Title: Here at the End of All Things
Word Count: 4 043
A/N: I can finally cross apocafic off my list. This thing wrote itself in a day. If you see any typos, please let me know.
(Oct. 20, 2016) Guest reviewers - I can't reply to you, but know that I appreciate each one. Thank you for your thoughts!
Eric tugs her by the hand, pulling her with him as he silently moves down the street, hidden in the shadows. Always in the shadows.
They stop at the mouth of an alley, a blind corner, and Eric cocks his head. He looks back at her after a moment and she closes her eyes, concentrates on slowing her breath, expanding her mind outwards to catch anything.
She opens her eyes to find blue ones still on her. Sookie shakes her head: Nothing on her end, either.
And they're off again.
They move only as fast as they dare, creeping along walls and darting from overhang to overhang. Anything else is too open, and exposure is likely to get you killed.
This section of the city lies abandoned; they haven't seen a soul – supe or otherwise – since they arrived days ago, but she learned long ago to be cautious is to survive.
Eric abruptly stops.
Sookie peeks around his shoulder and realizes his dilemma. The alley stops at an open street. They're heading north, so it would mean taking the left from here but a little ways down, the road has broken off, a wide chasm separating the two sides. She doesn't think she can make the jump, and flying across would be riskier, a trail of magic leading right to them. The alternative is to take the next alleyway, travel parallel to the crack and then find an intact passage. But that means crossing the street in the open to get to the alley first. Then who knows how long it'd be before they came to a crossing.
"We could go back," Sookie whispers. Eric growls in response. She understands his frustration; it would take at least a day, maybe more, to retrace their steps and find another path.
"No," he finally says, voice rough. "We cross."
Sookie purses her lips, but doesn't argue. He's taken care of them this far; she has to trust in that.
Sword ready in his other hand, his grip tightens on hers. "On three, " he says softly. "One…Two…Thr – "
Four, no, five minds emerge on her mental radar and she hisses, "Stop!"
Eric stills.
They're moving towards them. Fast. Much too fast for foot.
She looks up at him, eyes wide, and Eric picks up on her alarm before she says anything, taking quick, large strides deeper into the alley. There's a dumpster not far, and he pushes her around the other side, into the corner where it meets the wall, then steps right into her space, his back blocking out the world, sword hanging loose by his side.
All she sees is his amulet dangling between them, a precious bit of metal that renders his undead magic invisible to supes and machines alike. The price had been steep: a quart of fairy blood. Eric had been furious with her. She had replied with the equivalent of Tough shit, and he had proceeded to fume, not speaking to her for days. Sookie certainly has no regrets; the thing had proven itself priceless ten times over.
The roar of an engine brings her back.
Eric slips a cool hand under her shirt, settling it on the base of her spine. A gesture of comfort. She mimics the action with both her hands.
The vehicle stops close, perhaps just by the opening of the alley, and the engine cuts off to the slam of doors, then whooping and jeering as its occupants spill to the outside. One of the minds is a snarly knot. Not good. Carefully, she traces W on the skin of his back, and Eric tenses.
The Fellowship used Weres as trackers. Eric's magic is suppressed, but he isn't scentless. Neither is she for that matter. Five is too many for him to take in a fight. She tries to recall the last time he had taken blood – ten days ago, maybe?
"C'mon, freak!" His friends hoot along with him, insults punctuated by the sound solid whacks and thumps. Sookie closes her eyes, feeling ill.
Finally the growls fade into whimpers, and then she hears the cracking of bones, the mind twists even more, and she knows the Were is transforming.
Shit. They are so screwed.
But then something else happens: she tracks the Were as it catches their scent and approaches the alley; her heartbeat pounds in her ears. The Were stops, still a distance away, long enough for Sookie to know it's not by accident, and then it turns unexpectedly on its handlers. It must have lunged because there's the snapping of jaws, a terrifying scream, and a mind blinks out. It moves with speed again, but it's futile, the others have scattered and there's a shot. Two. Three. Four. Sookie stops counting.
Her chest is heaving, like she's just run a mile. Eric is so still in front of her.
Distantly, she registers the outraged curses, the slam of doors again, and then the three remaining minds fading rapidly. Sookie nods her head once they're in the clear.
Eric untangles himself from her, moving them quickly back towards the opening. They have no choice but to cross the divide; the minds had disappeared into the narrow street across from them.
She feels herself being dragged just as her eyes fall onto the bloody mess of a body just feet from her. Bile rises to her throat at the sight. "Eric."
He looks back at her, follows her gaze to where it's frozen, instantly knows what she wants, and growls, "No."
"Eric," she says again, begging now. They can't just leave him. He must have known, must have smelled them, and yet didn't give them up. Her eyes feel wet. "We have to. We have to."
He's angry with her now, glaring, probably hating her weakness, her humanity for slowing them down. Hating himself more for being unable to leave her behind. She knows the moment he decides to indulge her, biting out something rough in a language she doesn't understand. Likely cursing her existence, she thinks.
He sheaths the sword in the scabbard on his back, then strips his jacket and shirt, handing all three to her before bending down and hauling the body over his shoulders. Blood oozes down his chest. They both ignore it. It takes some time to find ground soft enough to dig – most of the city is concrete, but there's a small park they find that's suitable to bury the Were. Sookie gathers the few flowers she can and places them on the mound of dirt. It's not much, but the man deserves something. Eric looks on dispassionately.
They search the surrounding buildings afterwards, just the few houses and offices that are still in decent looking shape. They have to stock up on supplies while they still can; once Eric carries them over the gap in the road, it's a matter of running out the clock until the residual magic fades.
Most have already been picked clean, but in one she finds a water bottle – still unopened! – that's rolled under a desk and greedily snatches it up. Eric refuses to let her clean his torso of the blood and dirt until she downs some herself, so she drinks a quarter, then uses another quarter to soak a rip of fabric and gets to work scrubbing what she's able off his skin. It mostly does the job, diluting the stains to a reddish brown tint; he'll need a shower to clean it entirely. The rest of the water she stashes in her backpack for later. No food turns up, but she didn't have high hopes for that in the first place. Besides there's a granola bar still packed away for later.
By the time they make it back to the road, Sookie is exhausted. It doesn't look like Eric is faring much better either, if the grim set of his lips and the tense look in his eyes are anything to go by.
He holds his arms out. "Come here." She steps into his embrace easily, linking her arms around his chest. He hugs her to him, and his weight on her is reassuring.
Sookie expects weightlessness under her feet, instead she is catapulted forward. A second is all it takes, and then they're on the other side.
She breaks away, dry heaving on the sidewalk, her organs and mind still reeling from the rapid shift in position. She understands why he did it. The amulet can't hide the unique magic of flying; they would have had a target on their backs should the Fellowship return with any of their fancy gadgets; the use of super speed does the same, but it's weaker, the trail more quickly to dissipate. There's also the added precaution of being unable to trace that particular ability directly to Eric, unlike with the other.
He waits patiently for her to finish and once she straightens, weaves their fingers together and they set off.
Sookie keeps her mind open as they walk. Once in a while she notices Eric angle his head left or right, and knows he's just as wary as her. But nothing happens. Everything is deserted and shuttered up. She's about to suggest they bunker down for the night when something in the distance catches her eye. "Is that what I think?"
"Fire," Eric confirms.
What could that mean?
They don't find out until they're a few blocks away. Eric keeps himself between her and the uncertain situation ahead. "Friend or foe?" he asks quietly.
"Friend," Sookie answers slowly, trying to tap into a mind. "At least, not foe." Definitely not the Fellowship. Enough shifter minds at ease to make sure her of that.
Eric nods. "Good enough."
A gathering of people meant supplies. Food. Clothing. Information. All of which they desperately needed.
As they edge closer, Sookie begins seeing flashes of colour, rectangle swatches hanging off windows, on telephone poles and car antennae, flying boldly as they catch the wind. Flags of countries, of defiance, in the face of anarchy.
"Eric," she exclaims in excitement, "it's the Resistance!" There had been rumours that had reached their ears about groups, people and supes, banding together against the crush of violence from the Fellowship and hostile supes.
Eric looks sceptical but remains silent.
It explains the block of barricades, though. And the rift in the road they crossed – possibly a marked boundary? And the presence of Weres in what was the largest collective of people they had come across so far.
Behind the last barricade, a pair of sentries raise their guns at their approach. "Who goes there?" one shouts.
Sookie moves forward to answer back, but Eric moves with her, keeping her shielded behind him. She understands his reasoning – after all, she's a lot more vulnerable to bullets than him – but that doesn't mean she likes it. "Civilians!" she hollers back.
"Who goes there?" they shout again, more urgently this time, and it takes her a minute to understand.
"Human! Vampire!" The guns are still up and Eric is becoming increasingly tense. "The Fellowship sucks balls!" she throws in for good measure, just in case they have any doubts. Standing this close, Sookie feels his amusement more than hearing any evidence of it.
The guns lower and she takes the two broad grins that emerge as permission to approach. A slight tingle runs up through her body as they cross the threshold of the makeshift gate being guarded. "Sorry about that. Sensor wasn't picking up your friend here." The one on the left gestures to Eric. She can only guess they must have somehow lifted of the Fellowship's toys. They look curiously at Eric, no doubt wondering at the anomaly.
Predictably, he ignores them. "What is this place?"
"This here is the Denver Outpost. Where're you folks coming from?"
"El Paso." It wasn't a complete lie. It was the point at which they decided to head north.
"No shit? What's the situation down there?"
"Much the same as here."
"Heard it's a disaster out east. Florida's a mess." The last they heard as well. Anything past Texas was a warzone. She tries not to think about Jason, or any of her friends in Bon Temps, hoping they were able to make it out. "Bet your boy would be handy in a fight." They were looking at Eric's height, at the sword on his back, and thinking about his speed and strength. They didn't have too many vamps coming through here.
"You wouldn't be wrong," Sookie answers dryly and all three look up at Eric who bares his teeth. She can't tell if he's amused or what.
"All right, well, look for Curtis in the orange flagged building and he'll sort you out."
They step into the camp and almost immediately see the designated building. People eye them curiously as they pass by; there are even a few kids. The fire that had initially drawn their attention seems to be the focal point of the camp with people milling about and chatting easily.
Curtis is surprisingly well stocked and organized for the conditions they're in. He hands them half a bar of soap, along with a towel, two bottles of water, and an electric lantern, directing them to a room in the motel across the street. Dinner is in an hour by the fire.
She lets Eric shower first, it only seems right. Once he disappears behind the door, she takes stock of everything. The room has one bed, topped with two pillows, a blanket, and clean enough sheets. There's a nightstand to the side, a handful of candles, and a chair over in the corner. It's the comfiest they've been in awhile.
Sookie dumps the contents of her backpack on the mattress and starts separating them into a pile to keep and a pile to trade. Materials in hand, she knocks on a few doors until she acquires some detergent, hygiene products, and a new shirt for Eric. She gets back just in time to see him come out of the washroom, towel wrapped around his waist. Carefully keeping her eyes north of any temptations, she hands him the new shirt, watching his pleased expression as he fingers the quality of the material.
She leaves him to it and slips into the shower for her turn. The water is lukewarm but it still feels divine cascading over her. She would love to know how they had managed to swing this. Using what's left of the soap, Sookie scrubs herself until she's well and pink. The towel is hanging on the doorknob when she's done, still damp, but she's not one to complain.
Eric's sitting on the bed, staring at the map of the central United States. He must be inspecting their plotted route, as he typically does, but his eyes seem fixated on one spot. Odd. "You must be hungry," he says without looking up and, like everything else with Eric, it's statement not a question.
"Yeah, I'm going to head down. How about you?"
He does look up then.
Right. Stupid question. They haven't been out of each other's sight for months.
There're no keys to lock the door, but they're in the habit of taking everything with them so it's not an issue.
The smell of food seems to have drawn out a number of people, a few dozen at least, all chewing on bowls of what seems to be stew. There are even a few bottles of synthetic blood out.
Sookie strikes up a conversation with the girl in front of her while waiting in line for their portion of food. Miranda has been at the outpost for a while now, close to two months. She helps out where she can, mostly with the little ones and possesses some skill with a needle. Sookie settles with her new friend close to the fire, thankful for the warmth.
The stew is hearty; everyone pitches in what they can, Miranda informs her. It seems to be working out well; nearly everyone looks to be in relatively healthy shape. Not something Sookie can say for herself as this is the first food she's had in weeks that doesn't come in a wrapper or can. She's been subsisting on the bare minimum for too long and it shows.
"How do the showers work?" She's too curious not to ask.
"Witches," Miranda supplies. A few had passed through about a month ago and left them with some upgrades.
There must be wards in place, too. Explains the tingle she felt when entering.
"Nice to see folks coming together," Sookie replies honestly. She had seen so much killing that first month, it was practically open warfare on the streets.
Out of one of her pockets, Miranda pulls out an orange and Sookie's mouth instantly waters. It's been ages since she's seen a fruit. The other girl is kind enough to offer her half and Sookie can't find it in herself to turn it down out of politeness. It's a little shrivelled, but still has a burst of flavour hiding within each piece. Sookie savours every bite, closing her eyes and licking her lips and the insides of her cheeks until the last of the taste is gone.
"So how long you two been together?" Miranda asks.
"Four months on the road now."
"Not what I meant."
She knows exactly what Miranda means, and had hoped to circumvent that conversation, but the sly grin on her new friend's face tells Sookie that's not likely to happen. "We're not – things aren't like that."
"Girl," the moniker is amusing since she's pretty sure Miranda is the younger by a few years, at least, "a man doesn't look at a woman like that and not want her." Sookie follows her gaze across the fire, to where Eric is sitting, reclined lazily, a bottle grasped loosely in his fingertips. His eyes are dark, intense, fixated on her even as he downs the synthetic blood. The heated stare he gives makes her think he's thinking about fastening his lips around something entirely else than the bottle currently between them.
Sookie looks down, blushing straight to her toes.
Miranda laughs and it's been a while since she's heard something so friendly and carefree.
They chat for a little longer until Sookie's yawning has Eric pulling her up back to their room.
She tosses the bag on the chair and toes out of her shoes. Eric stands just inside the room, watching her silently. She yanks off her sweater, leaving on the tank top underneath, then slides under the covers to shimmy off her trousers.
Eric waits until she's settled before walking over and pressing a dagger in one hand and a familiar leather cord in the other. "I have matters to attend to," he says quietly. Eric-speak for Don't wait up.
Sookie nods, voice carefully neutral. "Sure thing." His face is half hidden in the shadows, but she gets the strangest sense there's more he wants to say. "Thank you," she says when the silence begins to get uncomfortable, and because she hasn't thanked him yet. "For earlier." A slight nod of the head is all the acknowledgement she gets.
Then, the door closes with a soft click and he's gone. She gets up to hang the talisman on the doorknob, saying the requisite words to activate the charm. It wouldn't keep out anyone determined to get in, but encourage any curious minds to keep walking past.
Back in bed, she ignores the lurch in her chest. It's silly feeling hurt over something as practical as him feeding. So what if it's not her blood in him? If it's not her he bites? Or kisses? Or…does other things? It's a moot point, as she can't give him blood anyway; it's a 6-month recovery from the quart she recently lost.
And he needs what he can find, the opportunities are too few and apart to pass on the chance of next time. The last time he got a cut, it had taken a full hour for it to heal.
Neither has blood to spare for the other.
Telling herself all this doesn't stop the hurt, it never does. It does even less against the jealously that stirs in her breast.
Sookie isn't stupid; she knows most of the time the tension between them can be cut with a knife. They're always careful not to touch more than what's necessary. Somewhere along the way they had dropped the flirtatious banter for terse, strained exchanges. Texas, if she had to pick, when he realized making it across the state meant one or both getting killed. The frustration's been building ever since.
Maybe he resents her, she thinks. Having to abandon his child for a human must sting, after all. But that's not entirely true, is it? Pam is a hundred-some year old vampire, fully capable and in a better position than most of Louisiana to take care of herself. Bill as well. Both are survivors. It's Jason and Tara and Sam that need her worry.
She realizes she's working herself into a lather over nothing. If she was such a burden to Eric, he'd have dumped her long ago, ever the pragmatist. No, they take care of each other, and it's been that way since day one. Sookie finds some solace in that.
Some time passes and a void at the door has her sleep-addled brain blindly reaching for the dagger before it registers in her conscious mind that it's Eric. She exhales, relieved he's returned in one piece. He glides across the room, his shadow looming impossibly huge on the walls. There's a quiet rustling of clothes from somewhere behind her, a dull thud of what she guesses is him leaning the sword against the post of the bed, close at hand, and then a dip in the mattress as he slips in.
When next she wakes there's something digging into her back, and something else heavy on her hip. Sookie wiggles a little and the something heavy tightens into the form of a hand. As for the something poking her, she has a pretty good idea of what it is. The expanse of the bed lies before her, informing her it's her trespass. She thinks about moving back to her side, but Eric's arm makes a pretty good pillow. She wiggles again and this time a low warning is growled in her ear, "Sookie," sending shivers straight down her spine.
"Sorry," she offers back, not the slightest bit sorry.
Moving slowly, she unstaples his fingers from around her hip and brings them around to the front, placing them over her belly under the thin piece of fabric of her top. Then she reaches for his leg, pulling it over her hip so she's tucked securely against him.
Eric is rigid behind her, in more ways than one.
One hand reaches for him, to rub soothingly at the skin of his neck. This time, she really is sorry.
He relaxes gradually into her touch, leaning heavily into her now, thumb stroking the parcel of skin it's resting on, and his contentment eventually manifesting itself as a low rumble in his chest. The sound is calming and it helps her to drift off to sleep again.
Hours later she wakes to the sight of Eric's naked ass disappearing into a pair of jeans. Sookie forces herself out of bed and to the washroom with her clothes just as he's tugging on his shirt.
When she emerges, he's fiddling with the straps on his sword. What little they have has already been stowed away in the backpack while he waited for her.
He looks up, holds out his hand. "Ready?" His eyes are so clear and blue.
If she has to be in this, here, she's glad it's with him.
Sookie places a hand in his. "Let's go."
Eric opens the door and steps out into the muted light. She follows behind.
As expected, the world is still plunged in darkness, the light of the sun absent just like that first day four months ago in Tuscon and every day since. Eric still flinches, a millennium of engrained instinct telling him to find cover.
Sookie squeezes his hand. He squeezes back.
Fin.
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