Barty was delivering pizza when the ground started shaking and everyone started looking really funny and frantic and ushering him into the nearest building.
Which was a church, and Barty’s never even been religious.
Apparently there was a bomb, which makes sense with all the fire and the funny faces, but see, he saved up last year and bought these really awesome but totally expensive headphones.
He should write them a review.
Awesome headphones, didn’t even hear the world end!
Ended up sharing the pizza with a bunch of kids in the chapel, which was sort of annoying, but Barty always kinda enjoyed crowds and busy places and the church is really nice and cool so it could be worse.
Made friends with a total milf because he gave her kid two slices instead of one but then she got all down because her husband was missing and all which is when he noticed the guy and his sister instead. Similar age to him, way across the room.
The guy had this totally fun hair that was the same shade of platinum blond that went all the way down to the sister's ass.
Which he wasn't even looking at, because this guy was seriously cute.
Had this stern serious look to him like ‘Augh Yeah I Can Save Us Don't Worry I'm Super Smart And Secretly Strong.’ Which happened to be Barty's type.
And you know, thank God for this guy because the church was getting seriously boring and every time Barty asked when they could leave everyone kept ignoring him so this guy was like the Family Guy reruns at 4 am when you can't sleep and nothing else is on but you get kind of into the episode.
Barty did need to leave soon though, he forgot to feed his cat this morning, and him and his roommate were gonna watch the final episode of Sopranos tonight, it was kind of a big deal.
By nightime Barty’s thinking this is a little strange, like, he hasn't had a sleepover since he was ten and he pissed in his sleeping bag at one of the cool kid’s birthday parties, now he's sleeping in the same room as a bunch of strangers? What if he pissed himself again?
Everyone was just murmuring and he couldn't hear a thing, “hey, what's going on?”
“Excuse me?”
“like, why aren't they letting us out, surely the bomb's been like cleared or whatever.”
This lady looked seriously worried, like when Barty broke his arm when he was fourteen and the bone was sticking out but he couldn't feel a thing cos of all the adrenaline and his teacher had this exact same look.
“It's - the rapture. They came, they've taken the city. Overthrown the revolutionists. The computers all cut out- it's over. It's done.’
And okay, this was a whole load of mumbo jumbo to Barty's ears, but like, his granny raised him to have manners. Wasn't gonna give her the same crazy look she was giving him, so he just nodded,
“Oh, okay.”
The vibes were seriously morose, and the floor was so hard Barty couldn't sleep.
Just kept counting the roof tiles until he heard some kinda shuffling. He sat up on his elbow, surrounded by like three kids, and saw Mr. Serious from earlier looking real sneaky way across the room.
Tiptoeing around and all, heading straight for the door.
Which got Barty interested, this church was a total yawn fest and this guy was not, as far as he could tell.
Maybe he could tell him what was really going on.
Barty got up and followed him.
//
Evan’s on a life long quest for inspiration and songs that sound like only you in the whole world know them, and something more than white wine in his fridge.
Some days he’s so bored there’s nothing to do but look inward and put it on paper. Sometimes it feels like his coffee's always coming out cold, did he even make it hot? He buys the pasteurised milk you can keep out of the fridge but it doesn’t help much. Maybe a little.
He always thought everything was easy, everyone else was just bang average, but now he’s getting older, 20 something, he’s realising he’s not good at everything. Not very great at most things actually, and is forgetting how to pretend. Looks around about twice a week, in the supermarket or on the road and all these faceless vehicles, and thinks he might just be one of those bang average folks too, might be even worse off because it took him so damn long to realise.
Hard to change your ways though, because now he’s just a less than average guy acting like he still knows more than everyone else.
Which is quite simply known as being a prick.
So he’s working on keeping his side of the street clean these days, writing something only he will read when he’s run out of other things to do, bored to tears. Keeps a tidy house, keeps a well enough schedule, tries to spend more time alone and is always early, which is nothing new. Doesn’t enjoy things as much as other people seem to, and suddenly forgot how to hold meaningless small talk. Like, can’t do it for the life of him.
What comes after how’ve you been? oh y’know man. Shrug. He doesn’t know.
Forgets everything that happens to him as soon as it happens. Thinks he’s losing some kind of lust for life, there’s people he wants to be, but just doesn’t have the damn energy. wants to hurry up and be something already, just like he always thought he would be. Gets so damn anxious some mornings for absolutely no reason outside the existential wall of another white morning staring back at him, he practically has routine home enemas.
Wonders if he’s supposed to feel life all the time. Because most people are kind enough to listen, and if he just gets up when he opens his eyes and sees the sun through the kitchen window while he’s washing the pots, odds are it’ll be a decent day. However that makes sense. Because sunlight and dishes have nothing to do with being late or rudeness.
It's perspective, surely. which Evan has never been the best at having.
Anyway, that was all before the rapture.
That’s what they were calling it, the rapture, but suppose he was in a church.
There was no locusts or unnatural weather that he knows of, which wouldn’t have been as surprising as what it was.
Which was gradual, then all at once.
And no, honestly, Evan doesn’t know who they are. Knows it’s big vs small, poor vs rich, it’s been that way forever. And if you’d ask him, fuck yeah, he’s on the little side. He has to budget on the last week of the month just like everyone else, he buys the knockoff cereal and has never once filled his tank up all the way.
And Evan doesn’t regret getting involved, but he didn’t think it would go like this.
Didn’t think, two days after the rapture, the unprecedented rapture, the how soon is now rapture, that he told management was pretty fucking soon, he’d be lying on his back in a chapel, with every inch of the floor beside him covered in sleeping bodies.
He hadn’t meant to run, really he hadn’t, but well, he thought of his sister.
Which they told them never to do, don’t take it there; nuh uh, no way.
But it hadn’t meant to go like that, not yet, and guess despite what he said, Evan wasn’t ready.
And he feels bad, but he doesn’t regret it, because his sister’s curled to his side and safe.
And Evan only got involved in the first place because he was at a loss, tired of scrounging for pennies in the sofa and eating knockoff and borrowing. Owing. He owed so much, including his life.
So yeah, on the day of the unprecedented but precedented by those to which nobody pays attention rapture, he was in a church.
Which is ironic, but no one wants to talk about that.
It was all corrupt anyway, both sides, corruption was like microplastics or radiation, you just had it. Sure no one likes it, no one’s looking for it, but it’s there. Some people just have it more than others, Evan knows that. Depends how close you got to it, your lifestyle. So he doesn’t feel bad for what he did, running and all, when he’d said he’d stay.
He's said a lot of things to a lot of people.
He never did like most of them anyway, guess he just wanted to feel like he was doing something, but that didn’t matter now. The others won, it’s a free for all, there’s already cults, cliques and revolutions starting like little fires all over the city, hell, all over the world. It’s an even playing ground, for everyone but Evan it seems. Who’s got a warrant out for his annihilation, no doubt.
Oh yeah, that.
He’s wanted by not one, but both sides of this thing now.
Betrayer, coward, anarchist etc etc. They have his face, they’ll be hunting him down like a pack of wolves he knows.
Which is why he’s noticing the fine detail on the roof of this here chapel, hands behind his head, soundtrack of sniffling and coughing because people already can’t cope and sickness breeds like bacteria in a petri dish in places like this.
He’s really taking it in, the artwork, fine carvings, who did that? When? What did they use and how long did it take? He’s wasting time, procrastinating. He used to procrastinate taking the bins out, now it’s running away, leaving for good, his fate, his life.
Procrastinating never seeing his baby sister again, who’s really only a year younger than him, and giving it up to the wolves sniffing at the door.
He’ll try, of course. To survive, of course he will. He’s just not an optimist.
And the only thing worse than giving up is letting them get his sister.
So he’s leaving her, with these good people, who don’t care for either side, who never sold their soul to a revolution they didn’t care much for anyways, and he’ll leave, and she’ll be safe. And he won’t be telling her because she wouldn’t let him leave, she’d stop the world if she knew what he was doing.
And he doesn’t think about how betrayed she’ll feel even though she knows the truth, probably knows what he’s thinking already, she’s smart. So he’s got to be quick, and stop analysing the damn artwork on the chapel roof. And no one’s got up for about fifteen, so he’s okay now, he can go.
His bags already packed because it's just what he was carrying anyway, which isn't a lot. And the door is right there and it’s not even too squeaky.
And he can’t kiss his sister goodbye, which is the first sad thing, and the second is her long blond hair splayed across the chapel floor.
He sneaks around babies and mums and friends all curled up around eachother like the most intricate jigsaw in the world, and he only looks back two and a half times because the third he stops himself.
As he leaves, of course, he doesn’t notice he’s already being followed.
//
Barty can’t quite catch his breath when he steps out the chapel, because this bomb had to have been pretty big.
He stumbles sort of open mouthed staring up at it all, the dust, the weird yellow sky and the nothing.
Almost loses his guy he’s so confused, sort of thinks horror starts molding in his stomach because he figures something must be pretty wrong here.
He suddenly can’t look at it all, and there’s even a couple of bodies man which is so not cool.
Makes him almost sick.
It’s getting hotter and boy this guy can walk fast. It’s not like he’s got anywhere to be wherever it is it was probably destroyed, if he could just slow down.
Barty watches him pull out a knife like he’s some paranoid psycho which he totally digs, wants to follow this guy for a little while longer before he announces himself and he doesn’t quite know why.
He knows it’s not a bomb after the first mile or so because it just doesn’t stop, everything’s gone. You know, that’s the place Barty got his fingers tattooed and cried like a bitch. That’s his second girlfriend’s old flat, he doesn’t even know if she still lives there, but he fucked her roommate once which is why they broke up. That's where he worked that summer it was like forty degrees, and that’s the boss man shop that deals dope if you know how to ask.
Was.
It's a real head scratcher, tummy turner, stop you in your tracks situation.
But he can’t stop, gotta follow this guy, who’s sort of starting to feel like the only ray of hope and Barty doesn’t even want to think about his cat or his roommate or what happens to Tony Soprano.
He’s sweating through his jeans man, and eventually, in an alleyway right outta town, it’s grassier and there’s more one story breeze block buildings and such.
Barty watches round the corner as the guy leans against the wall catching his own breath. His eyes are closed so he doesn’t notice barty approach,
“h- hey man, what’s going on here?”
Barty’s looking up and around so when he’s choke slammed against the brick he feels the knife against his adam's apple before he actually sees any of it happen. And when he does see, it’s real fake grit, like feigned anger on the guy's face not real at all, but he has a knife nonetheless.
And they’re both breathing very hard now, almost mouth to mouth. Which is just what Barty wanted! Sort of.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Oh this guy's all bark, Barty can just tell, but he’ll play along, sure.
“I came from the ch- the chapel. Eugh can you maybe lower that thing I’m struggling to t-“
“you followed me?”
Barty nods but it’s a bad idea because the knife nicks him and he feels blood drip like sweat down his neck, “guess you’re not as stealthy as you thought huh big guy?”
The guy looks confused, tired, maybe even hurt. Let’s up ever so slightly. And Barty feels bad, so he goes on,
“so what’s going on here anyway is it like some kind of 28 days later situation or what?”
“What?” Looks pissed. Tightens his grip. Whoops. They’re sort of matched in height and Barty was so right because up close he’s kind of gorgeous. You can’t really be all that scared of someone with freckles.
“I mean like is it Mad Max? Where are we?”
“What the fuck ar- the rapture. They came for the city. You know-“ he falters at the look of utter nonchalance and misunderstanding on Barty’s face.
“Nuhuh guess I missed all that.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
Barty grins and carefully takes his hand and removes it from his neck and the guy lets him, still confused and staring at Barty, who clears his throat and holds out his hand.
“Barty Crouch Junior.”
Guy doesn’t do anything so Barty shakes the knife that’s still held out toward him. He looks like he’s moved on to contemplating bigger and better things, looks lost as hell.
“W- why were you following me?”
Now Barty thinks quick here, which is impressive for a stoner such as he.
“Well, I was leaving anyway. Then you were going my way. And I figured we’d make a decent enough team. Don’t want to be caught alone in whatever this is.”
“You were going this way?” He asks not buying it already, shit.
“Yeah man.”
“And where’s that?”
“Uh, family. I’m looking for my family.”
“Out here?”
Getting tired of this impromptu pop quiz, especially since he doesn’t know any of the actual answers, “just this way man, where are you going?”
“I’m running.”
//
Evan didn't have time to catch his breath, but if he did, he would’ve taken several at the utter state of everything he once knew.
There was smoke and rubble where there used to be taxis and corner shops. Distant alarms and sporadic booms where there was a constant hum of traffic and life. Can't believe it can all happen so quick, can't believe he kind of had something to do with it.
He pulls his hood up, doesn’t know if it even matters, and just starts speed-walking alleyways trying his best to navigate the new city against the almost unrecognizable one he knows in his head.
Doesn't see anyone but a couple of eyes peering through cracked windows and blinds, scared civilians.
The quieter it gets the more on edge he is, as it goes, so he pulls out his knife and clutches it real hard. He walks really far, until he hasn’t seen anyone at all for a least a couple miles and there’s less rubble and less city in general.
Then there's the guy.
And this guy looks scrappy, like maybe he might somehow know how to use a knife from days gone by when he carried one in his lunchbox ya know?
So yeah, Evan doesn’t tell him to piss off. Not in so many words. More sort of, mumbles incoherently when Barty insists two is better than one. Which is true in a lot of respects, but Evan hadn’t really planned on company.
Didn’t really feel like explaining himself, which was fine because Barty asked a lot of questions about the wrong shit.
Evan thought this guy must be some kind of coke dealer the way he went on, even when Evan kept stopping to throw up.
“Which is insane because he didn’t even like Nirvana, so then I was like- are you sick man?”
Evan spits hunched over voice still raw from all the retching and such, wipes his hand down his face, “ugh, uh, no.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah it’s- I don't know. It’s something else. Come on.” He nods forward.
“Are you like, scared? Feel bad for leaving or something? Sometimes I get sick when I don’t want to do something.”
“Fuck, I don’t know man. Drop it. What were you saying, Nirvana or something?”
Knows he sounds super disinterested and rude, but can’t seem to care plus Barty’s babbling was sort of like a distraction to the hellish images of what could be happening to his sister who he left all alone.
“Want some coke?”
Knew it.
“No I’m good, thanks.”
They make their way to the fancy suburbs neighboring the city, like the people that can afford the best of both worlds. And Evan figures they all must’ve paid for a one way ticket to Mars or some shit because truly, there isn’t a soul in sight.
And Barty walks like a bum from high school, drags his feet like a bitch so they’re making plenty of noise. Keeps stopping to sniff, and Evan doesn’t look behind but he obviously doesn’t need to. The what have I got myself into starts to out way the guilt for a little while.
Then Barty shuts up. And Evan turns and sees him gaping at all the mansions.
“Let’s rob em’.”
Barty says.
“What?”
“Come on, they’re totally empty let’s rob em.”
“You gonna carry that shit?”
“Doesn’t have to be much just supplies and shit we could sell.”
“World’s over, but the pawn industry still thrives.”
Barty scoffs which is the first plain impolite thing Evan’s seen him do.
“No, dummy. You just never know who we could run into, trade or whatever.”
And it’s not the worst idea, and Evan's legs are pretty tired though he’d never say that. Could lay down in a stranger's duck feather bed for sure, just for a little while.
Front door’s locked, but right before Evan suggests the back, Barty’s smashed the front window in with a wooden plank he ripped off the fence. Climbs through before Evan can finish saying,
“we could try the-“
Barty grins at him like this, crime, robbery and mischief is what he lives for.
It's pretty.
And when no one comes to say what the hell are you doing to my window you vandals! they sort of split off and do their thing.
Evans is still cautious though, these are the kind of people that can afford bunkers and shit. Surveillance cameras and traps.
He takes from the fridge and then lays down in the master bedroom and for the first time tries to hear the silence of everything. The window was left open but the bed was made and there’s still normal things in the bedside drawer. Medications, socks, a book with a bookmark about halfway through. Evan lays with his feet still on the floor and hears nothing on the main road, just birds and wind.
Breathes, the pale streaks of sun remind him of Pandora’s hair, the bird song her voice, and the wind her nature.
He thinks he’ll be finding her everywhere for the rest of his life.
He pretends she’s here, forgets to remind himself why he left her. Starts to drift off, he thinks.
Until he’s woken by someone playing the Master of Puppets opening riff at full volume.
//
Being a bum is a hard thing to shake, like, Barty knows he doesn’t need to rush, but he’s pummelling these prescription bottles into his backpack like the pigs have one foot on the bottom step as they speak.
Raids the fridge like he’ll never eat again, and shit, maybe he won’t.
Leaves no stone unturned, no draw unrifled through, no cabinet unopened until bingo, mrs whoever’s underwear drawer.
A nice little marble plated pistol.
Tucks it in his front pocket goes to see what daddy has to offer in the way of hidden contraband in obvious places but instead finds the best contraband of all, a real nice fender strat already rigged up and everything. If anyone else were here they’d for sure say his pupils turned heart shaped.
Plugs her in and fires her up and forgets about the end of the world and no one left and his new friend asleep upstairs.
//
“What the FUCK are you doing!?”
Barty just grins like he’s real impressed with himself, Evan lunges for the amp cord but Barty dodges it, still playing. They sort of start chasing eachother around the room until laughing, Barty trips on the chord and the music stops, only as soon as it does they hear something.
It sounds like multiple people talking and moving very serious, you can hear the cautious stealth in their steps and the fearful hardness of their voices.
Barty’s face drops to a comical degree, and Evan knows his mouth is open in awe that this man could be so fuckin’ stupid.
“Get up.” Evan angry whispers like to a child, and Barty scrambles to obey.
They kind of stand there side by side for a second waiting to see what happens with the voices.
But as soon as they hear footsteps on the stairs, they’re quick as lightening, Barty opens the window this time, heads straight out of it like a two story drop doesn’t phase him at all, except he must be smarter than he looks because there’s a shed right under the window he drops onto with the skill of a parkour olympian, and Evan’s never done shit like this before really, never really got that much training back in the group, so he sort of hesitates but Barty’s there with coaxing hands and these soft eyes waiting to hold his fuckin’ hand.
What a bitch.
So Evan kind of half accepts the help because there’s no time to be proud and just launches himself the rest of the way which fucks his knee a bit but well gotta go. And Evan catches the smallest glimpse of the meanest face he’s ever seen through the upstairs window glaring down after him, chasing him already with the eyes.
So clearly a conversation was off the cards.
They don’t get far past the back hedge before there’s at least three pairs of feet pounding the endless stretch of field right behind them, I mean, there’s literally nowhere to hide, and these guys mean business, look like they’ve been staked out waiting for something to hunt for weeks now.
Look seasoned, not like these two. One fake revolutionist runaway and a coke dealer pizza delivery guy. Evan doesn’t fancy his chances with his measly pocket knife.
Just when Evan’s thinking he doesn’t know how far they can run, and the others are advancing on them to a frightening degree, Barty stops and fumbles, whips out a real girlish looking pistol from his front pocket.
And once again, “what the fuck are you doing?”
Which is the only thing he seems to ever ask this kid. Barty’s shaking, aiming in their general direction but looks kind of false focused like you do when coke makes you think you’ve got this. Only usually it’s in regards to a romantic conquest at the club, not shooting strangers.
And Evan’s getting real freaked now.
“Jesus put that down what the fuck have you ever even- I mean do you even know-“
And with the loud ass footsteps and all Evan’s bitching the shotgun sound puts it all out like a wet blanket over a fire. Evan ducks automatically when he hears it.
Before anything else he sees Barty smiling, a real sick look too.
And there’s only two people stood up a yard or so away now, because one of them’s flat on the floor. The other two stand for maybe a few seconds, and pelt the other way. Which is nice of them.
And Barty doesn’t look like he’s shaking anymore, but Evan is. Can’t believe this guy, that’s the first thing he thinks, before what the fuck.
Barty’s looking at the pistol like it’s his buddy, his partner in crime now. And then starts walking toward the body.
The body.
Evan follows him, like, he never knew this guy's next move before, not just because they’d only known each other for a day, but now it’s kind of serious. Really doesn’t know what he’s doing, feels as out of his depth as a toddler in the deep end.
Barty’s on his knees next to the guy and Evans is leaning over and he bets if this guy could talk, if he got up and walked around right now, he’d be able to paint a pretty funny picture of the two of them.
But he can’t, because the bullet hit him square between the eyes.
And Barty looks up at him now, at Evan, looks nothing if not impressed with himself.
And Evan feels sick again.
“H- how did you do that?” Thinkin’ he’d befriended some kinda secret assassin.
“I have no idea. Maybe it was the coke.”
Then Evan gets pissed off, this wouldn’t have happened if he’d been quiet, not
made such a noise.
Barty reaches out and closes the guy’s eyes.
Maybe forty years old; a worn forty though. Hard paper round. Barty doesn’t cry or anything, but he doesn’t get up for about a half hour either.
By which time Evan’s decided to ignore him, doesn’t know what he’d even say he just killed a guy.
Yeah, for him.
For both of them, protected them. But Evan was supposed to be laying low.
He knew Barty probably hadn’t meant to kill him. He knows that. But he looked pleased with himself. And that’s bad enough.
They’re walking again, in what seems to be an endless expanse of beige nothing.
“Are you mad at me?”
Nothing.
“Hey, Rosie. Are you mad at me?”
Nothing.
“Are you mad at me are you mad at me are you mad at me are you-”
“shut UP.”
“Don’t ignore me then!”
“Don’t do stupid shit then.”
Stutters, “Fuck you!… Bitch.”
“Fuck me? If you weren’t playing that stupid guitar-“
“I didn’t mean to shoot him in the head Rosie!”
Evan shoves him, points his finger like he means business, “stop fuckin’ calling me that. You’re a fucking idiot.”
“You’re mean. I never even held a gun before, I was- I was delivering pizza this morning. Please don’t ignore me.”
“Or what? You gonna shoot me?”
Barty groans and actually stomps his foot like a child,
“FUCK YOUUUUU- here look-“
he takes the pistol out and throws it really far. Evan just watches it go, notices how neither of them are actually leaving. Or telling the other to piss off. Thinks this is their first domestic fight.
“I was protecting you! Those guys would’ve got you first!”
“Should’ve let them.”
“Well don’t be like that.” Barty mumbles, scuffing his feet on the gravel.
Like children, they both stand silently and Barty lights a cigarette for Evan without saying anything and Evan doesn’t usually smoke but he knows a peace offering when he sees one. They watch a crow drink from a pothole as the sun sets.
//
That night they sleep in someone’s bedroom and Evan takes the bed and Barty takes the floor even though there’s multiple rooms, and Barty dreams the man he shot is strangling him and then the man turns into his dad and Barty shoots him again, and then he rots away into the field right in front of his eyes. He wakes up sweating and finds Evan already awake and staring at the rising sun out the window.
“Come on let’s go, this place gives me the creeps.”
And to Barty it sounds like the sweetest idea, all the more because it’s the first thing Evan’s said to him since the fight and it sounds like forgiveness.
“You were talking in your sleep.” Evan says, as they continue on side by side, silent as the earth.
“Oh yeah?”
“Bad dream?”
“Yeah man. Yeah. Bad dream.”
“About the guy?”
Barty just swallows and nods and squints into the coming sun.
Truth be told, Barty was high as balls when he shot that guy. Coked up to the nines.
He doesn’t know if that makes him feel better or worse but he keeps telling himself that that guy would’ve killed him first. Hates that his dad would’ve been proud, hates that most of all.
Hopes the guy wasn’t a dad. Hopes if he was he was a bad one. Barty would shoot all the bad dads in a heartbeat. Barty’s feet hurt and he’s starting to feel bad about the guy and he misses his cat and Evan’s being boring. Which is when it occurs to him,
“wait, can you drive?”
“Yeah I just thought on foot would be way more fun.”
So that’s how they end up, two people who have never once set foot behind the wheel of more than a dodgems cart, end up trying to teach the other how to drive. Stick.
And it’s a lot of frustration and petty fights and juddering and stalling and neither of them can figure out what the hell a clutch is and Barty gives up pretty quick but Evan manages to get the car moving, but then Barty’s all,
“oh my god you’re doing it you’re so good you’re doing so good-”
and Evan ultimately ends up accidentally slamming the break and busting Barty’s nose.
So they give up, it won’t work it’s not sustainable it’ll attract too much attention they don’t have time.
Which is of course the one thing they have in abundance. Time and reason.
But yeah, their feet hurt less after sitting in the car all afternoon, though they do sleep in there.
It's a pretty sizeable truck, and they mess around with the radio and mostly get static and leave it at that, scared to find out what else they pick up on if they listen too hard. Not that Evan thinks he’d hear a description of his appearance alongside full name and title or anything, more so neighboring threats, gangs, political alliances that would burst this quest coloured side mission he’s found himself on.
Like knights on a rescue mission or unlikely creatures bonding in a zoo. They’re like the dog and the leopard, him and Barty.
Who discovers a couple CDs in the glove department. Hums along to the worst of the eighties taking up the whole front bench horizontal, his busted sneakers knocking against the door as he wiggles them to the beat. Evan’s camped in the bed, listening.
Barty’s sharp as shit and stupid as fuck. That’s what Evan thinks. Perfect aim, he’d just fall over on his way there. And he insists on wearing pyjamas, Evan reasoned, it’s the apocalypse, but he’s wearing stolen sleep specific boxers and a t shirt.
Liked routine, Evan’s sure, but probably couldn’t actually stick to one to save his life so makes up for it in these weird rules that Evan’s started to document.
Like, won’t do coke before three pm, only smokes five cigarettes a day max, pyjamas no exceptions, won’t go over a certain threshold on his headphone volume because he cares about his hearing. Does the magpie thing too, the salute.
It’s quite sweet really, or it definitely could be, to someone.
In different circumstances.
He could be sort of shocking, you know. And Evan has done enough therapy to know about attachment styles and what not, knows he actually likes being kept on his toes, not knowing if he’s here or there with someone, likes the chase and the sick punch of disappointment if only because the high of pleasant surprise is enough to send him to the moon and back. He’s got himself in enough unfortunate situations with guys to know that.
But with Barty it's like, the complete opposite.
He expects the worst, and is lifted by some sort of gentle wing every time Barty does something like he did when he had found out that Evan was on the run, a little criminal, a couple days later.
That was the most shocking of all, they were in an office building where the computers were still running on some back up generator because the electricity was cut out days ago, and the water was giving up too now.
Barty looked like a real Phiber Optik hunched over the keyboard, but Evan knew he was probably just playing Tetris while Evan looked for signs of life. Looked to look busy.
“Shit, Rosie is this you?”
Evan had given up on fighting the nickname a while ago.
It was like a digital wanted poster, popped up right in the middle of the screen, alongside a bunch of salvage and refuge messages Evan wouldn’t trust in a million years. And yeah there was his face. Not even worth prize money, just wanted, no dead or alive which meant dead was better.
Jesus.
‘M- yeah. Yeah that’s me.’
‘So you thought you’d bring me along on your little runaway mission?... That’s awesome man, thanks for trusting me.”
He’d said it earnestly. Passively, but without sarcasm. Had genuinely thanked him.
So yeah, Barty wasn’t really the kind of guy you got.
And it became unspoken between them, why they were here. Because Evan knew all along that Barty had no family to find, and Barty didn't seem all that surprised that Evan was a wanted man. Figured they'd just keep going til’ something got them, or they found somewhere to rest their tired little heads.
And the thing about the apocalypse is, rules get grouped in with society, people, water, electricity, food and system. In that, they go out the window.
And it starts with well, who gives a fuck if they do coke in the middle of the afternoon, don’t change out of their sleep clothes, give themselves bad haircuts, rob stranger’s empty houses and office buildings, play in the kid's park on the rusty slides and nick and destroy old trucks. Ride push bikes down the highway and take his shirt off and show off his scars. Swim naked in the river, climb that thing your mother always said never to climb, and rules just get hammered into your bones like rusty nails and Evan doesn't know if it’s the rapture or someone like Barty who lives like he never even had a mother to tell him what to do in the first place, but it feels like someone’s taking the forked end of that same hammer and yanking ‘em out with brute force.
After the rapture, when the dust starts to settle, you can be boy, girl, other, dog, good samaritan, villain, Tuesday, Wednesday, five o'clock, four o'clock, seven o'clock, doctor, killer, newborn baby.
You can be born again, Jesus, Joseph, Mary, and the boy you always wanted to have but never had the guts to to just take.
Like, everyone else was the problem, and Evan doesn’t half mind being himself in front of this lonely scrapper right here. Who seemingly acted like the apocalypse was every day, he doesn’t seem surprised at all.
Lets anarchy wash over him like a fine mist in a farmer's field in June.
Evan thinks he might be having fun.
And when he’s having fun, at the gentle coaxing hands of Barty Crouch Junior, he gets thoughts like his sister might be safe.
She’ll probably be okay, because people are good.
And he did the right thing.
And he wouldn’t want to be here with someone who hadn't shot someone in the head before, he thinks. Wouldn't want anyone else at all a week or so in when Barty falls out of the truck they slept in but couldn’t drive, looks tired and he’s wearing colourful boxers and a stranger’s size small t shirt and his hair is stuck up every which way.
Sort of hunched in on himself like he’s trying to contain the sleep, pisses against a tree even though they haven't seen anyone in days let alone anyone that would tell him off.
An anarchist with rules, he made absolutely no sense to Evan, who thought him sort of wonderful.
They start making out about it, like teenagers, because there’s nothing else to do.
Usually in the front seat of the borrowed cars, usually one of the worst of the eighties CDs wacked into the stereo, and tonight right by a cavernous ravine under a melted bowl of stars and space.
Just makin’ out, all gross and wet and nothing else.
Meeting in the middle right over the gear stick they couldn’t figure out. Wandering hands over their clothes for the most part sort of fast desperate and super duper fun.
Barty usually ends up killing it by laughing or singing along to Spandau Ballet or some shit and Evan doesn’t really mind.
Best friend he ever had, hands down.
Then they usually curl up and pass out, like tonight, but instead of the premature and eager sun waking them, it’s still dark when they get woken up this time.
Which is the first sign something's wrong.
It’s like, they see the stars are still out before they even hear the other people. And then, ridiculously, it occurs to Evan that they’re shaking the car, banging the window.
Evan doesn't get chance to grab his knife from the centre console or to tell them they needn't smash the window in, they never locked the door in the first place, doesn’t get a moment to whisper, don't wake Barty, he's been having a hard time sleeping lately. Bad dreams you know? Just keep it down.
No, doesn't get the opportunity to say all this before a dirty hand is over his mouth and he's dragged out the front seat and Barty’s being gagged and tied on his knees freakishly close to the edge of the ravine.
Funny, worries about him falling more than the bad men hurting him.
//
Evan's not awake yet.
Barty never knew there were so many office buildings this far out of the city, but they're in one again.
He doesn't like them, they smell like schools and doctor's offices and the blue carpet reminds him of something he doesn't think he likes, and even with the lights out the tiled plasticky ceiling is reminiscent of some kind of harsh oppressive glare.
Evans asleep, mouth tied with fabric, hands tied with a longer strip of the same fabric, sat on the floor in the corner of the room. His head's tilted to the wall like he's dozing and not knocked out which gives Barty some comfort.
Barty must look that much meaner, or maybe they ran out of fabric because he’s handcuffed instead.
There's blood dripping into his eye, they hit him pretty nasty for no reason at all out by the ravine. Barty thought they'd throw him in, prepared to kiss the sweet nothing much world goodbye. Didn't think he'd be so lucky to get to offer the same to Evan.
And it all makes sense really, much of this whole thing has to Barty, weirdly.
But these guys all have these nasty real Nazi motherfucker faces.
They all somehow look like his father, and then they start soundin’ like him too and that's when Bart feels like he's observing everything that's happening to him through a TV screen. Wishes he could just reach to lift his headphones up from his neck to his ears so he could really get lost in it.
But when he starts to try they come back in, and Evan’s waking up anyway.
//
Evans is fascinated, he shouldn't be, but he is.
Barty shoot a stranger square in the skull Crouch Junior, will not fight back.
He's completely just, taking what they're giving him, picking up what they put down to a horrifying degree and Evan might have concussion because he just does not know what's happening.
And of course they're leaving him alone, because Barty looks meaner but he's acting so easy.
These big motherfuckers, grotty, dirty as hell, are just going at him. Jeering him, teasing him, all up in his face calling him this that and the other poking him, and that guys spit cannot taste good that close to Barty’s mouth.
Telling him everything they're gonna do to them, asking him if he understands, and laughing when he nods like a bitch.
He nods.
He looks scared, red cheeked, and ashamed. Looks younger.
Figures, Barty would get all submissive while Evan’s the one tied up watching, of course Evan was the one kicking and screaming when they approached him, spitting and hissing and maybe this was some sort of tactic of Barty's, A plan, Evan doesn’t know. Because he's acting like caught prey, eyes have clouded over and everything like he's straight given up.
In every way but physical, ragdolled for these guys.
When they start pulling out knives and shit, that's when Evan panics. He can hear Bart’s headphones playing tiny and tinny from around his neck, The Cure. Doesn’t know if they don’t hear it or they don’t mind but when they leave, Evan is up in a heartbeat, pissed the fuck off.
Scrambles over to him, spits out the gag and wastes no time, doesn’t mean to get so nasty but dire straits and all.
“Untie me right fucking now.’ He spits.
Evan turns around in front of Barty who does as he's told, at least. And Evan knows he sounds like those guys, but at least he isn't laughing at the kid. When Barty’s done, Evan turns back around and grabs his face, shakes him, says something like,
“what the fuck are you doing? Huh?”
“Wake up, hello! Barty!”
“Wake the fuck up what the fuck is wrong with you what is wrong with you.”
”-being such a little bitch get up come on.”
“Look alive man Jesus Christ. Can’t do this without you-”
“Barty Barty Barty.”
Tries to look into his eyes but he’s not there, he’s checked out, Evan doesn’t know what’s wrong with this kid acting like they’re over.
“What you’re a one hit wonder? Can only take the chase? Why are you such a little fuckin’ bitch?”
“Barty-”
“Please”
Then he snaps back, like, Evan physically feels him snap back. Watches his eyes uncloud and everything.
“O-okay yeah.” He nods, finally, and like divine timing they come back in.
Evan realises he had forgot to break Barty’s handcuffs right when he hits the second guy over the head with a desk chair and he pummels to the floor like a sack of something real heavy.
So he does it again, a lot of times and different parts of the chair break up and splinter and wedge themselves into this guy every time, and then he's grabbed by his shirt so hard he gets whiplash then it’s all elbows and flying spit and flying blood, thinks he gets someone with a biro, someone’s mushed up against a whiteboard, blood mixing with faded pen that’ll never come off no matter how hard you scrub.
Somehow Barty gets the handcuffs off himself, Evan catches him smashing someone's head into a dusty old computer and gets crazy euphoric from it all.
Feels like they're partners in crime, like this is what Evan wanted, wants to catch eyes and grin at him but Barty seems preoccupied and to be fair Evan is struggling for time too.
They were outdone about five to two but they manage a pretty decent job of it, all things considered.
When the last one’s on the floor courtesy of Evan, and they’re both breathing hard enough that blood is coming out of Barty’s mouth all pink and stringy with spit, Evan grabs his sore wrist and gets them the fuck out of there.
They head round the back and Evan gets the sense it’s deserted, since no one else came after them. Never say never, but the car park is dry as hell and there’s a light wind kicking up sand coloured dust and placing a sweet soothing hand on his sweating brow.
He doubles over hands on hips panting, but it comes out like a kind of maniacal laugh. He sounds like Barty.
He stays like that til things even out in his nervous system, til he evens out and is sure he’s not gonna be sick, and then he hears Barty scuff his feet behind him and remembers all about him and what a team they are. But before he turns around he hears him whimper like a kicked dog.
That’s what it sounds like, and his face actually reminds Evan of the way he went back in the office. Dog like. Looks pained, exactly like before.
They must look a treat all dusty, unwashed and covered in blood splats.
Eyebrows drawn and chest tight and he’s sort of scuffing his feet toward Evan and he lifts his shirt and it does a number on Evan’s nervous system all over again which is a shame because he wasn’t trying to actually care about another person after his sister.
Could’ve done without it to be honest.
But Barty’s lower abdomen has taken a real hit with something sharp. Looks jagged and nasty and deep.
“Ah fuck”.
So Evan starts scouting for a pharmacy like a meth head scouting meth. Like a sniffing dog, dragging the broken dog behind him.
He's on a mission and no, he's not slowing down, this looks like the kinda place that would have a pharmacy if he just knew where he was he might be able to-
“Bingo.”
And Ed’s pharmacy already has a smashed window which is awesome, one less thing.
Evan sits Barty down in one of the isles because he'd started pacing and deep breathing hunched over like he was in labour.
Evan starts scrounging around in the back reading labels at a pharmaceutical speed.
They taught him some of this stuff in the resistance but most of it’s common sense and older sibling stuff. And it's while they're in there looking that the storm starts.
Rain like you've never seen. Rain that acts like it's never gonna stop, like it’s pissed off.
Evan pays it a brief glance but even mother nature couldn’t stop the mission he’s on to fix this guy.
//
Barty watches the rain start because it feels like the sky turns the whole place purple.
He's slouched against all the baby formula and fertility vitamins because some fell on his head when Evan all but dropped him with the urgency to get to the drugs.
And it hurts, hurts pretty bad he's not gonna lie. Doesn't even want to touch it or poke it like he normally would it hurts so bad, making him feel really hot.
He wants Evan to come back, wants the rain to lighten up and stop painting everything in a bad mood, making it all so sinister.
But he knows Evans is gonna fix him up real nice, and they're gonna go on their way looking for nothing and Barty will do a better job next time.
Hasn’t even had chance yet to tell Evan he’s sorry for checking out like that, that it happens sometimes, he doesn’t know why. Evan ought to know these things about him, and when he's feeling better, Barty vows to tell him everything.
//
Evan has never stitched a wound up in his life, never even stitched up the ass on his pants.
But he thinks it goes something like this.
He gave Barty the antibiotic shot he found, couldn’t find any hard core pain killers because obviously the window smashers had all of those, so he sort of sterilised his general being, found a book on stitching surface wounds and now Barty’s moaning like a whore on poor Ed’s pharmacy floor.
There was a lot of blood he cleaned up already but it just sort of keeps coming which isn't ideal, and Evan thinks you could physically see it draining from Barty’s face at this rate, it even looks like he's sweating it out in the weird lighting the storms giving them.
It's thundering too, which drowns out some of the ridiculous sounds coming from Barty who will also not fucking sit still.
“You couldn’t find any pain killers?” He asks, whining more than actually saying it.
“No sorry”
“Oh god”
“Sit still, you’re being a baby”
“M’not, augh, Jesus fuuuucking-’ he twists his hips and Evan has to bring him back.
Every time he pierces the skin Barty grits his teeth squeezes his eyes shut and makes a new interesting sound, Evan doesn’t know where he's pulling them from.
He gets more frantic too, starts breathing harder and it must really start to hurt because he goes quiet and then Evan thinks hes drifting off until he says,
“I'm sorry about in- in the office.”
“That's okay, sorry I got mean. We really don't have to-”
“It just happens sometimes I can't help it I don't know w- hngh- why,” he's speaking rushed and heavy like he has to have Evan know this right this second.
“Okay yeah, we can talk about it later though.”
It’s making Evan feel like he has to rush too, before something worse happens, but before he can finish up Barty passes the fuck out anyway.
//
Barty dreams that it's the end of the world, dreams about his cat, dreams about his cat riding a bike down the highway, dreams that his roommate tried to kill him at his ex girlfriend's apartment, dreams he's delivering pizzas to empty office buildings.
His boss is one of the guys from that kidnapped them in the office building when he’s late for work again, then he’s fucking Evan in the back of an old Chevy, Evan stabs him with a biro in it too.
Dreams his mother’s stitching up the bullet hole between his eyes, being so nice it makes him want to cry.
Dreams he's at that school sleepover and they’re playing snake when a wanted picture of his father pops up and he smahes the screen with his bare fist and everyone laughs at him.
Dreams he shoots Evan in the head because Evan asked him to.
And then he dreams of nothing at all.
//
Barty's allergic to penicillin.
Evan knows this about an hour after he gives him the second shot, and there's nothing he can do.
His chest and his cheeks go all red against the stark pale of the rest of him, starts breathing funny, starts sweating like Evan might as well have sent him out in the storm to get wet, then it's the seizures.
Looks like an exorcism, Evan gets spooked out like it is too.
If he had one, might pull out the wooden cross and everything, almost prays about it.
First, Evan sticks his fingers down his throat, but it doesn’t work like it needs to, so he's scrounging faster than ever for some sort of steroid, some sort of answer. Loads Barty full of shit in the counteract a reaction section of the penicillin bottle and prays he’s not a secret freak with more allergies that he doesn’t know about.
‘Cos fuck him if he is. Frying Evan’s nerves right now.
Once he’s still, breath evening out, Evan sits beside him with his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around ‘cos he was checking the wound like a watched pot. And he really does need it to boil, needs not to kill this guy.
Needs it really really bad.
He doesn’t take his eyes off him and every flinch or breath or twitch makes him scan him head to toe.
The rain starts coming in through the gap left by the big smashed window, water creeping toward them like the poison Evan inflicted in Barty’s veins, and he doesn't need to be cold right now, Evan can give him that, so he starts getting impatient, needs him to wake up so they can find a car or something, anything else.
When the water’s flirting with the toes of Evan’s outstretched Converse Barty wakes up and throws up and Evan doesn’t mean to rush him but they’re out the door pretty damn quick.
They get soaked anyway, of course, even if just between Ed’s front door and the Toyota parked on the curb outside. But Barty's weighing them down because he's not really in a place of walking and he's still throwing up so what would’ve been two seconds becomes thirty.
Evan throws him in the back and gets in after him. And then he's coughing and groaning and holding his stomach and Evan’s telling him off like a mother for moving so damn much, straightening him back out.
“There’s no family, man” Barty sounds like he's crying. Takes extremely long pauses between every word.
“What?”
“I- lied. About the family. I don't- don't have any. Just- just wanted to follow you.”
“I know man. Yeah, no I know. It’s okay”
Evan doesn’t know why they're whispering or why he reaches out to stroke Barty’s hair.
“You.. know?” Finally stops wriggling around now Evan's touching him.
“Yeah I knew when you told me, you- you're a shit liar Bart.”
Barty makes a pained sound that Evan thinks is supposed to be a laugh.
“I won’t lie to you again.”
Evan thinks he's losing the best good friend he ever had.
//
When Barty comes to, it seems he’s in some sort of dark box.
There's still that sound, heavy endless drum sound. It's louder now than it was in the pharmacy.
The pharmacy.
He sits up best he can on his elbows and lifts up the clean shirt hes wearing. Regrets it immediately, and it's a car.
He's in a car. And the drumming sound is the rain.
One leg is dead and jammed in the crevice between the seat and one is dangling in the footwell and Evan is there too, curled up asleep back against the door so they are face to face.
Barty feels like he just lost a fight with Satan himself.
Feels completely void, empty and dull.
His head is pounding and his face is still hot and his stomach hurts like someone took it out and dragged it on a dirt road and put it back in. Sore, everything everywhere is sore. His throat feels like it wouldn't let him talk if he tried. Even his fingers are tingling.
Evan’s frowning in his sleep and Barty thinks the weird light in the car is the sun trying to rise through all the rain and he thinks it's been the longest night of his life.
Feels like he got shot in the heart with a poison arrow and resigns to let it get him.
//
The weather becomes the nurse prescribing bed rest, because it doesn’t stop raining until Barty’s well enough to stand.
They camp out in someone's shitty Toyota, real first car kind of bullshit, for days.
Evan feeds them on Haribos and lollipops and cosmic brownies from the pharmacy. It's not so bad because by the second or third day Barty’s talking again, and he wasn't allergic to the steroids but Evan knows that it's still not all he needs.
But he's pulling through, which makes the rain feel like rainbows, and every breath comes out like a sigh of relief since he woke up and spoke to him in a way that didn’t sound like he was reeling off his answer to ‘any last words?’.
And he knows he shouldn’t, but he lets him smoke a little on day four or so.
If anything it's because Evan needed it, and he was nothing if not fair.
“Dream blunt rotation?” Barty asks.
He had perked up more than Evan had seen him as of yet, in all fairness. Almost normal. Almost. It made Evan more appeasing.
“Uhh I don't know.. Maybe like David Byrn, David Lynch…. Uh, David Bowie?”
“You know my real name’s David.’ He says, pondering the spliff.
This guy never coughs and it makes Evan feel like a pussy.
“Fuck off.”
Barty laughs and it comes out like dragon breath and joins the rest of it in the hotboxed car.
“What about yours?”
“Uh, Pamela Anderson, obviously. Dolly Parton, duh. And uh, Anna Nicole, you know, curious.’
“So blondes with big tits. It's a blunt rotation not an orgy, dumbass.”
“Nuhuh the tits are whatever, I just have a thing for blondes. And we’ll see where it takes us.”
“Stupid.” Evan smiles as he takes the blunt.
After the rain came the heat. And Evan doesn’t know if the weather was gonna do this anyway, or if it’s some sort of chemical or spiritual response from climate to climate. But what he does know, is that it is hot.
Talk about sweating it out, poor Bart.
He’d wrapped a bandana around his head like a fifties housewife and had stolen sunglasses from somewhere, was holding onto the ends of the wrapped bandana as they fell on his chest, hunched over in the way tall people do when they’ve been told they’re too tall a little too often.
No shirt, which Evan would change shortly, didn’t want him to get burnt.
And there’s this unspoken thing simmering in all the heat, that they ought to start figuring out somewhere to go. They can’t keep doing this. Or they could, but Barty won’t survive another penicillin shot and Evan wouldn’t know what else to do if he got stabbed by skinheads again.
They ought to get a life for themselves, direction, Evan thinks this could be the start of the end.
Which always comes with so much confrontation of the self like pulling teeth from the subconscious, and they ignore it.
Barty’s still too weak anyway, but they keep moving. Hoping to find.. Something.
And it’s slow moving, really it is.
Evan hadn’t noticed how much they could cover on foot until now, where for every four steps of Evan’s Barty takes one.
Trudging, and he’s being pretty good about it too, Evan’s only had to get at him for moaning once.
Knows it’s hard, would totally poor baby him if he thought it would make them move any faster.
Doesn’t think it would be worth what it would do to his ego though, and Evan hates giving people what they want, even Barty.
So they rest a lot, sit on a lot of curbs, lay in a lot of grass and it is hot so it’s not so bad, could be worse.
And a gentle breeze every now and then feels like Christmas day.
Hell, Barty even listens when Evan tells him not to swim in the river, in case of infections.
Watches from the side like the good guy. He watches Evan get out and change, follows him with head and eyes and Evan lets him, even smiles at him, because he’s being so good.
//
Barty feels like shit and he hates the heat, would much rather stay inside in the winter with his cat.
Never coped well with sweat and that funny way the sun sucks the energy out of you, It makes him feel like he’s permanently melting, like jelly or a sweating glass of whatever. Like he’s constantly leaving rings of condensation or like his soul is evaporating and the unforgiving sun is just taking it right from him through his skin.
Stomach hurts like fuck too, ugh.
Had to take the bandage off because it was getting all soggy under there so now it keeps catching on his shirt which he has to wear, according to Evan, because they’re rationing sun cream and he’ll burn.
He does a lot of what Evan says these days, and it’s the first time he hasn’t minded following rules he didn’t create for himself.
Feels more like he’s being taken care of than told what to do against his best interest.
Knows Evan’s thinking of him and well, he trusts him.
Now he knows, if he weren't here, he’d be inclined to send him one of those corny wish you were here! postcards, because that’s how he feels when Evan goes off on his own to piss or get water or check something out.
Hopes whoever it is that’s after him never find him.
Hopes, if Evan ever gets stabbed, he can return the favour. Almost wants it to happen just so he can prove he can be good.
Because he's a real resilient guy, this Rosie, takes everything as it comes, and they’ve been walking down this country road located in a parenthesis of woods, trees the sun seems to bypass, like the gravel path is in on the joke just radiating heat right up between their toes, for some time.
Feels like days, and Barty has been getting dreams since the chapel really, so hasn’t been sleeping all that well, and he forgave Evan for the penicillin thing, and Evan forgave him right back for forgetting to mention it, and they’d swapped allergies right then and there. Evan’s are kiwi, horsehair and pistachios.
So Barty’s right behind him, and some days they don’t say much at all, because they know there's all the time in the world to say everything they could.
And Barty must be dreaming awake now too because he’s thinking of lives they could’ve had in different circumstances, thinks about meeting him at the dive bar by his flat, playing pool and swapping hand jobs in the bathroom, thinks his roommate would think he’s a real funny guy. Thinks about if they met at the corner shop Barty used to rob when he was just a kid, like what if Evan was one of the older kids that worked there that Barty got a crush on. What if Barty delivered pizza to his house, what if Barty was on the run too, what if Barty had known his sister first.
It's funny, that this one, the one where it's the end of the world and it's just them on the longest country road in the universe, and he's walking ahead of him looking like some wild thing, that seems most unlikely.
Makes Barty laugh, kick stones and cool down. Even if everything still swims and sways every time he takes a step.
//
Evan doesn't hear the car approaching because Barty keeps making these ‘hmmph’ whining noises with every step he takes and it's distracting him. So when Barty casually says,
“Car.”
Evan just follows suit, stands to the side to let it pass, right next to him.
The heat makes you crazy though, because it's a good few seconds and a good few meters closer before they realise.
That's a moving car, and they don't see those really at all anymore.
Matter of fact it's been weeks.
They look at each other at comical speed with equally comical expressions but they're too slow, too damn tired and too lost to do anything but stand there when the big red truck slows and pulls up alongside them. Hell, maybe for once they'll get lucky. Evan almost sticks out his thumb, if only because he knows Barty thought about it too.
//
The radio cut out about two towns ago and Regulus knew they were all getting bored as hell.
Sirius was looking for trouble, and Remus' soothing hand on his thigh alongside a chain of Southern Cuts only ever could do so much for someone like him.
Regulus saw them first, but waited for the others to notice themselves.
Regulus knew from fifty feet away these guys were no trouble, hunched over and sweating like that hardly screamed watch out.
But, you don't really see folks out here in the open like this anymore so he gets it. Either they’re stupid as hell or lost.
Or both.
Sirius has been bored, doesn’t seem to hear right when Remus says his name in warning as he slows down and winds the window down.
These poor kids, Regulus thinks. They look battered, clothes hanging off them, squinting in the sun like something old and rusted and forgotten.
The one on the left looks sick, and the one on the right looks like he's been here before.
//
In the car are three boys, two in the front and one in the back.
The one in the back gives nothing away, the one in the passenger seat closest to them looks pretty similar to how Barty and Evan must look, but the driver’s grinning, with a rifle pointed right at them.
The most alarming bit is that they all seem to be a similar age. Evan hasn't seen anyone younger than maybe forty since the chapel.
Apart from Barty, of course.
And it's a while before anyone says anything. It's the passenger guy, the bigger one, scarred up, tanned, but soft. Clears his throat, southern accent,
“Where you headin’?”
And Evan doesn’t really know why he does it, but he shrugs, because that's the most honest answer he could give. Spoken like a true pick up driver to two lost and lonely hitchhikers.
“You talk?”
“... yeah.”
“What about him?” Nods at Barty.
“He talks.”
The driver whispers something to the taller guy.
“You in trouble?”
Evan wonders if they designated this guy speaker before they pulled up.
“What’s trouble?”
“Well.. you need help?”
He’s acting annoyed now and Evan doesn’t blame him, he feels totally out of his depth feels like he’s negotiating his fuckin’ life here man.
He looks over at Barty who looks like he's contemplating checking out again, or maybe he just looks as sleepy as Evan feels.
Truth be told, Evan doesn’t have the energy to make life altering decisions on something as trivial and unendible as trusting a stranger. Barty shrugs, but Evan sees how shit he looks, figures yeah, what the hell, guy hasn’t shot the rifle yet, they don’t looklike rapists.
So Evan nods.
The driver looks like he just asked a genie for three more wishes. Real cocky bastard, that’s what he looks like. Lifts his sunglasses and tells them to strip, got a cigarette in his mouth that Evan would just about kill for, they ran out days ago and Evan doesn’t smoke, no, but maybe he just wants something others might deem a luxury round about now. Maybe he wants to give it to Barty. Make him feel better, do something nice for him.
Guy cocks the gun, inclines his head,
strip
Says it like that, and the passenger guy looks kinda sorry and the backseat kid might as well not be there, but with the intensity with which he's starin’ em out, Evan bets they've got him back there for a reason.
He says it like it’s fun, like he’s having just the best time, like, pointing that gun from the driver's seat is Disney World.
And so Evan has to undress Barty like he’s a baby, and Evan might be worried about passers by if that wasn't a stupid thing to think.
“Full mont-“
The big passenger guy tsks at the driver before he can finish, who just grins wider in this really sickly sweet way.
His long dark hair looks washed, teeth look white and none of them look like they're dying, not like them, so Evan starts to think their chances might be good here.
“Shit man”, the passenger one says when they’re both just in their pants.
Oh yeah, Barty.
The wound.
He looks positively green, kind of not standing up straight like he really needs a piss, clutching his side.
and Evan’s just downright pissed off at this point, fuck these guys, making them take their clothes off, he crosses his arms to prove his point. Like, look what you’re doing to him, look what you're doing to my guy!
"Hey, hands up." Long haired one raises his brow, challenging. Did no one tell this kid about time and a place?
Evan, trying to keep as neutral of an expression as possible to avoid being the victim of some drive by attack, not that he’d care much right now, settles instead for raising two casual middle fingers.
“Is that a gun in your pants or are you just excited to see me?”
The driver cocks his head to the side, grins. And it’s a good job it’s not a gun, because this guy's head would be about three feet south by now.
“He contagious?”
The worried one, sympathy, asks, nodding at Barty. Who Evan will bet by the way, is actually the bite, because he’s the one with the window down. If they did have a gun, the bullet would’ve gone through his head first.
“Contagious? Can’t catch a stab wound unfortunately.”
“Right. That’s all it is?”
And Evan just sighs, just can’t be bothered with this, leave them by the road for all he cares, he’ll figure something out to save this bitch,
“yeah man, yeah. That’s all it is.”
And he expects them to too, drive off. Any second.
Thinks it's all some fever dream prank, can see the heat waves coming off the car roof. Would do obscene things not to have to walk another step.
Obscene.
But the sympathetic guy just looks back at the mean one, and the back door opens.
“We’ll take 'em to James, he’ll know what to do.”
Is the first thing the quiet one says. Doesn’t take his eyes off Evan. And it makes him hot under the collar he’s not wearing, in the worst way.
“Who’s James?”
Barty asks, finally finding his voice, seemingly unaware he's almost naked, but he passes out by that road before he gets a response.
The refuge is a non descript factory building. A big old nothing right behind a bigger nothing about west of nothing. It’s made up of around twenty or so stragglers, in different states of disarray.
Evan supposed his rescuers must’ve been gone a while because the welcome they’re met with is warmer than any welcome he’s ever received, or maybe that’s just what happens round here when you don’t know if you’ll actually make it til tomorrow.
it’s not another chapel, so there’s that, and they’re far enough out from the city that he shouldn’t be worrying like he is, but that look on Regulus’, whose name he now knows, face makes him quiet, distant. He’s a wanted man, most wanted man in west butt fuck nowhere for all he knows. Hasn’t really been keeping up with the news, to be honest.
Remus, is the name of the big guy, shows him to a room with a make shift bed in it, while Barty gets lead to James.
And somehow this is the first time Evan almost loses it.
Hasn't been out of Barty’s sight in weeks but he didn't wake up the whole car ride and he’ll be scared when he wakes up and-
“Your friend’s gonna be alright, James is an actual doctor. Despite what Sirius says.”
Laughs at his own inside joke which only makes Evan need Barty more.
“What the hell even is this?”
“We’re not a resistance, so to speak, if that's what you’re thinking. Just friends and family trying to figure it out. Work together.”
“What, you go out looking for stragglers? That guy gave me the creeps man.”
Remus knows who he means.
“Regulus is cautious, he's like, security. Or surveillance. And no, we were on a supply run, we weren't kidding, you don't get stragglers out here, most of us have been here from the start or bled over from other failing refuges.”
“Failing?’
“There's still a lot of bad folks out here, lot of raids. Everyone’s just tryna build something back up from the bottom.”
“And you?”
“We’re just tryna stay safe, man.”
Evan nods, wary and frowning still, but he's so goddamn tired. Misses Barty, which is so pathetic he could spit.
“We’ve got different people for different things round here, why don't you rest up and I'll be back to show you around later. If you need anything just shout.”
Remus leaves a towel for the bucket of soap and water in the corner, and a roll of bread with an apple. Evan eats the apple, core and all, uses the bucket and nothing else.
But his body and his mind are disjointed after all the heat and the walking and surviving, and he passes the fuck out right on the hard little bed.
Dreams that Barty’s abducted by aliens and wakes up in the dark.
There's the sound of what Evan could only call dinner time outside his door. Bells and chatter and community, footsteps that indicate people of all different kinds and the smell of food that makes Evan’s mouth water so fast he gets nauseous.
His bones feel like metal poles though, and just as he goes to sit up the door opens infecting his otherwise dark room with warm light and that smell again. It's the kid, the one that wouldn't stop staring,
Regulus, Remus had said.
“Dinners ready.”
“Where's Barty?”
Can’t believe he didn't even know this boy a few weeks ago, let alone cared if he lived or died. Now not only does he care, he thinks he'd stop the world if it was the latter.
“He's fine.” Real blunt, cool, super chill and doesn’t care.
“I didn't ask how he is I asked where he is.”
And this guy, just straight up rolls his eyes and inclines his head and the driver one must be his brother because Pandora used to do things like that, pick up Evan’s mannerisms so that even if they didn't look alike, people said they did.
So Evan follows him down factory hallways and there's pictures haphazardly stuck to the walls with tape and blutack, fairy lights strung up here and there. Regulus leads him with the air of a secretary, real business, to an empty room converted into a make shift kind of surgical space.
And Evan instantly feels betrayal, and then it simmers and shifts into relief.
Because Barty already looks better than he has the whole time Evan has known him, he thinks. He's sat up in the same hard bed Evan just dreamt of him in, laughing with this James.
The dickhead driver is there too, Sirius, leaning against the counter opposite, while James sits at his bedside.
Real doctor Evan’s ass, guy looked like he was wearing a halloween costume. He'd call him out on it if he hadn't worked apparent miracles on Barty. Who by the way, is sporting this real birthday face.
“Rosie!”
//
Evan looks pissed off, which gets Barty kinda hot.
Looks like he did that day in the chapel, like he's battling himself. Gives him this awesome crease between his brows and hardness to his shoulders.
He's slept, Barty can tell, looks better for it.
And Barty doesn’t think he's ever been so pleased to see anyone in his life.
Feels like coming home to his cat after a horrible shift.
Evan looks pissed and Barty immediately feels sorry and wants to fix it. Thinks he might be able to too, because James is pretty cool and Sirius doesn't seem that bad and they're sort of the safest they've been together and Barty doesn't feel like throwing up his limbs anymore.
“Looking better Crouch.”
He smirks and it all but drives Barty crazy. They kind of stare at each other a while and it feels like winning until Sirius interrupts.
“Ooookay- dinners ready so,”
And Evan looks distracted, but he agrees to go get something for Barty, promises to bring it right back, because James says he still needs to rest. And Barty’s starting to get really sick of this guy being out of his sight, didn't realise how much he hated it until he was conscious. Would rather not eat, thinks fuck the doctor's orders, but Evan goes anyway.
And Barty stares at the door.
//
‘What's your problem man? You recognise me? Gonna nick me or what. Get it over with.”
Evan is over it. Over this Regulus guy and all these people that he doesn’t know if he can even trust.
Starting to wish none of this had happened.
He’s happy Barty’s better, really he is.
But maybe his stomach wouldn't hurt so bad if he'd have just stayed in the chapel. Or if he had, Barty had just stayed put. Or if, in every single universe, he just couldn’t have helped himself, that they had chosen some other car to sleep in, some other place that night. Barty never got got and these nice people never picked them up and Evan wasn’t getting food for Barty who just wasn’t quite strong enough even though Evan had tried so hard.
And that this guy wasn’t staring at him in the food line like he’d been the one to stop the world, like it was him behind it all.
Regulus had this real freaky look to him, these staring eyes like you could never escape them when they latched onto you. This silent, unforgiving watchfulness.
“Hm, I thought I did.”
“Not hard, there’s posters.”
“Not anymore.”
“What?”
“Yeah, they took them down. Haven't seen one in a while which is why I wasn't sure. What did you do?”
And Evans is not listening. Not really.
They took them down.
“Huh? Oh, uh, I was in the resistance but I left when shit kicked off. They really took them down. Why?”
“Guess they were pointless. Everyone’s out for everyone.”
“Right.”
And true, he had not been recognised by anyone but Regulus.
Which means, he could go back.
Maybe.
Find his sister, they could be together again, maybe.
But once the thought occurs it festers and paints his brain a curious colour. He can’t eat and almost forgets to take any to Barty.
Who he sits with in near silence, because he's thinking.
“What's wrong?”
“Huh?”
“You’re distracted.”
“Oh uh, just tired.”
“Sleep in here.”
“What?”
“Please?“
And Evan just nods, couldn't say no if he wanted.
Puts his untouched plate down and Barty shifts over, and Evan lays down next to him. And Barty’s out like a light, like this is just what he needed.
Evan envies him for knowing something like that, something as insane as exactly what you want. Evan suddenly gets the feeling like he’ll never know anything, not for sure.
Never know how to do the right thing, and it scares the shit out of him.
So he thinks he couldn't settle anywhere even if he wanted, not in this bed with this boy he really quite likes but is destined to disappoint. Not in the hard wooden one waiting for down the hall, not even in his one back home, with the sheets he picked out himself.
His blood’s running through his veins like he's running from whatever.
Something.
Thinks, this time, he's gonna run to instead of from, but then he looks at the body squashed into his side sleeping like a six year old. Cuddled into him and everything.
Why can't Evan just shoot through time like a straight arrow? Why's he gotta hit things on the way even when he tries his best not to.
He contemplates the ethics of just telling him, but Evan’s always been a coward, a runner, and if Barty knows him like he seems to when he looks at him every time he leaves the room, then he knows this already.
Doesn’t make it hurt any less, Evan knows that.
And he’ll be sorry about something forever, so what's one more thing.
But Barty’s like supernatural or some shit, because in the early light before Evan even knew he was awake, Evan who had not slept a bit and, shit, maybe Barty hadn't either, never knew with this kid, Barty’s turned into him but Evan’s staring upward, says,
“Shit, please don't leave.”
And fuck, if he could at least ask before groping around in his mind like that.
Reading his facial expressions meant for no one at all, like he's broken the shitty plastic lock on his childhood diary without even asking, or maybe in some sort of haze, Evan had given him the key.
Knowing Barty though, he fished it out his back pocket, and Evan can’t even be mad. Leaving it hanging out like that, what did he expect.
He doesn't blame him at all.
“I’m not.”
“You're thinking about it. I heard you talking to Regulus outside.”
“I’m right here.”
“You’re not.” He shakes his head like a child, rustles the plasticky hard bed sheets, “you’re not you’re gonna go I can tell. Promise me, promise you won’t. You’re safe now, we’re safe.”
And there's nothing else for it if he's gonna break his heart anyway,
“Yeah, yeah. I promise.”
It’s not like he's choosing his sister over Barty, it's more that what Barty said was right, He’s safe now. If these guys were gonna get them they’d have got them by now, not wasted valuable resources on a couple of wasters. Barty is safe.
Mission accomplished, sort of thing.
He’s making friends because he’s a good guy.
He’s already treating the place like family, like a home.
And Evan would be forty miles back the way he came before he realised he packed one of Barty’s bandanas on accident, even if he left him his necklace on purpose, folded up on his new permanent bed.
He leaves while Barty’s watching movies with the rest of them, crowded around an old portable DVD player in the make shift common room. Evan watches him from the door for a minute, wonders if he’ll surprise himself by saying bye.
Doesn't.
Barty’s laughing, it’s a film Evan has seen before.
“You off man?” Sirius leans on the other side of the doorframe.
Says it like Evan had gotten up from a dinner party, hitting the hay. Said it like he had an early shift but they'll see each other sometime in the week.
Evan mourns an old life, one where he could’ve known these folks.
“Yeah I- gotta go. I'm not- I don’t really- I'm gonna go find my sister.” He settles on, looking pained, he knows because it hurts.
“Hey man, If you lived here you’d be home by now. Gonna kill him though.”
They both watch Barty, on his stomach, looks around briefly as if checking for someone, settles back on the TV.
Evan hates that he trusts him to come back.
“Could you just- can you tell him-” but then Evan thinks he'll cry which is not cool at all and Sirius just nods, shrugs.
Like, eh he’ll get over it.
We’ll make sure.
And selfishly Evan doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want him to forget.
Is his own worst enemy because, who’s gonna pull a pistol out of their pants when he’s being chased? Who’s gonna remind him to care, keep him going, man. Who’s gonna laugh at him when he can’t drive stick and ask him stupid questions and make him feel like there’s more now than there was before the world ended?
He’s got a little sister, though, who loves him, who he’s missing pretty damn bad.
But is he the worst fuckin’ guy for wanting a friend?
Won’t ask him to come though, that’s not what friends do. He’s not had all that many but he knows that. Just like how he couldn’t ask Pandora, he’s just leaving one person that loves him for another and it’s always gonna hurt and he’s never gonna stop running.
He’d run back and forth forever for the two of them.
“Okay, thanks for picking us up man. I'll see you.”
“Yeah man, take care okay?”
Evan nods and walks straight out the front door, ending just the way he began, but this time he learned his lesson.
He doesn't look back as he leaves, not even once.
But he does check that nobody’s following him, and for the first time, can’t believe his bad luck that they aren’t.