[PROMPT #45] look across the great divide
Title: look across the great divide
Rating: R
Word Count: 3.4k
Warnings: swearing, mild violence, mentions of death (off-screen), sexual situations
Summary: The 100 AU. Jinyoung crashes, but he finds his anchor.
The slicing pain across Jinyoung's temple jolts him awake.
"Fuck," he says, bringing a hand up to his head, eyes squeezed shut. Blood is warm and wet against his fingertips. He traces the wound's wide curve down from his crown to his cheek, distantly relieved he still has both halves of his skull. More or less. The actual contents of his skull may be up for debate.
When Jinyoung tries opening his eyes, everything is too bright, like he's staring directly into one of the Ark's airlock lights. Everything is too -- green.
Then he remembers. He's on Earth.
Jinyoung tries sitting up and succeeds only at rolling himself three feet down the incline that he'd landed on, splashing shoulder-first into a puddle of mud. "Okay," he says hoarsely into the ground. He spits out a mouthful of dirt and blood. His head gives another painful throb. "This could be going better."
For a minute Jinyoung can't do anything but breathe. Inhale, five. Exhale, five. Repeat. The air smells -- potent, almost. Nothing like anything back home, not even the gardens on Agro Station, which had never housed a plant that grew more than two feet tall.
The trees here tower over him like an army of Goliaths. He's studied hundreds of species, seed to leaf, but projections are shadows to the real thing. He feels smaller here than he ever had on the Ark, the globe of the Earth lighting up the portholes, the dark expanse of space stretching out endlessly around him, stars combusting millions of light years away. That kind of distance abstracts to the point of meaninglessness. What Jinyoung remembers of the Ark are walls: cool metal, dividing glass, his father's voice.
---
Strictly speaking, the drop ship wasn't taking volunteers. A collection of the Ark's most disposable citizens: teenage delinquents, crimes pardonable upon secretly dropping 1200 miles from orbit to survey the irradiated Earth.
Jinyoung's father was at a Council meeting when Jinyoung stumbled upon the plan notes. Nobody was supposed to know. Not even the kids selected would know until they were already burning their way through Earth's atmosphere. Jinyoung's first impulse was to march straight into the Council room and shove the whole notebook down his father's lying, deceitful throat.
His second impulse was mutiny: take it public. Not all of these kids had parents still alive, but a lot of them did. They deserved to know what was being done to their children.
Jinyoung's third impulse was --
He looked out the viewing bay at the half-circle of Earth beneath him. He could see his reflection in the mirror in the corner of the room, tinged blue.
Jinyoung's third impulse was --
---
The sun is making its way west when Jinyoung staggers away from his crash site. Aside from his head and maybe some fractured ribs, he emerged from the landing in one piece, which is some sort of fucking miracle. He has no idea what happened to the rest of the drop ship. He'd woken up from sedation with enough time to speak to two kids strapped down in front of him before they'd hit Earth's atmosphere -- hard. The crunch of metal sounded like a small explosion. Screws rattled out of the wall behind his neck. His heartbeat was a roar in his ears over the yelling.
His two-seat section of the ship had splintered away from the main body at some point after they entered the atmosphere, splintered apart again before landing, and the force of impact had sent Jinyoung flying out twenty yards. He'd passed the remnants of his seat about five minute ago. The other, he hasn't been able to find.
Up ahead, Jinyoung sees a piece of the fragmented ship embedded in the roots of a tree, metal sticking out like a jagged knife.
Maybe he doesn't want find anything.
Everyone on the Ark has seen someone floated before. Sucked out into the vacuum of space. When every crime is capital, it's rarer to not know someone dead. This doesn't make the prospect of it -- of finding a body -- any easier.
Jinyoung stares at the arm peaking out from beneath the metal sheet in front of him. The sky is a brilliant red through the forest canopy, shadows trailing long over the ground. Distantly, Jinyoung can hear birds.
He takes a deep breath and steps forward, gripping the edge of the metal and immediately slicing open one of his palms.
"Perfect," he mutters, "I love infections." He pulls the sleeves of his jacket down over his hands and tries again, and with less bodily injury this time he manages to push the sheet up and away. It makes a dull thud when he drops it on its other side.
The person underneath is familiar, but it takes a second for Jinyoung to recall his name: Jackson Wang, Mecha Station's most infamous nuisance. They were the same age, but Jinyoung's father had refused to let him fraternize with anyone best known for escalating prank wars.
Jackson's father had been floated the year before. Jinyoung never knew the charge. What he did know: Jackson, just shy of sixteen and suddenly down a parent, punching his way into the Council room, not quite landing a hit on the Chancellor's jaw.
Dirt paints Jackson's face, his hair a dark haphazard mess, but there's no blood. Jinyoung is relieved to see the shallow rise and fall of his chest, and when he presses his fingers to Jackson's neck he feels a slow, steady beat. Two for two on no dead bodies today. That's already two bodies better than what he'd been expecting.
Jinyoung has no idea what he's supposed to do now. Wake him up? Wait it out? The only time Jinyoung has spent on Medical is for his yearly checkups and that day Jaebum broke his wrist trying to swing from Factory Station's rafters when they were thirteen.
(Guilt twists his gut at the thought of Jaebum. Of all the people Jinyoung left behind, he should have at least told him. He didn't because Jaebum would have literally punched him in the head. Jaebum's a good friend.)
It's not dark yet, but it's enough of the way there that Jinyoung is getting antsy. He needs to find the others. At the very least he needs to find a place to hole up. He doesn't know what kind of wildlife survived the radiation, if they would be anything like the profiles or if wolves would come slinking out from behind the rocks with two extra heads, Cerberus come to life. Jinyoung had planned on a lot less going wrong when he purposely got himself thrown into lockup for petty thievery.
He vacillates for thirty more seconds before he leans over Jackson and slaps him in the face.
Nothing. Jinyoung presses his lips together and does it a couple more times. He's rewarded when he groans and stirs, one eye squinting open, then the other. His pupils dart around for a few seconds before they focus on Jinyoung's face. Absurdly, Jinyoung thinks, he looks like a teddy bear.
They stare at each other for long enough that Jinyoung is about to shrug off the weirdness and just introduce himself, but Jackson says, "So, like." He coughs a little, starts again. "In all those stories where the princess gets woken up by the prince in the forest, I definitely never thought I'd be the princess."
Jinyoung bursts out laughing, noise ringing too loud in the silence. Instinctively, he covers his mouth, but Jackson is grinning back up at him. He looks a little dazed.
"Um," Jinyoung says. "I'm not a prince, so I don't know what to tell you."
"Could've fooled me." Before Jinyoung can respond to that, Jackson says, "How about your name?"
"Jinyoung," he says, trying not to laugh again.
"Cool. I'm Jackson Wang." Something about the unguarded normalcy of Jackson's grin, the familiarity of his manner, relaxes the knots of tension that have been winding through Jinyoung's gut. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," Jinyoung says. He doesn't mention that Jackson's reputation precedes him. "Although maybe it would have been better if you hadn't been unconscious first."
"Hey, don't undersell yourself. It was a hell of a first impression."
Jinyoung lets himself smile this time. "I try," he manages, the tips of his ears warm.
Jackson shifts slightly, pain flashing across his face as he raises himself on his elbows. "Jesus. It feels like a whole ship rolled over my ankle."
Jinyoung moves up, places a hand on Jackson's back so he can help him sit. "One probably did," he says, gesturing to the sheet of metal, edges jagged and slightly charred, next to them. He reaches out and places his fingers gingerly on Jackson's ankle. "Can I see?"
Jackson rolls up his right pant leg and slides his boot down enough to reveal a wicked ring of blue around his swollen ankle. Jinyoung winces.
Neither of them can tell if it's broken or sprained, but Jinyoung slings Jackson's arm over his shoulder and they manage to hobble to the trunk of a large tree nearby, settling against it. When Jinyoung looks around, it's dark enough that outlines are fading into shadows. A bloom of nervousness grows in his stomach again.
The Ark had mandated lights-out. This is Jinyoung's first real night: no switches to hit, no flashlights, no glow of Earth and sun through portholes. A sliver of moon hangs distant above them, obscured by branches and leaves.
"When it's light again," Jinyoung says, "we should find the others."
Jackson's eyes glimmer slightly in the darkness. Jinyoung can't read his expression. "You think they…" He trails off.
Jinyoung stares at his own feet, the back of his neck prickling as a cool breeze moves around them. "We should find the others."
---
Jinyoung wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck and Jackson's jacket laid over him. It almost surprises him that he'd fallen asleep at all, head propped awkwardly against a tree root, body curled in on itself. If he dreamed of anything, he doesn't remember.
Jackson is a few feet away, gripping a long metal pipe that had once been a railing on the drop ship, batting at the branches of a tree. The sleeves of his t-shirt are rolled up around his shoulders. Jinyoung can see a streak of dirt that stretches up the skin of his arm, the sharp cut of muscle underneath. His skin glistens slightly with sweat where his shirt rides up around his waist.
"What are you doing?" he shouts in lieu of interrogating the way his mouth goes dry.
Jackson turns around, hopping a little on his good foot. "Oh, hey! I saw some, like, apples?" He points up at the tree with the pipe. "I think they're apples, anyway. They look like the pictures."
Jinyoung gets up, clutching Jackson's jacket in his hand and making his way over to stand next to him. He dusts it off a little before he hands it back, though getting any dirt off it at this point is probably futile. "Thanks," he says.
"S'whatever," Jackson says with a grin, taking the jacket. "You looked cold."
"You--" don't, Jinyoung almost says, "-- said you found apples?"
If Jackson notices the pause, he doesn't mention it. He points up with the pipe again. "Yeah. What do you think?"
Jinyoung peers through the leaves. He sees them immediately, hanging round and red and heavy from the branches in clusters, though he can't tell what type they are exactly. His stomach growls. He hadn't noticed how hungry he was, but it's been over a day since his last meal. "They look like apples to me," he says. "Here, give me the pipe."
"For the record," Jackson says, handing it to him, "when I am not unfairly wounded I am a hell of a jump."
The edges of Jinyoung's mouth quirk up as he bats at a branch. "I'm sure you are."
"Seriously!" Jackson insists. "Have you seen these thighs? They are rocket-powered."
"Seriously," Jinyoung says, "I believe you." He hasn't… not noticed Jackson's thighs, but he isn't going to say that.
He's saved from his train of thought when the cluster of apples he's knocking at almost drops directly onto his nose.
"Sweet," Jackson says. He bends down and picks one up. "What are the chances that these are mutant apples that will make me explode if I eat them?"
"Hm." Jinyoung considers. "Forty percent, maybe?"
Jackson makes a concerned face. "Is that a real percentage or are you fucking with me?"
"Definitely a real percentage." Jinyoung's poker face is impeccable.
"Can you make a real percentage that means I won't die?"
"Hey, sixty percent is pretty generous."
Jackson shakes his head. "That's like, barely a C. That's like a failing grade!"
Jinyoung leans in and plucks the apple out of Jackson's fingers. He uses a marginally cleaner area of his shirt to rub at it slightly, the way he's seen in ancient video footage, before he hands it back. "There. Ninety percent chance you won't die."
Jackson's laughter -- more of a cackle -- is too loud, but it sets off something in Jinyoung's chest, an answering swell that makes his body feel too small for his lungs.
The apples don't kill them, but as it turns out, that's the least of their problems.
"Hoooly fuck," Jackson says as he half-hobbles, half-runs next to Jinyoung.
Jinyoung doesn't say anything, concentrates on finding cover that they can duck behind as fucking arrows shoot past their ears.
They'd been wandering through the forest, carrying some apples wrapped up in Jackson's jacket as they tried to divine the location of the drop ship through sheer force of will. When the first arrow landed at Jinyoung's feet, he didn't understand what was happening.
The second and third narrowly missed Jackson's head. They landed with a thunk in the trunk of a tree behind him, vibrating from impact. Jinyoung's fight-or-flight instinct kicked in like a bullet.
Jackson is breathing heavily next to him as they run, pain flashing across his face every time he puts pressure on his ankle. They'd dropped the jacket somewhere behind them.
"Fuck," Jackson says. "Fuck it, just go. I'm slowing you down."
Jinyoung grabs Jackson's wrist. "Hell no."
"There's no reason both of us have to --"
"If I'm going to die, I'm not going to die a coward who abandons his friends."
"Oh my god," Jackson says, wheezing. "That is actually disgustingly noble and also stupid."
"Thanks," Jinyoung says. His laugh is more of a pant.
Suddenly, the sound of a horn pierces the air. The arrows stop abruptly. A flock of birds takes off above their heads.
"What--" Jinyoung stops, glancing cautiously through the trees. It takes a minute, but then he notices it: a creeping cloud of yellow, a semi-opaque wall winding through the trees, swallowing down their edges until they fade completely. An army of insects skitters away from it, their iridescent bodies a moving path over the forest floor.
"That," Jackson says, "doesn't look good."
Dread fills Jinyoung's stomach. He pulls on Jackson's wrist and they're moving again, scrambling to find -- anything, a shelter, a ditch, a miracle.
"Wait, look --" Jackson is pointing off to the right. Metal poles, thin and rusted, sticking up at odd angles from the ground. A circular hatch in their centre is still visible through the layer of moss and fallen leaves.
Jinyoung chances a look behind him and immediately regrets it. The fog is a billowing curtain at their heels, barely a few feet away.
They skid to a stop in front of the hatch, almost tripping over it, and Jackson immediately goes for the handle, straining a little as he pulls. For a blinding, panicked second, Jinyoung thinks it might be locked. The fog is close enough that he can smell it: acrid, sulphuric, invading his senses.
The hatch lifts with an immense metallic groan. Jinyoung could cry.
They crawl down the ladder at lightspeed. "Geronimo," Jackson says, and pulls the cover closed above them.
For a long minute, the only sound is their rough, uneven breathing in the darkness.
Jinyoung is a little embarrassed about how long it takes for him to realize that his eyes aren't adjusting because there's no light.
"Hold on," he says, fingers fumbling along the wall until he hits something that feels like a shelf. "I think this is a… bunker? Bomb shelter? That means there should be candles or something somewhere, maybe food. Ow, jesus--"
"You okay out there?" Jackson is trying to be flippant, Jinyoung can tell, but his voice wavers nervously on his vowels.
Jinyoung thinks about being mean for a second. He wonders if Jackson believes in ghosts. He would feel guilty if Jackson injured himself again, though, so Jinyoung calls out, "It's cool, I think I just ran into a shelf."
The shelves run a gradual circle around the room as Jinyoung gingerly feels them out, his fingers brushing across dust and vaguely rectangular objects until he hits something cylindrical, slippery wax, matchboxes set next to them. Aha!, he thinks, and manages to fumble out a match and strike it without setting his fingers on fire.
He lights a few of the candles, sets them up around the room. It's relatively small, maybe 10 feet all around, the size of the communal kitchen in Alpha Station's living quarters. When he looks over to the entrance, Jackson is perched on one of the rungs of the ladder, rubbing absentmindedly at his ankle.
"That was a trip, huh?" Jackson says. His smile is tired but relieved.
Jinyoung's steps reverberate faintly as he walks over. "How's your ankle?" he says, kneeling down.
"Been better."
Jinyoung starts to reach out, then hesitates. He stands up again and makes another quick circle of the room. The first-aid kit is bright red, nestled in between dusty blankets and three boxes of respirators. He digs through it, trying to remember what his mother had used the last time he'd sprained his ankle a couple of years ago, and fishes out a packet labelled ELASTIC BANDAGES in black marker.
He moves back to Jackson, shakes his head when Jackson reaches out to take the bandages from him. "Let me."
"Don't break my foot," Jackson replies, but his voice is soft. "I mean, don't break it it more, I guess."
"Don't kick me in the face."
"No promises."
Jinyoung snorts. "So grateful."
Jinyoung still isn't a medic, but he's got a good memory. Jackson's skin runs hot beneath his fingers as he pulls the bandage in taut figure eights around his foot and fastens it. Jackson tests the give, rolls his foot gingerly before slipping his boot back on.
"Thanks," Jackson says finally.
"No problem." Jinyoung's voice is thick in his throat. He's still kneeling, looking up at the planes of Jackson's face, skin golden in the candlelight. His fingers are resting lightly on Jackson's knees. Jackson's tongue flickers out to wet his bottom lip.
Jinyoung's moving before he realizes, but Jackson meets him halfway, fingers buried at the nape of his hair like he's a lifeline. Jackson's mouth is hot and open and demanding underneath Jinyoung's, the adrenaline of the past day rocketing up into a feverish heat in Jinyoung's brain, compressing into points of contact: his tongue in Jackson's mouth, Jackson's hand against his stomach. Jackson's legs bracketing Jinyoung's hips.
He ends up blowing Jackson there, concrete floor pressing bruises into his knees as he tries not to choke when Jackson comes hot and bitter down his throat. He pulls off to cough slightly, blinking the involuntary tears out of his eyes. Jackson stares at him for a minute, dazed, before mutters, "Come here," tugging Jinyoung up by his shirt and sticking his hand down Jinyoung's pants. He kisses Jinyoung sloppily, jerks him off in fast, hard strokes. Jinyoung just leans into Jackson's mouth and gasps.
---
It's twilight when Jinyoung cracks open the hatch to check if it's safe. No trace of fog. No sounds except birds.
He closes the hatch again and settles back into the pile of blankets. Jackson is asleep, snoring loudly enough to wake the dead.
Jinyoung knows they'll have to leave again in the morning. For now, though, it's enough just to breathe.
Rating: R
Word Count: 3.4k
Warnings: swearing, mild violence, mentions of death (off-screen), sexual situations
Summary: The 100 AU. Jinyoung crashes, but he finds his anchor.
The slicing pain across Jinyoung's temple jolts him awake.
"Fuck," he says, bringing a hand up to his head, eyes squeezed shut. Blood is warm and wet against his fingertips. He traces the wound's wide curve down from his crown to his cheek, distantly relieved he still has both halves of his skull. More or less. The actual contents of his skull may be up for debate.
When Jinyoung tries opening his eyes, everything is too bright, like he's staring directly into one of the Ark's airlock lights. Everything is too -- green.
Then he remembers. He's on Earth.
Jinyoung tries sitting up and succeeds only at rolling himself three feet down the incline that he'd landed on, splashing shoulder-first into a puddle of mud. "Okay," he says hoarsely into the ground. He spits out a mouthful of dirt and blood. His head gives another painful throb. "This could be going better."
For a minute Jinyoung can't do anything but breathe. Inhale, five. Exhale, five. Repeat. The air smells -- potent, almost. Nothing like anything back home, not even the gardens on Agro Station, which had never housed a plant that grew more than two feet tall.
The trees here tower over him like an army of Goliaths. He's studied hundreds of species, seed to leaf, but projections are shadows to the real thing. He feels smaller here than he ever had on the Ark, the globe of the Earth lighting up the portholes, the dark expanse of space stretching out endlessly around him, stars combusting millions of light years away. That kind of distance abstracts to the point of meaninglessness. What Jinyoung remembers of the Ark are walls: cool metal, dividing glass, his father's voice.
---
Strictly speaking, the drop ship wasn't taking volunteers. A collection of the Ark's most disposable citizens: teenage delinquents, crimes pardonable upon secretly dropping 1200 miles from orbit to survey the irradiated Earth.
Jinyoung's father was at a Council meeting when Jinyoung stumbled upon the plan notes. Nobody was supposed to know. Not even the kids selected would know until they were already burning their way through Earth's atmosphere. Jinyoung's first impulse was to march straight into the Council room and shove the whole notebook down his father's lying, deceitful throat.
His second impulse was mutiny: take it public. Not all of these kids had parents still alive, but a lot of them did. They deserved to know what was being done to their children.
Jinyoung's third impulse was --
He looked out the viewing bay at the half-circle of Earth beneath him. He could see his reflection in the mirror in the corner of the room, tinged blue.
Jinyoung's third impulse was --
---
The sun is making its way west when Jinyoung staggers away from his crash site. Aside from his head and maybe some fractured ribs, he emerged from the landing in one piece, which is some sort of fucking miracle. He has no idea what happened to the rest of the drop ship. He'd woken up from sedation with enough time to speak to two kids strapped down in front of him before they'd hit Earth's atmosphere -- hard. The crunch of metal sounded like a small explosion. Screws rattled out of the wall behind his neck. His heartbeat was a roar in his ears over the yelling.
His two-seat section of the ship had splintered away from the main body at some point after they entered the atmosphere, splintered apart again before landing, and the force of impact had sent Jinyoung flying out twenty yards. He'd passed the remnants of his seat about five minute ago. The other, he hasn't been able to find.
Up ahead, Jinyoung sees a piece of the fragmented ship embedded in the roots of a tree, metal sticking out like a jagged knife.
Maybe he doesn't want find anything.
Everyone on the Ark has seen someone floated before. Sucked out into the vacuum of space. When every crime is capital, it's rarer to not know someone dead. This doesn't make the prospect of it -- of finding a body -- any easier.
Jinyoung stares at the arm peaking out from beneath the metal sheet in front of him. The sky is a brilliant red through the forest canopy, shadows trailing long over the ground. Distantly, Jinyoung can hear birds.
He takes a deep breath and steps forward, gripping the edge of the metal and immediately slicing open one of his palms.
"Perfect," he mutters, "I love infections." He pulls the sleeves of his jacket down over his hands and tries again, and with less bodily injury this time he manages to push the sheet up and away. It makes a dull thud when he drops it on its other side.
The person underneath is familiar, but it takes a second for Jinyoung to recall his name: Jackson Wang, Mecha Station's most infamous nuisance. They were the same age, but Jinyoung's father had refused to let him fraternize with anyone best known for escalating prank wars.
Jackson's father had been floated the year before. Jinyoung never knew the charge. What he did know: Jackson, just shy of sixteen and suddenly down a parent, punching his way into the Council room, not quite landing a hit on the Chancellor's jaw.
Dirt paints Jackson's face, his hair a dark haphazard mess, but there's no blood. Jinyoung is relieved to see the shallow rise and fall of his chest, and when he presses his fingers to Jackson's neck he feels a slow, steady beat. Two for two on no dead bodies today. That's already two bodies better than what he'd been expecting.
Jinyoung has no idea what he's supposed to do now. Wake him up? Wait it out? The only time Jinyoung has spent on Medical is for his yearly checkups and that day Jaebum broke his wrist trying to swing from Factory Station's rafters when they were thirteen.
(Guilt twists his gut at the thought of Jaebum. Of all the people Jinyoung left behind, he should have at least told him. He didn't because Jaebum would have literally punched him in the head. Jaebum's a good friend.)
It's not dark yet, but it's enough of the way there that Jinyoung is getting antsy. He needs to find the others. At the very least he needs to find a place to hole up. He doesn't know what kind of wildlife survived the radiation, if they would be anything like the profiles or if wolves would come slinking out from behind the rocks with two extra heads, Cerberus come to life. Jinyoung had planned on a lot less going wrong when he purposely got himself thrown into lockup for petty thievery.
He vacillates for thirty more seconds before he leans over Jackson and slaps him in the face.
Nothing. Jinyoung presses his lips together and does it a couple more times. He's rewarded when he groans and stirs, one eye squinting open, then the other. His pupils dart around for a few seconds before they focus on Jinyoung's face. Absurdly, Jinyoung thinks, he looks like a teddy bear.
They stare at each other for long enough that Jinyoung is about to shrug off the weirdness and just introduce himself, but Jackson says, "So, like." He coughs a little, starts again. "In all those stories where the princess gets woken up by the prince in the forest, I definitely never thought I'd be the princess."
Jinyoung bursts out laughing, noise ringing too loud in the silence. Instinctively, he covers his mouth, but Jackson is grinning back up at him. He looks a little dazed.
"Um," Jinyoung says. "I'm not a prince, so I don't know what to tell you."
"Could've fooled me." Before Jinyoung can respond to that, Jackson says, "How about your name?"
"Jinyoung," he says, trying not to laugh again.
"Cool. I'm Jackson Wang." Something about the unguarded normalcy of Jackson's grin, the familiarity of his manner, relaxes the knots of tension that have been winding through Jinyoung's gut. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise," Jinyoung says. He doesn't mention that Jackson's reputation precedes him. "Although maybe it would have been better if you hadn't been unconscious first."
"Hey, don't undersell yourself. It was a hell of a first impression."
Jinyoung lets himself smile this time. "I try," he manages, the tips of his ears warm.
Jackson shifts slightly, pain flashing across his face as he raises himself on his elbows. "Jesus. It feels like a whole ship rolled over my ankle."
Jinyoung moves up, places a hand on Jackson's back so he can help him sit. "One probably did," he says, gesturing to the sheet of metal, edges jagged and slightly charred, next to them. He reaches out and places his fingers gingerly on Jackson's ankle. "Can I see?"
Jackson rolls up his right pant leg and slides his boot down enough to reveal a wicked ring of blue around his swollen ankle. Jinyoung winces.
Neither of them can tell if it's broken or sprained, but Jinyoung slings Jackson's arm over his shoulder and they manage to hobble to the trunk of a large tree nearby, settling against it. When Jinyoung looks around, it's dark enough that outlines are fading into shadows. A bloom of nervousness grows in his stomach again.
The Ark had mandated lights-out. This is Jinyoung's first real night: no switches to hit, no flashlights, no glow of Earth and sun through portholes. A sliver of moon hangs distant above them, obscured by branches and leaves.
"When it's light again," Jinyoung says, "we should find the others."
Jackson's eyes glimmer slightly in the darkness. Jinyoung can't read his expression. "You think they…" He trails off.
Jinyoung stares at his own feet, the back of his neck prickling as a cool breeze moves around them. "We should find the others."
---
Jinyoung wakes up the next morning with a crick in his neck and Jackson's jacket laid over him. It almost surprises him that he'd fallen asleep at all, head propped awkwardly against a tree root, body curled in on itself. If he dreamed of anything, he doesn't remember.
Jackson is a few feet away, gripping a long metal pipe that had once been a railing on the drop ship, batting at the branches of a tree. The sleeves of his t-shirt are rolled up around his shoulders. Jinyoung can see a streak of dirt that stretches up the skin of his arm, the sharp cut of muscle underneath. His skin glistens slightly with sweat where his shirt rides up around his waist.
"What are you doing?" he shouts in lieu of interrogating the way his mouth goes dry.
Jackson turns around, hopping a little on his good foot. "Oh, hey! I saw some, like, apples?" He points up at the tree with the pipe. "I think they're apples, anyway. They look like the pictures."
Jinyoung gets up, clutching Jackson's jacket in his hand and making his way over to stand next to him. He dusts it off a little before he hands it back, though getting any dirt off it at this point is probably futile. "Thanks," he says.
"S'whatever," Jackson says with a grin, taking the jacket. "You looked cold."
"You--" don't, Jinyoung almost says, "-- said you found apples?"
If Jackson notices the pause, he doesn't mention it. He points up with the pipe again. "Yeah. What do you think?"
Jinyoung peers through the leaves. He sees them immediately, hanging round and red and heavy from the branches in clusters, though he can't tell what type they are exactly. His stomach growls. He hadn't noticed how hungry he was, but it's been over a day since his last meal. "They look like apples to me," he says. "Here, give me the pipe."
"For the record," Jackson says, handing it to him, "when I am not unfairly wounded I am a hell of a jump."
The edges of Jinyoung's mouth quirk up as he bats at a branch. "I'm sure you are."
"Seriously!" Jackson insists. "Have you seen these thighs? They are rocket-powered."
"Seriously," Jinyoung says, "I believe you." He hasn't… not noticed Jackson's thighs, but he isn't going to say that.
He's saved from his train of thought when the cluster of apples he's knocking at almost drops directly onto his nose.
"Sweet," Jackson says. He bends down and picks one up. "What are the chances that these are mutant apples that will make me explode if I eat them?"
"Hm." Jinyoung considers. "Forty percent, maybe?"
Jackson makes a concerned face. "Is that a real percentage or are you fucking with me?"
"Definitely a real percentage." Jinyoung's poker face is impeccable.
"Can you make a real percentage that means I won't die?"
"Hey, sixty percent is pretty generous."
Jackson shakes his head. "That's like, barely a C. That's like a failing grade!"
Jinyoung leans in and plucks the apple out of Jackson's fingers. He uses a marginally cleaner area of his shirt to rub at it slightly, the way he's seen in ancient video footage, before he hands it back. "There. Ninety percent chance you won't die."
Jackson's laughter -- more of a cackle -- is too loud, but it sets off something in Jinyoung's chest, an answering swell that makes his body feel too small for his lungs.
The apples don't kill them, but as it turns out, that's the least of their problems.
"Hoooly fuck," Jackson says as he half-hobbles, half-runs next to Jinyoung.
Jinyoung doesn't say anything, concentrates on finding cover that they can duck behind as fucking arrows shoot past their ears.
They'd been wandering through the forest, carrying some apples wrapped up in Jackson's jacket as they tried to divine the location of the drop ship through sheer force of will. When the first arrow landed at Jinyoung's feet, he didn't understand what was happening.
The second and third narrowly missed Jackson's head. They landed with a thunk in the trunk of a tree behind him, vibrating from impact. Jinyoung's fight-or-flight instinct kicked in like a bullet.
Jackson is breathing heavily next to him as they run, pain flashing across his face every time he puts pressure on his ankle. They'd dropped the jacket somewhere behind them.
"Fuck," Jackson says. "Fuck it, just go. I'm slowing you down."
Jinyoung grabs Jackson's wrist. "Hell no."
"There's no reason both of us have to --"
"If I'm going to die, I'm not going to die a coward who abandons his friends."
"Oh my god," Jackson says, wheezing. "That is actually disgustingly noble and also stupid."
"Thanks," Jinyoung says. His laugh is more of a pant.
Suddenly, the sound of a horn pierces the air. The arrows stop abruptly. A flock of birds takes off above their heads.
"What--" Jinyoung stops, glancing cautiously through the trees. It takes a minute, but then he notices it: a creeping cloud of yellow, a semi-opaque wall winding through the trees, swallowing down their edges until they fade completely. An army of insects skitters away from it, their iridescent bodies a moving path over the forest floor.
"That," Jackson says, "doesn't look good."
Dread fills Jinyoung's stomach. He pulls on Jackson's wrist and they're moving again, scrambling to find -- anything, a shelter, a ditch, a miracle.
"Wait, look --" Jackson is pointing off to the right. Metal poles, thin and rusted, sticking up at odd angles from the ground. A circular hatch in their centre is still visible through the layer of moss and fallen leaves.
Jinyoung chances a look behind him and immediately regrets it. The fog is a billowing curtain at their heels, barely a few feet away.
They skid to a stop in front of the hatch, almost tripping over it, and Jackson immediately goes for the handle, straining a little as he pulls. For a blinding, panicked second, Jinyoung thinks it might be locked. The fog is close enough that he can smell it: acrid, sulphuric, invading his senses.
The hatch lifts with an immense metallic groan. Jinyoung could cry.
They crawl down the ladder at lightspeed. "Geronimo," Jackson says, and pulls the cover closed above them.
For a long minute, the only sound is their rough, uneven breathing in the darkness.
Jinyoung is a little embarrassed about how long it takes for him to realize that his eyes aren't adjusting because there's no light.
"Hold on," he says, fingers fumbling along the wall until he hits something that feels like a shelf. "I think this is a… bunker? Bomb shelter? That means there should be candles or something somewhere, maybe food. Ow, jesus--"
"You okay out there?" Jackson is trying to be flippant, Jinyoung can tell, but his voice wavers nervously on his vowels.
Jinyoung thinks about being mean for a second. He wonders if Jackson believes in ghosts. He would feel guilty if Jackson injured himself again, though, so Jinyoung calls out, "It's cool, I think I just ran into a shelf."
The shelves run a gradual circle around the room as Jinyoung gingerly feels them out, his fingers brushing across dust and vaguely rectangular objects until he hits something cylindrical, slippery wax, matchboxes set next to them. Aha!, he thinks, and manages to fumble out a match and strike it without setting his fingers on fire.
He lights a few of the candles, sets them up around the room. It's relatively small, maybe 10 feet all around, the size of the communal kitchen in Alpha Station's living quarters. When he looks over to the entrance, Jackson is perched on one of the rungs of the ladder, rubbing absentmindedly at his ankle.
"That was a trip, huh?" Jackson says. His smile is tired but relieved.
Jinyoung's steps reverberate faintly as he walks over. "How's your ankle?" he says, kneeling down.
"Been better."
Jinyoung starts to reach out, then hesitates. He stands up again and makes another quick circle of the room. The first-aid kit is bright red, nestled in between dusty blankets and three boxes of respirators. He digs through it, trying to remember what his mother had used the last time he'd sprained his ankle a couple of years ago, and fishes out a packet labelled ELASTIC BANDAGES in black marker.
He moves back to Jackson, shakes his head when Jackson reaches out to take the bandages from him. "Let me."
"Don't break my foot," Jackson replies, but his voice is soft. "I mean, don't break it it more, I guess."
"Don't kick me in the face."
"No promises."
Jinyoung snorts. "So grateful."
Jinyoung still isn't a medic, but he's got a good memory. Jackson's skin runs hot beneath his fingers as he pulls the bandage in taut figure eights around his foot and fastens it. Jackson tests the give, rolls his foot gingerly before slipping his boot back on.
"Thanks," Jackson says finally.
"No problem." Jinyoung's voice is thick in his throat. He's still kneeling, looking up at the planes of Jackson's face, skin golden in the candlelight. His fingers are resting lightly on Jackson's knees. Jackson's tongue flickers out to wet his bottom lip.
Jinyoung's moving before he realizes, but Jackson meets him halfway, fingers buried at the nape of his hair like he's a lifeline. Jackson's mouth is hot and open and demanding underneath Jinyoung's, the adrenaline of the past day rocketing up into a feverish heat in Jinyoung's brain, compressing into points of contact: his tongue in Jackson's mouth, Jackson's hand against his stomach. Jackson's legs bracketing Jinyoung's hips.
He ends up blowing Jackson there, concrete floor pressing bruises into his knees as he tries not to choke when Jackson comes hot and bitter down his throat. He pulls off to cough slightly, blinking the involuntary tears out of his eyes. Jackson stares at him for a minute, dazed, before mutters, "Come here," tugging Jinyoung up by his shirt and sticking his hand down Jinyoung's pants. He kisses Jinyoung sloppily, jerks him off in fast, hard strokes. Jinyoung just leans into Jackson's mouth and gasps.
---
It's twilight when Jinyoung cracks open the hatch to check if it's safe. No trace of fog. No sounds except birds.
He closes the hatch again and settles back into the pile of blankets. Jackson is asleep, snoring loudly enough to wake the dead.
Jinyoung knows they'll have to leave again in the morning. For now, though, it's enough just to breathe.