Smosh Fic: Greyscape (Chapter 3)
Title: Greyscape (Chapter 3)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: (future) Ian/Anthony
Beta: 98ninetyeight
Genre/Warnings: AU, Angst, Apocalypse, Death, Gore, Violence, OOC
Summary: The world is a wasteland. Nothing is what is used to be. Humans? They are scarce and few. What is left is a mutation of human. And Ian Hecox is the cure.
Chapter Summary: Who is he trying to convince that one day, the world might be all right again? Right now, that thought is nothing more than a dream, in a world where there are no dreams but of nightmares instead.
Previous Chapters: One, Two
A/N: Short chapter. Filler chapter? I'm beginning to see that my chapters are going to be about this length - following short little glimpses of scenes (very different from what I had planned initially - but stories have a mind of their own). By the way, I stole a sentence from 98ninetyeight. I'm sorry, but you offered it and I took it. So now it's mine! *runs off cackling*
[Another beta request!]
I have one great beta (I wish I had a million cookies to give to her) and if anybody else wants to put up with me, I'd really like a second one (the more, the merrier!). Just comment below or PM me. I'm just looking for somebody to bounce ideas with and call me out on anything that's not good.
Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter, con crit is always, always, always appreciated and thank you for reading! <3
“You know, Ian, eventually, you’re gunna have to stop being an ass and talk to me,” Anthony says as he and Ian come along to a lake after walking for two hours. The city is just behind a twenty-minute trek of dry forest and sandy hills. If Anthony looks to the sky, he can just catch the glimpse of black smoke emerging from the burning buildings. “I don’t even know why you’re so freakin’ mad.”
Ian doesn’t stop in his steps, or acknowledge Anthony’s words. He just walks towards the still lake with steady, determined steps, head bent down with shoulders held high. Ian can be so stubborn and stupid. Anthony lets out a sigh and scratches at his irritated chin. He’s growing stubble - finally - and almost smiles but Ian’s form in front of him is so frustrating that he doesn’t even want to rejoice in this new human discovery.
Right there -
“Shut up,” Anthony whispers under his breath to himself. Ian hasn’t heard him; or if he has, he doesn’t pay mind to Anthony’s mutterings. The voice is growing steadily, more apparent in Anthony’s mind since yesterday. The growing rate of its presence is alarming, confusing and questionable but everything about himself, Anthony feels, is alarming, confusing and questionable. Why should this strange voice be any different?
It’s just part of him now, he guesses, and dismisses it. He’ll wait for it to disappear, to go away and become silent. Just like how he’ll wait for Ian to become Ian again; the one Anthony’s been missing since his fall into the Darkness. He knows Ian is there, somewhere, underneath the hard worn muscles and stern tanned face. Ian will emerge with laughter and jokes and everything will be all right.
All right. All right? What is all right? All right was when Smosh went for a short ride downhill. All right was when the scientists said a recall of the drug was all that was needed. All right was also when they did a sketch about a real life first person shooter game killing zombies during an epidemic. All right was better than okay when their video didn’t quite sit well with the Internet then. And was it all right when the preliminary cautions turned into full-fledged warnings and protocols? It was definitely not all right at all when he went to be with his family, only to find his childhood home and everybody he loved become a biohazard.
Who is he trying to convince that one day, the world might be all right again? Right now, that thought is nothing more than a dream, in a world where there are no dreams but of nightmares instead.
And he had had one last night. Of death and blood - so much blood. Blood everywhere. Blood on his shirt. Blood on his hands. Blood in his mouth. The taste of blood made him think of more blood until he was drowning in it and it was Ian calling his name - in his dream - that woke Anthony from his nightmare.
He had woken up to pitch black. There were no stars. No moon. No light. And he had been afraid that he had fallen into the Darkness again. He was paralyzed from fear that the aberration of his dream was real. It wasn’t until an incoherent mumble from his immediate left that Anthony was relieved to realize he was in the forest with Ian in the night. The stars swiftly reappeared overhead and the muffled light of the moon behind dark clouds caught Anthony’s peripheral.
He had laughed then. Had to cover his mouth with his own hand to keep quiet, but his chest rumbled with hysterical laughter. It was an odd reaction to have, which made Anthony laugh even more.
Everything was so stupid; so, so, very, stupid. They were both sleeping in the forest because they had no home. He’d been running around almost naked for two and half years doing God knows what. And here he was now, dreaming about blood and hearing a voice in his head that told him blood was good for him like he was some kind of sick goddamn vampire.
And everything sucks. Every - fucking - thing sucks.
How is he supposed to keep on living?
It was some time before Anthony had settled his dark thoughts and found himself shifting closer to Ian’s barely lit silhouette. He had dared to lay a hand on his friend’s chest, feel Ian’s heart beat under his palm and revel in the way it moved up and down. There was no voice and Anthony was thankful for that. He had almost fallen asleep that way, until Ian jolted awake. Anthony had quickly retracted his hand, frowning as he had watched Ian, as the other gulped for air, eyes wide open and hands trembling as they felt all over his body.
Ian had turned to his side, his back to Anthony and lain still afterwards. But Anthony heard the small whisper of a whimper from Ian, heard the almost-scream stop short in his friend’s throat. Knew that Ian is just as afraid as he is.
And then the voice had materialized again, just like it is now mere hours later, saying, Should take him now. Have to. Must.
Anthony grinds his teeth together to hold his words inside. The sharpness of his incisors pinches the inside of his lip and he brings his hand up to find a dribble of blood coming out from the new cut. It’s dark red and purple on the tip of his finger. He doesn’t feel any pain though, but fascination at the sight. It’s so peculiar that he stops walking and doesn’t hear the sound of splashing water until he looks up to see Ian waist deep in the lake and stabbing with his sword at the rocks for fish.
A voice inside his head snarls, Tastes like him, doesn’t it?
“No,” Anthony denies, and watches Ian’s back as his friend walks deeper into the lake until he’s chest high in the glistening, rippling water.
Could just drown him. Then take him.
Anthony follows Ian to the bank and thinks about taking off his shoes but Ian’s got them on, too. So he opts to leave them on and hops in after his friend. He’s ankle deep in the surprisingly warm water as the afternoon sun beats down on his face. It burns and it makes his tight skin itch. Ian’s splashing ten feet from him is like the bass to the melody of birds chirping around them.
And the voice inside his head whispers the grotesque lyrics to the song: He’s yours. Have him. Take him. Go. Must. Do it.
Anthony closes his eyes, swallows and feels the breeze ribbon through his fingertips, soft and feather-like. The water laps at his ankles and for a few seconds it feels like he’s moving with the wind behind him, urging him forward as the voice says, Right there. For you. All for you.
Yours.
He’s yours.
Yours, yours, yours.
The sound of water splashing and the feel of wetness on his face suddenly has Anthony panting hard and breath wheezing out of his lungs. Anthony opens his eyes to find he’s got a wet slippery fish in the grip of his hand and his fingernails dig deep into its scales. It’s squishy and strong. He looks up to see Ian, waist twisting around and staring at Anthony. A look of surprise flashes in his friend’s face and then disappears. But Anthony’s seen it.
You’ve scared him.
He ignores the voice in his head and instead, quickly throws the fish behind him onto the dusty beige bank, not being able to hold onto the thrashing creature any longer.
“Lunch?” Anthony breathes and smiles. He looks into Ian’s eyes for approval.
Ian nods as he walks past Anthony with his sword dragging behind him across the rocks.
“That was…” Ian starts, voice small and hesitant. Anthony turns to see a grin on Ian’s face, tense, but it’s a grin nonetheless. He smiles back, relief like what he felt after his dream, filling up his chest. “That was pretty awesome.”
The voice is quiet for now.
Chapter Four