Fanfiction: Fire and Floods (Life Is Strange 2)
Riona: Final verdict on the first episode of Life Is Strange 2: Dontnod have decided to make a game that caters perfectly to me and I'm extremely pleased.
Friend: that's good for you and very very bad for the protagonists of Life Is Strange 2
I can't deny it. Here is a fic entirely about Sean suffering. (Just a short missing-scene piece, because the game contained a timeskip I'm very curious about.)
Title: Fire and Floods
Fandom: Life Is Strange 2
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1,400
Summary: Sean and Daniel go on the run.
Sean’s main priority right now is flipping the fuck out.
A bus shelter isn’t exactly the most concealed place to hide out. But he can’t run that far carrying Daniel, and not just because of the weight; the cops are definitely going to get called if he’s running around carrying an unconscious child. At least, on the shelter bench, he can prop Daniel up against his shoulder, hope that anyone who glances their way will think he’s just sleeping.
What if he doesn’t wake up?
He needs to get Daniel to a doctor, he knows that. But he also knows he can’t.
Can he just... leave Daniel at a hospital, run away? He’s nine; they can’t send him to jail, right?
But he’s the only family Sean has now. (God, it doesn’t feel real.) Maybe it’s selfish, maybe letting Daniel go into foster care would be the right thing to do, but he can’t imagine just... letting go of that last shred of home.
If he doesn’t wake up, though...
“Nnh... Dad?”
Hearing it destroys Sean’s insides, which is impressive, because he already didn’t feel like he had any insides left to destroy. Dad’s not here.
But Daniel is awake, his eyes fluttering open.
“God, Daniel, are you okay? Fuck - does your head hurt?”
Daniel frowns. “You swore,” he mumbles, and then, “Where are we?”
“Not far enough.” Sean glances around. No cops. “We need to keep going. Can you walk?”
“Where are we going?” Daniel asks. He sounds a little clearer, a little more aware, which is a relief. “Why aren’t we at home? Is Dad here?”
Sean almost throws up on the spot.
He doesn’t remember. Fuck, he doesn’t remember.
Jesus, is it really too much to ask for one thing, one single fucking thing to go right here?
How fucked is his life now, if his brother remembering their dad’s dead would count as something ‘going right’?
Daniel, he tries to say, but he doesn’t know where his voice has gone. It’s definitely not in his throat.
Sean can’t tell him. He knows he has to, but he can’t, he can’t. How the fuck is he supposed to do that?
“We’re camping,” he says. “Don’t you remember?”
-
Daniel asks question after question about things they pass and where they’re going as they walk, and eventually he slips into sulky silence as it becomes clear Sean’s not answering. Sean’s not trying to ignore him. It’s just... it’s hard to focus on what he’s saying through the storm in his head.
Sean wasn’t exactly looking forward to trying to comfort Daniel about their dad. But...
But Sean needs comforting as well, and he’s starting to realise that, if Daniel doesn’t know, he can’t talk about it. He can’t talk about it. There is literally no one he can talk to.
What happened is just... trapped inside him, and it’s going to burn him to death.
-
He realises too late that they should have found a place to sleep before the sun went down. Now they’re going to have to sleep within sight of the road, exposed to the streetlights; they can’t exactly go wandering off into the darkness.
He doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s doing, does he?
He moves a little away from the road, at least, towards the edge of the light.
“Sean?” Daniel asks, sounding nervous.
“I’m not going too far.” He shrugs his backpack off, drops it onto the grass. “Good news: you get to rest.”
“Finally,” Daniel says.
Sean pulls the blanket out of his backpack, starts spreading it out. Complete chance that he happened to have this in here when they had to run. He guesses that’s one small shard of luck in the absolute garbage fire his life has suddenly become.
“Oh,” Daniel says. “Don’t we have a tent?”
Sean looks at him. He heard the words, but he’s not sure he’s processing them. Too much going on in his head. “A tent?”
“You said we were camping.”
Shit, of course Daniel would have questions. He’s nine years old; he’s not stupid.
“A whole tent?” Sean asks. “Way too heavy to carry. This is all we need.”
Daniel looks dubious, in the dim light reaching them from the closest streetlamp. “Maybe we could just go home.”
It wrenches Sean’s chest open. He can’t let it show. “You remember how long we’ve been walking, right? You really want to walk back all that way?”
Daniel groans. “Guess not.”
Sean sits on the blanket, tugs Daniel down to sit with him. They can deal with... they can deal in the morning. Or in a few hours, at least; they probably shouldn’t stay here too long, they’re not far enough from Seattle.
He hands Daniel his water bottle. “Drink some water. Get some sleep.”
Daniel drinks slightly more than Sean is comfortable with. “I’m hungry, too.”
They’ve been on the road about six hours, and it’s a long way down. He’ll probably end up a lot hungrier. But Sean gives him a few chips anyway.
“Thanks,” Daniel says, without a trace of sarcasm, which just makes Sean feel worse about how little he can give him. “Aren’t you eating any?”
Sean shakes his head. He can’t even think about eating right now; his throat feels brick-solid, blocked up by thoughts of Dad and home and how fucked their situation is.
He won’t be sleeping either. They’re too close to the road. They’ll be caught. He has to stay awake, he has to keep watch.
Dolphins can sleep with one half of their brain at a time, right?
Great. He’ll just become a dolphin. Problem solved. Why is that the kind of fact he has in his head? He couldn’t have remembered something about wilderness survival, or, you know, how to tell your kid brother his whole life has fallen apart?
It’s not like he’d be able to sleep tonight anyway.
Maybe the best plan would just be to stay awake until he’s too tired to think.
-
His phone vibrates when Daniel’s sleeping against his side. He’d kind of forgotten about it, which is a weird thought. He spends so much time on it normally. Or... he spent so much time on it, back when things were normal.
He pulls it out of his pocket.
There are a lot of text messages.
He can’t make himself read all of them right now. But he checks Lyla’s.
Fuck. She’s so worried. He wishes he could tell her there’s nothing to worry about.
He types out a message to her.
I’m not ok Lyla my dad was shot
He hesitates for a long time before sending it. If he says it to someone else, it’ll be real.
Maybe it needs to be real. Maybe he’ll have some idea of how to deal with it when it doesn’t feel like it’s just some fucking awful dream he can’t wake up from.
He sends it, and he writes a quick follow-up message to let her know they’re out of town, and then he closes his eyes and shakes with sobs, trying to keep them small and silent so he won’t wake Daniel.
-
Sean can’t think about the future right now. All he can hear is screaming in his head when he tries to picture it, non-stop screaming. Fuck, he used to worry about not knowing what trade he could go into.
He can’t think about the past either. His dad and his home and school and track and Lyla, it’s all a fire in his lungs and his throat, it hurts so much he can’t breathe.
Which leaves right now, he guesses. The road and the trees and the weight of his backpack, not heavy enough, not nearly enough in there to keep them going. The next step, and the next step, and the next. His complaining brother trailing along behind him, no idea what’s really going on.
He can walk, right? He can do that. It won’t be enough for long; they’ll need to eat, they’ll need to sleep, they’ll need to figure out how to cross about two thousand fucking miles and what needs to happen after that. At some point Daniel will learn the truth, or the police will find them, and the thread holding together the last frayed fragments of Sean’s torn-up life will snap. Walking won’t help them then.
But it’s all he has to do right now.
Friend: that's good for you and very very bad for the protagonists of Life Is Strange 2
I can't deny it. Here is a fic entirely about Sean suffering. (Just a short missing-scene piece, because the game contained a timeskip I'm very curious about.)
Title: Fire and Floods
Fandom: Life Is Strange 2
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1,400
Summary: Sean and Daniel go on the run.
Sean’s main priority right now is flipping the fuck out.
A bus shelter isn’t exactly the most concealed place to hide out. But he can’t run that far carrying Daniel, and not just because of the weight; the cops are definitely going to get called if he’s running around carrying an unconscious child. At least, on the shelter bench, he can prop Daniel up against his shoulder, hope that anyone who glances their way will think he’s just sleeping.
What if he doesn’t wake up?
He needs to get Daniel to a doctor, he knows that. But he also knows he can’t.
Can he just... leave Daniel at a hospital, run away? He’s nine; they can’t send him to jail, right?
But he’s the only family Sean has now. (God, it doesn’t feel real.) Maybe it’s selfish, maybe letting Daniel go into foster care would be the right thing to do, but he can’t imagine just... letting go of that last shred of home.
If he doesn’t wake up, though...
“Nnh... Dad?”
Hearing it destroys Sean’s insides, which is impressive, because he already didn’t feel like he had any insides left to destroy. Dad’s not here.
But Daniel is awake, his eyes fluttering open.
“God, Daniel, are you okay? Fuck - does your head hurt?”
Daniel frowns. “You swore,” he mumbles, and then, “Where are we?”
“Not far enough.” Sean glances around. No cops. “We need to keep going. Can you walk?”
“Where are we going?” Daniel asks. He sounds a little clearer, a little more aware, which is a relief. “Why aren’t we at home? Is Dad here?”
Sean almost throws up on the spot.
He doesn’t remember. Fuck, he doesn’t remember.
Jesus, is it really too much to ask for one thing, one single fucking thing to go right here?
How fucked is his life now, if his brother remembering their dad’s dead would count as something ‘going right’?
Daniel, he tries to say, but he doesn’t know where his voice has gone. It’s definitely not in his throat.
Sean can’t tell him. He knows he has to, but he can’t, he can’t. How the fuck is he supposed to do that?
“We’re camping,” he says. “Don’t you remember?”
-
Daniel asks question after question about things they pass and where they’re going as they walk, and eventually he slips into sulky silence as it becomes clear Sean’s not answering. Sean’s not trying to ignore him. It’s just... it’s hard to focus on what he’s saying through the storm in his head.
Sean wasn’t exactly looking forward to trying to comfort Daniel about their dad. But...
But Sean needs comforting as well, and he’s starting to realise that, if Daniel doesn’t know, he can’t talk about it. He can’t talk about it. There is literally no one he can talk to.
What happened is just... trapped inside him, and it’s going to burn him to death.
-
He realises too late that they should have found a place to sleep before the sun went down. Now they’re going to have to sleep within sight of the road, exposed to the streetlights; they can’t exactly go wandering off into the darkness.
He doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s doing, does he?
He moves a little away from the road, at least, towards the edge of the light.
“Sean?” Daniel asks, sounding nervous.
“I’m not going too far.” He shrugs his backpack off, drops it onto the grass. “Good news: you get to rest.”
“Finally,” Daniel says.
Sean pulls the blanket out of his backpack, starts spreading it out. Complete chance that he happened to have this in here when they had to run. He guesses that’s one small shard of luck in the absolute garbage fire his life has suddenly become.
“Oh,” Daniel says. “Don’t we have a tent?”
Sean looks at him. He heard the words, but he’s not sure he’s processing them. Too much going on in his head. “A tent?”
“You said we were camping.”
Shit, of course Daniel would have questions. He’s nine years old; he’s not stupid.
“A whole tent?” Sean asks. “Way too heavy to carry. This is all we need.”
Daniel looks dubious, in the dim light reaching them from the closest streetlamp. “Maybe we could just go home.”
It wrenches Sean’s chest open. He can’t let it show. “You remember how long we’ve been walking, right? You really want to walk back all that way?”
Daniel groans. “Guess not.”
Sean sits on the blanket, tugs Daniel down to sit with him. They can deal with... they can deal in the morning. Or in a few hours, at least; they probably shouldn’t stay here too long, they’re not far enough from Seattle.
He hands Daniel his water bottle. “Drink some water. Get some sleep.”
Daniel drinks slightly more than Sean is comfortable with. “I’m hungry, too.”
They’ve been on the road about six hours, and it’s a long way down. He’ll probably end up a lot hungrier. But Sean gives him a few chips anyway.
“Thanks,” Daniel says, without a trace of sarcasm, which just makes Sean feel worse about how little he can give him. “Aren’t you eating any?”
Sean shakes his head. He can’t even think about eating right now; his throat feels brick-solid, blocked up by thoughts of Dad and home and how fucked their situation is.
He won’t be sleeping either. They’re too close to the road. They’ll be caught. He has to stay awake, he has to keep watch.
Dolphins can sleep with one half of their brain at a time, right?
Great. He’ll just become a dolphin. Problem solved. Why is that the kind of fact he has in his head? He couldn’t have remembered something about wilderness survival, or, you know, how to tell your kid brother his whole life has fallen apart?
It’s not like he’d be able to sleep tonight anyway.
Maybe the best plan would just be to stay awake until he’s too tired to think.
-
His phone vibrates when Daniel’s sleeping against his side. He’d kind of forgotten about it, which is a weird thought. He spends so much time on it normally. Or... he spent so much time on it, back when things were normal.
He pulls it out of his pocket.
There are a lot of text messages.
He can’t make himself read all of them right now. But he checks Lyla’s.
Fuck. She’s so worried. He wishes he could tell her there’s nothing to worry about.
He types out a message to her.
I’m not ok Lyla my dad was shot
He hesitates for a long time before sending it. If he says it to someone else, it’ll be real.
Maybe it needs to be real. Maybe he’ll have some idea of how to deal with it when it doesn’t feel like it’s just some fucking awful dream he can’t wake up from.
He sends it, and he writes a quick follow-up message to let her know they’re out of town, and then he closes his eyes and shakes with sobs, trying to keep them small and silent so he won’t wake Daniel.
-
Sean can’t think about the future right now. All he can hear is screaming in his head when he tries to picture it, non-stop screaming. Fuck, he used to worry about not knowing what trade he could go into.
He can’t think about the past either. His dad and his home and school and track and Lyla, it’s all a fire in his lungs and his throat, it hurts so much he can’t breathe.
Which leaves right now, he guesses. The road and the trees and the weight of his backpack, not heavy enough, not nearly enough in there to keep them going. The next step, and the next step, and the next. His complaining brother trailing along behind him, no idea what’s really going on.
He can walk, right? He can do that. It won’t be enough for long; they’ll need to eat, they’ll need to sleep, they’ll need to figure out how to cross about two thousand fucking miles and what needs to happen after that. At some point Daniel will learn the truth, or the police will find them, and the thread holding together the last frayed fragments of Sean’s torn-up life will snap. Walking won’t help them then.
But it’s all he has to do right now.