FIC: Meanwhile, Back at the Refugee Center
Fic: Meanwhile, Back at the Refugee Center
Pairing: Klaine overall
Word Count: ~1060
Warnings: mpreg, zombies, character deaths
Summary: A refugee center worker reflects on the people he sees coming over the boarder in search of hope.
AN: Okay, back to work.
The road so far...
The Conception of Hope -> Human Kindness -> No Home Left to Run From -> Chasing Ghosts -> Water Break -> Unsafe -> Only Us -> Meanwhile, Back at the Shelter -> Consumerism is Dead -> Camping -> Night Terrors -> No Use for Wind Chimes in the Land of the Dead
And now...
At first he was there nearly every damn day. Every day, this middle-aged man in his work-a-day clothing, worn jeans, and a ball cap. A real average Joe the Mechanic, blue collar, gruff fella. Or he seemed gruff, at first. The volunteers at the center all knew him and talked about him like he was a big teddy bear. He’d brought a straggly group of survivors to them not long after the outbreaks had started, mostly kids and two other remaining parents. He’d lost his wife and younger son in the process. Only the poor bastard hadn’t seen the boy die in front of him, so how could he ever let go?
Even after months had passed, he still came roughly once a week. Asking after his son, keeping an eye out for the new refugees and offering them whatever help he had. After so long, the refugees got to know each other, and were able to direct people around to the communities forming in the refugee housing. He probably knew the people who had made it better than the volunteers, and he’d for damn sure connected a few folks with their families.
There were fliers up all over the center with the faces of the unaccounted for.
Every time the man came in, he first asked after his boy at the front desk, then lingered as new refugees came through and checked on those who hadn’t left yet for one reason or another. There were never many at any one time. Not anymore. Most survivors had come over the boarder right away. After a time, well... There just weren’t that many survivors. Most showed up at the center and were held in quarantine until they’d been treated for the virus or given the vaccine. Or they were put down. A good number were sent on to medical or mental hospitals. Especially those who had survived the treatment.
The treatment... well, it was better than the alternative... More or less.
After that process, they were set up in the housing that had been put aside for them outside of the city, but they were mostly lost. Mostly still chasing the ghosts of their loved ones, and often, they would never find out whether they were alive or dead, or both. And that was worse sometimes. There was no going back over the border once you went through, though. The government wouldn’t allow it. So many lives had been lost already, and that would be like handing a refugees a gun to blow his brains out with.
“Mornin’, Burt.” Jacques nodded to the man as he came up to the desk.
“Hey, there. Don’t suppose you have any good news for me?”
“Nope. Sorry.” Jacques turned his computer monitor towards Burt. He wasn’t supposed to do that, but after seeing a father daily hunting for his child for so long, a guy got invested. He kind of hoped at long last they’d find this kid, and then the volunteers could pass around at least one story of hope.
Remember that Hummel guy? Looking for his kid since the day of the outbreak, and just showed up one day, perfectly fine and healthy. Warms your heart, eh?
They took pictures of the ones who had come through and hadn’t made it, just so that their families, if they were there, could ID them. “Hope I don’t have any bad news for you.”
“No...” Burt ran a hand over his mouth. “He’s not there. I don’t see any of Finn’s friends, either. He’s been hoping. Left a girl behind who he’d been wanting to get back together with... I appreciate ya.”
“I wish I could do more. If he’s been down there this long...” Jacques paused. He didn’t want to say that obviously this man’s son was long dead. “Maybe he found someplace safe to hunker down? They say the UN is tryin’ to pass a resolution to push the lines down further as soon as there’s freezing weather, take out the infected and rescue any survivors left there.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it. How the fuck do you wait six months to get people out of a hell hole like that? The survivors’ll freeze, too.”
“Damned if I know. Between you and me... The people when they get outta there...” Jacques shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “There was this kid. Bless his heart. College boy from Indiana. Queer as a fuckin’ three dollar bill, but smart, eh? His head was practically screwed on backwards. Violent. I saw him knock over Damien with a kick to the chest.”
Burt raised his brows. “Six foot eleven security guy Damien?”
“Yeah! And this wasn’t a big kid, either. Only the one leg left. He was... wild. You don’t live like that and keep bein’ the same person, y’know?”
Jacques didn’t catch himself until after he’d said it, but Burt’s lips had grown tight.
“Yeah. Well, you know. It’s PTSD. Fucks y’up. I’m gonna go look around.” He paused and licked his lips. “What happened to that kid? He make it?”
“Oh yeah, they sent him on to the psych ward of the hospital just outside of Toronto. S’where we send all the refugees who aren’t healthy enough to make in the camps on their own. He was injured real bad, too, and they’ve been recruiting a bunch of specialists to help over there. Last I heard, he was still breathing, still causin’ a ruckus with the doctors, so that’s something. He’s got some fight left in ‘im.”
“Does he have anybody?”
“Not that I know of. Came through with a couple of other folks who went their own way as soon as we processed ‘em.”
Burt nodded again slowly. “And where’s this hospital?”
Jacques did a lot of things he wasn’t supposed to. But he didn’t see a lot of ways for these people to heal themselves. And not just the sick and injured ones. If Burt felt better helping some fucked up gay kid. If that helped him move on. Well. Burt was a damn good guy. Maybe it was about time he let go.
Jacques spun around in his chair and started to print out the kid’s file.
Next part: Hiccup
Pairing: Klaine overall
Word Count: ~1060
Warnings: mpreg, zombies, character deaths
Summary: A refugee center worker reflects on the people he sees coming over the boarder in search of hope.
AN: Okay, back to work.
The road so far...
The Conception of Hope -> Human Kindness -> No Home Left to Run From -> Chasing Ghosts -> Water Break -> Unsafe -> Only Us -> Meanwhile, Back at the Shelter -> Consumerism is Dead -> Camping -> Night Terrors -> No Use for Wind Chimes in the Land of the Dead
And now...
At first he was there nearly every damn day. Every day, this middle-aged man in his work-a-day clothing, worn jeans, and a ball cap. A real average Joe the Mechanic, blue collar, gruff fella. Or he seemed gruff, at first. The volunteers at the center all knew him and talked about him like he was a big teddy bear. He’d brought a straggly group of survivors to them not long after the outbreaks had started, mostly kids and two other remaining parents. He’d lost his wife and younger son in the process. Only the poor bastard hadn’t seen the boy die in front of him, so how could he ever let go?
Even after months had passed, he still came roughly once a week. Asking after his son, keeping an eye out for the new refugees and offering them whatever help he had. After so long, the refugees got to know each other, and were able to direct people around to the communities forming in the refugee housing. He probably knew the people who had made it better than the volunteers, and he’d for damn sure connected a few folks with their families.
There were fliers up all over the center with the faces of the unaccounted for.
Every time the man came in, he first asked after his boy at the front desk, then lingered as new refugees came through and checked on those who hadn’t left yet for one reason or another. There were never many at any one time. Not anymore. Most survivors had come over the boarder right away. After a time, well... There just weren’t that many survivors. Most showed up at the center and were held in quarantine until they’d been treated for the virus or given the vaccine. Or they were put down. A good number were sent on to medical or mental hospitals. Especially those who had survived the treatment.
The treatment... well, it was better than the alternative... More or less.
After that process, they were set up in the housing that had been put aside for them outside of the city, but they were mostly lost. Mostly still chasing the ghosts of their loved ones, and often, they would never find out whether they were alive or dead, or both. And that was worse sometimes. There was no going back over the border once you went through, though. The government wouldn’t allow it. So many lives had been lost already, and that would be like handing a refugees a gun to blow his brains out with.
“Mornin’, Burt.” Jacques nodded to the man as he came up to the desk.
“Hey, there. Don’t suppose you have any good news for me?”
“Nope. Sorry.” Jacques turned his computer monitor towards Burt. He wasn’t supposed to do that, but after seeing a father daily hunting for his child for so long, a guy got invested. He kind of hoped at long last they’d find this kid, and then the volunteers could pass around at least one story of hope.
Remember that Hummel guy? Looking for his kid since the day of the outbreak, and just showed up one day, perfectly fine and healthy. Warms your heart, eh?
They took pictures of the ones who had come through and hadn’t made it, just so that their families, if they were there, could ID them. “Hope I don’t have any bad news for you.”
“No...” Burt ran a hand over his mouth. “He’s not there. I don’t see any of Finn’s friends, either. He’s been hoping. Left a girl behind who he’d been wanting to get back together with... I appreciate ya.”
“I wish I could do more. If he’s been down there this long...” Jacques paused. He didn’t want to say that obviously this man’s son was long dead. “Maybe he found someplace safe to hunker down? They say the UN is tryin’ to pass a resolution to push the lines down further as soon as there’s freezing weather, take out the infected and rescue any survivors left there.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it. How the fuck do you wait six months to get people out of a hell hole like that? The survivors’ll freeze, too.”
“Damned if I know. Between you and me... The people when they get outta there...” Jacques shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “There was this kid. Bless his heart. College boy from Indiana. Queer as a fuckin’ three dollar bill, but smart, eh? His head was practically screwed on backwards. Violent. I saw him knock over Damien with a kick to the chest.”
Burt raised his brows. “Six foot eleven security guy Damien?”
“Yeah! And this wasn’t a big kid, either. Only the one leg left. He was... wild. You don’t live like that and keep bein’ the same person, y’know?”
Jacques didn’t catch himself until after he’d said it, but Burt’s lips had grown tight.
“Yeah. Well, you know. It’s PTSD. Fucks y’up. I’m gonna go look around.” He paused and licked his lips. “What happened to that kid? He make it?”
“Oh yeah, they sent him on to the psych ward of the hospital just outside of Toronto. S’where we send all the refugees who aren’t healthy enough to make in the camps on their own. He was injured real bad, too, and they’ve been recruiting a bunch of specialists to help over there. Last I heard, he was still breathing, still causin’ a ruckus with the doctors, so that’s something. He’s got some fight left in ‘im.”
“Does he have anybody?”
“Not that I know of. Came through with a couple of other folks who went their own way as soon as we processed ‘em.”
Burt nodded again slowly. “And where’s this hospital?”
Jacques did a lot of things he wasn’t supposed to. But he didn’t see a lot of ways for these people to heal themselves. And not just the sick and injured ones. If Burt felt better helping some fucked up gay kid. If that helped him move on. Well. Burt was a damn good guy. Maybe it was about time he let go.
Jacques spun around in his chair and started to print out the kid’s file.
Next part: Hiccup