Fic :: CWRPS :: They're Dead, They're All Messed Up
They're Dead, They're All Messed Up
Fandom: CWRPS
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The zombie apocalypse comes to Vancouver.
Posting date: June 2008
Title from The Night of the Living Dead.
*
That thing about the Spanish inquisition that everyone likes to say-- you know the one. Yeah, that one. Fact is, it’s a total lie.
It’s the living dead nobody expects.
They’re the ones you gotta watch out for.
Suddenly, everyone is screaming.
Jared can’t remember how to move until Jensen is grabbing him by the shirt, by the shoulders and the arms, shouting into his face “Come on, man, come on-- Jay, dude, we gotta go, we gotta-- fucking run.”
There’s blood on Jensen’s face. Jared is big and he’s strong and he can take on guys in barfights, but he’s just an actor and Amy, their sweet little walk-on victim of the week, is being torn apart by a, by this--
They run. It’s like moving through water.
It’s days before the screaming stops again.
Keep moving, is what Jensen says.
Keep moving.
“So, reincarnation,” Jared murmurs. He’s got his arm around Jensen’s waist, because the floor space they’re in is fucking tiny and if he can just hold on, keep holding on, tuck his hand up under the hem of Jensen’s weeks-old t-shirt until they fuse together-- if he can just, then. something.
Jensen groans into the crook of his elbow. The cut on his arm, the one from the broken fence back in Bellingham-- it had bled so much, nobody wanting to touch it, to risk it-- is vivid in the gloom, and when Jared runs his thumbnail down the healing ridge of it, Jensen hisses in a breath.
“Reincarnation,” Jared says again. “I’m gonna be a dog.”
“Gonna be a tree,” mumbles Jensen, voice sleepy and slow. “Taller’n you for once.”
Jared turns his smile into the balled-up shirt he’s using as a pillow. “I’ll piss on you.”
Something rattles outside the confines of their warehouse-turned-refugee-camp, and everyone holds their breath.
“Do you ever think about how maybe everything we ever filmed is real too, all the ghosts and vampires and werewolves and shit, but they just never showed their faces before and now nothing is ever gonna be-- Like, maybe we’ll wipe out the, the fucking z-words one day, but werewolves will just pop up to take their place, and it’ll be like that time when Chad got wasted and tried to play Whac-A-Mole, remember, and--” Jared pauses, lets his fingers flex around the steering wheel. “--and it’s never gonna be okay again.”
Jensen’s looking out the window, baseball bat wedged between his knees and the rifle spread across his lap. He’s a fucking excellent shot, these days. “Nah, man,” he says. “It’s never crossed my mind.”
The cities are the wastelands now. Jared doesn’t quite know how that’s worked out, how places that were so full of people can turn to empty streets and buildings in a matter of months, but he figures even corpses aren’t so stupid as to stay where the action isn’t. Everything just wants to survive, and Jared-- he can kinda respect that, you know, even if survival means being a hungry-for-human-flesh undead monster thing.
They stay one night in Chicago, just passing through on the road to anywhere, and the hotel they break into is a mess of long-dried blood and human bones. Jensen stares tightly at the scratch marks on the walls, with a blank kind of expression.
“Let’s--” Jared begins, trails off. He touches a hand to Jensen’s shoulder and feels him jump beneath his fingers. “Let’s stay in the car,” and neither of them sleep that night. The cities are wastelands, yeah, but that doesn’t make them safe.
“We’re gonna run outta gas one day, y’know,” Jared says.
They’ve stopped the car in the middle of the road, ‘cause, come on, what the hell does it matter? --and they’re leaning up against the trunk, looking back at the z-word they ran down ten minutes ago. Its body is at one side of the road, its head over at the other.
Jensen elbows him in the ribs, so Jared kicks the back of his leg, so Jensen turns and presses his face into Jared’s shoulder. “We’re gonna be fine,” he says.
“Yeah,” says Jared, “I guess so,” and then, “Man, I’m sick of this direction.”
They get back in the car. This time, they go South.
The sun is so bright, Jared can hardly see the road, but he keeps driving anyway.
*
Fandom: CWRPS
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The zombie apocalypse comes to Vancouver.
Posting date: June 2008
Title from The Night of the Living Dead.
*
That thing about the Spanish inquisition that everyone likes to say-- you know the one. Yeah, that one. Fact is, it’s a total lie.
It’s the living dead nobody expects.
They’re the ones you gotta watch out for.
Suddenly, everyone is screaming.
Jared can’t remember how to move until Jensen is grabbing him by the shirt, by the shoulders and the arms, shouting into his face “Come on, man, come on-- Jay, dude, we gotta go, we gotta-- fucking run.”
There’s blood on Jensen’s face. Jared is big and he’s strong and he can take on guys in barfights, but he’s just an actor and Amy, their sweet little walk-on victim of the week, is being torn apart by a, by this--
They run. It’s like moving through water.
It’s days before the screaming stops again.
Keep moving, is what Jensen says.
Keep moving.
“So, reincarnation,” Jared murmurs. He’s got his arm around Jensen’s waist, because the floor space they’re in is fucking tiny and if he can just hold on, keep holding on, tuck his hand up under the hem of Jensen’s weeks-old t-shirt until they fuse together-- if he can just, then. something.
Jensen groans into the crook of his elbow. The cut on his arm, the one from the broken fence back in Bellingham-- it had bled so much, nobody wanting to touch it, to risk it-- is vivid in the gloom, and when Jared runs his thumbnail down the healing ridge of it, Jensen hisses in a breath.
“Reincarnation,” Jared says again. “I’m gonna be a dog.”
“Gonna be a tree,” mumbles Jensen, voice sleepy and slow. “Taller’n you for once.”
Jared turns his smile into the balled-up shirt he’s using as a pillow. “I’ll piss on you.”
Something rattles outside the confines of their warehouse-turned-refugee-camp, and everyone holds their breath.
“Do you ever think about how maybe everything we ever filmed is real too, all the ghosts and vampires and werewolves and shit, but they just never showed their faces before and now nothing is ever gonna be-- Like, maybe we’ll wipe out the, the fucking z-words one day, but werewolves will just pop up to take their place, and it’ll be like that time when Chad got wasted and tried to play Whac-A-Mole, remember, and--” Jared pauses, lets his fingers flex around the steering wheel. “--and it’s never gonna be okay again.”
Jensen’s looking out the window, baseball bat wedged between his knees and the rifle spread across his lap. He’s a fucking excellent shot, these days. “Nah, man,” he says. “It’s never crossed my mind.”
The cities are the wastelands now. Jared doesn’t quite know how that’s worked out, how places that were so full of people can turn to empty streets and buildings in a matter of months, but he figures even corpses aren’t so stupid as to stay where the action isn’t. Everything just wants to survive, and Jared-- he can kinda respect that, you know, even if survival means being a hungry-for-human-flesh undead monster thing.
They stay one night in Chicago, just passing through on the road to anywhere, and the hotel they break into is a mess of long-dried blood and human bones. Jensen stares tightly at the scratch marks on the walls, with a blank kind of expression.
“Let’s--” Jared begins, trails off. He touches a hand to Jensen’s shoulder and feels him jump beneath his fingers. “Let’s stay in the car,” and neither of them sleep that night. The cities are wastelands, yeah, but that doesn’t make them safe.
“We’re gonna run outta gas one day, y’know,” Jared says.
They’ve stopped the car in the middle of the road, ‘cause, come on, what the hell does it matter? --and they’re leaning up against the trunk, looking back at the z-word they ran down ten minutes ago. Its body is at one side of the road, its head over at the other.
Jensen elbows him in the ribs, so Jared kicks the back of his leg, so Jensen turns and presses his face into Jared’s shoulder. “We’re gonna be fine,” he says.
“Yeah,” says Jared, “I guess so,” and then, “Man, I’m sick of this direction.”
They get back in the car. This time, they go South.
The sun is so bright, Jared can hardly see the road, but he keeps driving anyway.
*