didn’t matter anymore.
Brendon wanted to kill him. Really wanted to. Not because of the gay thing. He’d solved that personal issue a while back by deciding to never do anything about it, and live chastely. He wanted to because deep down he had a thin flame of hope that one day he’d get brave enough, fall enough in love that he’d be courageous enough to tell everyone, and tell that man and get kissed. White Baseball Cap took something meaningful from him, and for a minute all he wanted was to take something from him, his life sufficing.
He didn’t though. And if his doubt is wrong, and there is some kind of afterlife, he should get bonus points for that.
*
“We used to be so cocky. We’d joke about zombie apocalypses, little half jokes to cover our superiority. We were so sure we’d last longer than anyone else because we’d watched movies and studies mistakes. Stupid us. Death is inevitable, was before the Red Death too. Who cares about that? But what if he glows before I do? Or I do before he does?”
“You’ll make it through.”
He knows they won’t. The hour after one Way explodes, the other Way hangs himself. His two best friends did, somehow forgetting to tell him that was the plan. That was the instant shock, the lingering one that Spencer didn’t kill Mr Ross first. Not that he lasted long. His hundred thousand was up in two months, probably just before the cirrhosis would have killed him. Asshole.
*
“Do you think the pellets are equipment or spawn?”
“Me and Mikey have talked about this.” Of course they have. They talk about everything.
“Any decided upon opinion?”
Gerard shrugs. “We kinda figured it didn’t matter. We’re all fucked either way, right?”
The next time Brendon leaves the house he jumps up and down really hard on the pellets, in case they are cognizant aliens. Fuck them.
Pairing: Gerard/Mikey/Brendon
Rating: pg
Wordcount: 1877
Summary: It doesn't take long for the world to realise they're all fucked. It takes a little longer for Brendon to get lonely.
Warnings: mentions of suicide and genocide, not on screen.
Prompt used: rough for kiss bingo
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Author's Notes: for akamine_chan. A while ago she wanted Waycest porn to help her cheer up. And so a month later I give you Waycest+Brendon pg rated apocalypse fic. Sorry.
It started with the red falling from the sky. It fell everywhere across the planet at the same time; 8 am in Chicago, 1 pm in London, 9 pm in Shanghai. It fell for twenty four hours.
In the first five minutes, before anyone realised it was global, there were theories. Dawn making snow look weird. A plane letting go of chemically altered feces. A wind picking up the blood of a nearby genocide. But it kept falling.
Twenty four hours after it stopped, the first hundred thousand people glowed red. They glowed for twenty four hours and then exploded, their mass converted to the red pellets that had fallen from the sky.
*
Brendon’s the last of his family.
Or, at least, he’s the last that he knows about. In this new apocalyptic world, it’s pretty much the same thing.
*
It was pretty intense, seeing the entire world going through Kubler-Ross at once. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, nearly everyone did them all. Some exploded before they got through the full course. And no doubt there are a handful of people that will deny what’s happening until they day they explode, stuck forever on stage one. But most of the citizens went through the stages of grief. Brendon, at least, knows he has. At this point, he is his own world.
Each of the latter stages only proved to destabilise the country more. Turns out a lot of people don’t mind the idea of killing their enemies, if there’s no future in which to get punished in. Rumor has it some combination of depression and fear had the population of China joining in a suicide pact. It’s possible it’s not true, but the country as a whole went off the grid months before the grid went down. Acceptance had most of the citizens that were left moving closer in to the downtowns of major cities. The government blocks were the only places that guaranteed food and electricity. A lot of people still found that important.
It was his fault he lost his family to bargaining. Sure it was bullshit that every Mormon was supposed to report to the nearest church and pray to Heavenly Father to make sure only the unworthy exploded. Every church was advertising their own brand of salvation, and each one was full of shit, but he didin’t have to say that. If he hadn’t said it, he could have left with the rest of the family. He’s still not sure if that would have been better.
*
Brendon’s not the last in his neighbourhood. There are brothers down the street, in the corner lot. He’s not sure if they’ve lived there since Before, or if they’re squatters. He hasn’t spied on them to see if he recognises their faces, and he was never one to attend the block parties anyway, always trying to live up to the family’s standards. When you can’t drink, you can’t dance, and you can’t listen to inappropriate music, the reasons for going to a block party are few.
For a long time he doesn’t go near them. It only stands to reason that those that decided to stay in the suburbs are weird souls. After all, he is. There are only a few good kinds of weird. Most are just scary.
And then one day, he’s already halfway up the sidewalk before he really realises what he’s doing, and it hits him. He’s lonely. Better risking weirdness than biding the time until his Glow day and being alone for every second of it. He finishes his walk up the planed stones and knocks on the door until it’s answered. Not with a friendly face, but a shout from the other side.
“What?”
“I’m Brendon Urie. I just want to hang out. I don’t have a weapon.”
“You’d say that if you didn’t,” comes through the still closed door.
“I could strip down at the window? Show you?” The need for this companionship is as strong as it is sudden. Stripping down is nothing in the long run.
“That-”
“Fuck sakes Gerard.” With the introduction of a second voice, the door opens. “Sorry about my brother,” the second voice says. “He gets kind of paranoid.”
“Understandable.” Like he said, weird souls.
“So you want to hang out?”
“It gets lonely.”
“So why don’t you just go downtown?” The question comes from the still unseen first voice. Brendon directs his answer to the shadows of the house.
“I burned those bridges.”
Neither of the brothers tell him anyone is allowed downtown, that no grudge can deny you access. The blond just steps to the side and gestures for Brendon to walk in.
*
They ran out of time to find a cure. Or maybe if they’d worked on it a hundred years no one would have found anything. There were a lot of things scientists worked on that couldn’t seem to be cured, like HIV or cancer or the cold. It’s pretty much a moot point now. Brendon isn’t a scientist or xenobiologist about to figure it out, and he doesn’t know anyone else who is. Rumor has it those occupations don’t exist anymore. Scientists got a lot of the blame, enough that each one had at least one person willing to draw and quarter them for creating the Red Death.
*
“Don’t you think that’s kind of obscene?” Brendon gestures to Gerard’s hair. He can barely look at it. He’s been in the Way house for nearly a day now -and it is their house, there are pictures of them as children, and Gerard knows way too much about the figurines in the basement bedroom to be faking it- and he’s barely looked at Gerard at all because of the bright red strands.
“I think it’s stupid to let some alien terraformer to dictate my style choices.”
Judging from the rest of the outfit, Gerard is no fashion plate, but whatever. Brendon wants to live with them, he can’t piss them off in the first day of being inside.
*
They did have time to figure some things out.
The pellets are practically indestructible. They’re light, like fingernail sized packing peanuts, except they don’t melt under fire or crush between fingers.
There’s no way to counteract the glowing.
The exploders aren’t contagious, if they explode on you you won’t be next. Necessarily. There’s always the random chance your hundred thousand is up.
*
Brendon blows Mikey one day. They’re outside, tending the garden that’ll keep them alive when the perishable food runs out, and for some reason he just drops to his knees and opens his mouth. He doesn’t really know why. His friends and family are dead, he is no longer himself.
Two days later Gerard is standing at the closed freezer, trying to decide by visualisation what to pull out to unthaw. For some reason Brendon unzips his jeans and bends over the white appliance. He doesn’t really know why. The world is ending, there’s no reason not to.
*
If human beings were a calm species, everything could have been okay.
At the time the Red Death began to fall, the population was a few million under seven billion. If a hundred thousand people died every day, assuming no population growth, it would have taken 187 years for the population to get wiped out. Two full generations and change, before the end.
Except the simple truth is no one in the history of mankind has ever accused humans of being rational.
When China was assumed dead that was over a billion people gone in one swoop. Add the rash of suicides and murders? It’s not gonna be 187 years.
*
It’s thirty days of not being that day’s hundred thousand before he catches Mikey and Gerard. A misused verb, really. Catching implies evasion, and they aren’t hiding it.They could have gone to one of the many empty houses on the block, but they didn’t. They stayed here, touching each other inside Gerard’s open doored bedroom.
He asks why, not remembering or not caring that he never had a why. He asks, looking at the ratty brown carpet instead of at the bruise pink lips they both have.
“Is there a reason not to? There’s no society to punish us, no parents to feel ashamed.”
Brendon thinks he should be disgusted. At the very least, there should be some uncomfortable correlations between the Ways having no morals and fucking each other, and the average citizen having no morals and killing their junior high enemy. But it’s hard to stick to moral high grounds when there is no life after death, and death is pretty damn inevitable.
*
Brendon only considered killing someone once. It was at the first and last apocalypse party he went to. Spencer and Ryan bugged him the whole day to come, and when he finally managed to sneak away, neither of them showed. He’d ended up drinking and dancing to the nineties music that he’d heard when he was in grade school, like the host was reliving her
lost childhood.
About ten red cups in, a jock started dancing with him. It was fun, until the boy kissed him and stuck his hand down his jeans. His lips were tacky with beer. When Brendon pulled away and asked why, the guy said because it didn’t matter anymore.
Brendon wanted to kill him. Really wanted to. Not because of the gay thing. He’d solved that personal issue a while back by deciding to never do anything about it, and live chastely. He wanted to because deep down he had a thin flame of hope that one day he’d get brave enough, fall enough in love that he’d be courageous enough to tell everyone, and tell that man and get kissed. White Baseball Cap took something meaningful from him, and for a minute all he wanted was to take something from him, his life sufficing.
He didn’t though. And if his doubt is wrong, and there is some kind of afterlife, he should get bonus points for that.
*
“We used to be so cocky. We’d joke about zombie apocalypses, little half jokes to cover our superiority. We were so sure we’d last longer than anyone else because we’d watched movies and studies mistakes. Stupid us. Death is inevitable, was before the Red Death too. Who cares about that? But what if he glows before I do? Or I do before he does?”
“You’ll make it through.”
He knows they won’t. The hour after one Way explodes, the other Way hangs himself. His two best friends did, somehow forgetting to tell him that was the plan. That was the instant shock, the lingering one that Spencer didn’t kill Mr Ross first. Not that he lasted long. His hundred thousand was up in two months, probably just before the cirrhosis would have killed him. Asshole.
*
“Do you think the pellets are equipment or spawn?”
“Me and Mikey have talked about this.” Of course they have. They talk about everything.
“Any decided upon opinion?”
Gerard shrugs. “We kinda figured it didn’t matter. We’re all fucked either way, right?”
The next time Brendon leaves the house he jumps up and down really hard on the pellets, in case they are cognizant aliens. Fuck them.