Written for OTP Prompt List Challenge: (word) underground.
Word count: 3623
my head wasn't wired for this world
Sometimes, Barty likes to reminisce about the world Above. He closes his eyes, and pictures the sky and its endless blues. The sun shone brightly, its rays a warm caress on his skin in the summer times, and the wind whispered secrets in his ears, a soft murmur only he could hear.
It's always hard to reopen his eyes after that, to face dull dirt walls instead of open skies, but it's Barty's life now. On most days, it even beats being dead, like most of those who stayed Above.
It's been so many years, now, since Barty last saw the world Above. Nearly his entire lifetime, in fact, since the skies burned blood red and the ground simply burned. Nearly two decades since the world had cast them out, thrown them out and cast them to live underground, in caves like animals.
Of course, it isn't all that bad. It's easy enough to live underground once you get used to it, and as the days bleed into one another, you forget quickly that you ever knew anything else. Part of it is the routine, part of it's just what people need to survive. It works. The humans aren't exactly flourishing anymore, but they're doing more than merely surviving too.
Still, it doesn't stop the yearning, which is how the Expeditions first started.
They're rather recent, these Expeditions. Most people scorn at the idea openly—going back Above, even for short amount of times? Unthinkable—but Barty doesn't. He can't, not when the mere idea of venturing outside of these glorified caves, of being anywhere but underground even for a mere instant is enough to make his heart beat faster.
Unsurprisingly enough, his father doesn't agree with Barty wanting to join in.
(God, it's in those times he can't help but wish that his mother had survived instead—Barty finds it hard to believe she'd have ever turned dour the way his father had after his wife's death. Being raised by her would have been kinder, he thinks, even though he only remembers the vaguest impressions of her)
"It's a pointless endeavor," Barty Sr. says harshly when Barty mentions it. "If you really want to waste your life so badly, at least waste it here, where it might end up being useful for something."
"But what if we find something Above?" Barty protests, only to bite his cheek as he realizes he used 'we' instead of 'they'. The taste of copper is sickening, but he forces himself to swallow past it, unwilling to show weakness now.
"The only thing to be found Above is death, boy," Barty Sr. spits violently, rounding up on his son with such anger that for a moment Barty fears his father will hit him. "Do you really think we'd be down there if we had any other choice?"
His father's hands are trembling, Barty notes, in the way that says it's been too long since the man last had a drink. It makes Barty sneer, even as something like pity twists in his chest.
"But it's nearly been two decades!" Barty persists. "What if things have changed? What if we could leave this place, leave-"
"Stop it!" his father shouts, fist hitting the wall beside him so strongly dust flakes off it. Barty flinches, falling silent instinctively. "I don't want to hear another word about these Expeditions, or about going Above, is that clear?"
Barty mumbles something incoherently.
"I said, is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Barty repeats mulishly. Somehow, this satisfies his father, though Barty has no idea why.
Surely, after all these years, the man should have learned to tell when his own son was lying to him, shouldn't he?
.x.
The man in charge of the Expeditions, a Lucius Malfoy, looks nothing like Barty had expected. He's oddly distinguished, with long blond hair that falls to his shoulders, and he walks with an ornished cane, though he doesn't appear to need it. The most unsettling thing about him, though, is the way his clothes are spotless, which is practically an impossible feat underground, where dust and dirt follows you everywhere. It speaks of a kind of wealth hat shouldn't exist anymore, and of more power Barty can imagine.
This, Barty realizes mere moments after he first sees Malfoy, is not a man to be trifled with.
It also quickly becomes clear that as invested as he is in funding those Expeditions, Malfoy has no intentions on participating in one. That, he explains, is why he needs people like Barty.
It would figure, that this one thing he wants to do for himself is something someone else is just using him for. Does it even make a difference that this time Barty knows he's being used, that he goes into this fully knowing just how expendable he is? He'd like to think so, if only so that he can escape the shadow of his father's actions.
Malfoy goes on to explain how the Expeditions will work, and Barty listens raptly.
They'll each be supplied with a week's worth of supplies—because a week is as long as each Expedition will last—and a map that is, as far as Malfoy's little team of experts knows, an accurate description of the area. "It is however twenty years out of date, so do not trust it over what you see before you," one of those experts cautions.
The meeting lasts so long that the words start to blur together in Barty's mind, especially as they do not reveal anything he didn't already know: he'll be going out alone, for a week, in a possibly hostile world for a trip he may never come back from, and Malfoy denies any responsibility in case accidents happen while they're Above.
They even have to sign a waiver to that account, which Barty does with relish as he thinks of his father's face when he realizes his only son isn't the perfect little double he had hoped for.
Those who come back will be paid handsomely for their efforts, Malfoy finally ensures them, before he moves to shake hands with the dozen or so volunteers who came to the meeting.
Malfoy's last words before the meeting is dismantled are, "Thank you for your cooperation, and may you find that there is something worth saving out there."
He smiles then, a sharp thing that Barty has seen too many times on his father's face to trust it anymore, and leaves.
Four days later, Barty is back, and ready to go on his first Expedition.
.x.
The climb up the tunnels that lead to the sealed exits into the world Above is the worst part. The backpack Barty's been provided with is heavy, and the straps cut into his shoulders painfully. The air is hot and heavy, and even before they're halfway there, Barty's already wiping sweat off his brow constantly. Still, it is all worth it when they finally reach the heavy metallic door that bar the entrance to the outside world.
They open with a loud and shiver-inducing screeching noise as the metal drags on the rocky ground, but the rush of air that follows is most welcomes.
The doors are only opened wide enough for a single person to pass at a time, but Barty can see the other side just fine even as he waits for his turn. It appears to only be more of the same tunnel, though he upward slope of the thing seems slightly sharper. The air tastes different already too: sharper somehow, and less coppery. Barty isn't sure what to think of it.
"And this is where I leave you." Lucius' Malfoy's voice echoes softly against the walls, and Barty realizes he had been too mesmerized by the tantalizing glimpse of the path out of the underground to pay any attention to their benefactor's speech.
It hardly matters anyway. Barty's willing to bet his life on there not having been anything new in that speech.
The part of the tunnel behind the door is darker than the one Barty's just left, and it makes his heart beat faster in his chest, the sweet and sour taste of mixed excitement and fear persisting at the back of his throat.
At first, Barty doesn't even notice that the darkness is getting lighter. He just keeps on walking, his torch shining on the path before him a pale white halo. The change is so gradual that at first he thinks the torch is malfunctioning, but no, that's not it. Instead, his eyes have adjusted to the way he's been getting closer to the surface, and to the half-collapsed wooden door he can now see ahead of him.
Bright rays of light shine before him, making the dust floating in the air dance like fairy lights, and for a moment it takes Barty's breath away. Sunlight. It has to be.
He starts to walk faster, until—finally-he reaches that door. Crossing it feels… It is indescribable. It is freeing, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, but more than that Barty finds that he simply breathes easier.
He almost stumbles in his first few steps, drunk on the (too) numerous sights around him. There is something different and bright and new in every direction, and Barty doesn't know where to look. This new—or is it old?—world is dizzying in its intensity, but the longer he's there, the less he wants to leave it and shut himself back into the dullness of the underground.
He ends up choosing a direction at random, though he makes sure to take note of his surroundings and of a way to find his way back when his time is up.
And after that, he hitches up his backpack on his shoulders, and walks.
.x.
The world Above is silent. That is the first thing Barty notices. That isn't to say that the underground is noisy, but there is a certain quiet to the world Barty now walks that just settles deep in his bones.
There is noise, of course. The wind whistles through the dilapidated buildings Barty walks through, and every so often, something creaks or clangs from afar.
Barty walks for three days, aiming straight North. He finds nothing but broken buildings worn down by time and nature, and so many scattered signs of the people that once lived there—certainly nothing like the kind of signs Malfoy told them to be on the lookout for—but still, Barty finds the whole experience oddly beautiful.
After three days, he turns back and retraces his steps. Crossing the threshold back into the underground, even knowing that better meals and a proper bed await him there, feels a little bit like dying after all this time spent outside, and Barty finds himself considering where he'll go and what he'll do the next time he goes out even before he's properly back.
When he tells Malfoy so, the man just smirks, a pleased thing that makes a shiver run down Barty's spine.
"Good," Malfoy says. "Good. I'll see you in five days then."
Barty nods, and five days later he's back.
.x.
Barty has been on three different Expeditions—there 'pointless endeavours', according to his father, who keeps forbidding Barty to go like his opinion matters one bit to his son—when he sees him.
It's barely even a glimpse at first, more like a shadow at the corner of Barty's eyes. It hovers there, following him around silently.
"Who's there?" Barty finds himself asking, half-convinced that he's going mad and seeing things.
(it would be a sign, he knows, that the world Above is not one they can safely live in)
Only the wind answers him, and for the rest of that afternoon, Barty cannot spot his little shadow anywhere.
The next morning—or what passes as such, in this world permanently bathed in the white light that shines through the ever-present layer of clouds high in the sky—his stalker is back.
He, whoever he is, never answers to Barty's subsequent questions, but he also doesn't vanish again.
For some reason, Barty gets the feeling that that is important. That time, when he returns underground and Malfoy asks him if he has anything worth reporting, Barty lies and says he doesn't.
He doesn't know why, but his instincts haven't betrayed him yet. He'd like to think he can trust them when it comes to this mysterious stalker too.
.x.
The weeks he spends Above blur together. They never get even close to boring, of course, but they turn into a routine, though it is a different kind of routine than the one he used to have underground.
The more time he spends there, the less he understands why they have to stay underground. The air is breathable here, and though the sun remains hidden behind heavy white clouds, it doesn't seem that different to underground. Plants still grow there too—or at least the wild ones do—and Barty even thinks he spotted a few animals, scurrying away long before Barty could reach them.
Compared to all the horror stories he's heard—stories of people going missing, of flesh melting off your bones under a rain you couldn't shelter yourself from and people going mad for no apparent reason, this world seems almost idyllic.
The Expeditions start to last longer too. There are only three participants left, Barty included. Everyone else stopped after the first few, but Barty can't. Something urges him to keep going, to stride forward into the unknown. He feels like he's looking for something, though he has no idea what.
He wonders if it's the same for the others, these two strangers he's never even talked to.
His silent shadow is always there too, coming closer and closer every time, though he's still careful not to let Barty see him. Barty likes to think of him as a sort of guardian angel, watching over his every step—it's kinder than to think of him as some creepy stalker, and anyway, something tells Barty that it's closer to the truth, whatever that is.
And maybe things would have gone on like this indefinitely: Barty walking around an abandoned city aimlessly, his silent angel at his back, if it hadn't been for the accident.
It happened entirely unexpectedly. One moment, Barty was looking up at the way a ray of light was shining through a piece of colored glass, the next, the ground rocked underneath his feet and Barty lost his footing, crumbling pieces of building falling down upon him.
The last thing he saw before everything faded into blissful darkness was a pair of grey eyes, so light they almost seemed to be glowing.
.x.
When Barty wakes up, he can hear voices. His head hurts too much to open his eyes, or even move, but he can hear just fine, even if the sounds seem to be coming from further away than they probably are.
"I can't believe you brought him here! Regulus, you know what Mother will say!"
"And I can't believe you're bringing Mother into this when you're the one who always insist on disobeying her!"
"But you brought back a stranger! They can banish you for that!"
"Well, it's not like I wouldn't know how to live on my own anyway. Besides, I couldn't just leave him there, he would have died."
"I know, I know, and I'm proud of you for that, but you have to admit that this situation is problematic."
"I don't see why anyone else ever has to know."
"Well, somehow I…"
The conversation lulls Barty back under quickly. It feels like his brain is filled with cotton, and keeping track of anything is next to impossible. Still, somehow Barty manages to grasp this: his savior's name is Regulus, and he's probably the one who was following him.
Regulus. It suits him.
.x.
The next time Barty wakes, he finds that he can move. It still hurts, but it's a dull kind of ache, like pulling at stretched muscles, and he can deal with it.
He's lying on some kind of bed, and gingerly Barty sits up.
"Hi."
Barty nearly jumps out of his skin. "Hi," he repeats mechanically as he takes in the sight of the speaker. The man isn't much taller than Barty, and he has dark hair that falls to his shoulders in messy waves. His clothes look well-worn, but they're also well-kept.
None of this matters from the moment their eyes meet. Barty may only have seen them once, but he'd know those eyes everywhere: they belong to the one who saved him, to his silent shadow, to his guardian angel.
"Regulus, right? I'm Barty," he says, extending a hand in greeting.
If Regulus is surprised Barty knows his name, he doesn't show it. He does shake Barty's hand though, before sitting at the bottom corner of the bed.
"So, Barty, you come from Down Under, right? What's it like there?"
Taken aback, Barty just blinks. And then it hits him. "Oh, you mean Underground? Yes, I'm from there. Does that mean you're not?"
Regulus hums back in reply, his eyes piercing in their intensity as he gazes at Barty. "No, I'm not," he finally confirms, and Barty's heart start pounding in his chest.
"I don't- How is that possible?"
Regulus shrugs. "How would I know? It just is." He sighs, then. "You should rest some more, though. And don't try walking on that leg—it was badly broken, and it'll need time to heal."
Barty startles, his eyes suddenly drawn to his leg. It is indeed wrapped in some kind of cast, though Barty can't quite recognize the material it's made of, and now that Barty focuses on it, he can feel the pain sharpen in a way it hadn't before. In fact, it's truly a wonder he hasn't noticed it before.
"But you don't understand—I need to go back," Barty finds himself saying, even though he knows there is no way for him to make the trip to the passage to the underground, even if he knew where he was and how to leave wherever this place was.
Regulus looks at him with a mix of understanding and pity. In anyone else, it'd make Barty bristle, but in Regulus, it just makes his heart twinge a little. "You can't tell me you actually want to go back," Regulus states dryly, head tilted to the side. "Not when you spend almost all your time up here already."
Well, he has a point. Still, though. "That doesn't mean I should just stay here," Barty counters.
"Why not? It's really not that bad here, and the way I hear it, it's not even that different from your underground world."
"About that," Barty starts, "how do you… How can I…"
"How are there people living up here when it's supposedly so impossible?" Regulus completes with a dry laugh, picking at the bed's covers. "Haven't you guessed already?"
"Guessed what?" Barty asks, frowning.
Regulus sighs, fingers stilling inches away from Barty's leg. For some reason, Barty finds himself wanting those fingers to touch him, but this isn't the time.
"You're not going to like t," Regulus sighs.
"Tell me anyway."
Regulus does, a sharp grin playing on his lips even as his eyes display sorrow. He's right. Barty doesn't like it.
"It's a conspiracy, see," Regulus explains. "I mean, yes, for a while living up here wasn't very safe, and a lot of people died. But when that stopped, the people at the top decided that, well, they had survived very narrowly once, and that they might not get so lucky twice. So they started this experiment—some people would stay here, outside, while other would leave, and go underground."
Regulus shrugs as Barty takes it in. It makes so much sense. He hates how much sense it makes.
"But why not just tell everyone that? Why do they keep this charade of Above being deadly?"
"Same reason they tell us not to leave our Enclaves," Regulus replies. "They like their people where they can see them, and what better way to do that than to convince them that there's nowhere else for them to go?"
"It's sick."
"That's the way the world is, though. Can't change it." But there, as he says this, something sparks in Regulus' eyes. Something bitter, almost, and a lot like anger.
It makes Barty smirk. He thinks of Lucius Malfoy, who appears to be rich in a world that has no use for such things, who funded expeditions into the world Above when those should have been entirely forbidden. He thinks of the list, the things he had been told to keep a look out for.
He thinks of the rumors, the whispers he'd heard of Malfoy being backed by someone powerful, someone who could change the world, of everyone who supports Malfoy's project in the shadows but never dares to step into the light.
He thinks about all this, and he looks into the eyes of a boy who saved him even when he probably shouldn't have, and he realizes that this version of reality wants them to never have met. It doesn't seem right.
"What if we could?"
"What if we could what?"
"Change the world," Barty replies, lips stretched with a wide grin. "Remake it the way we want."
Regulus blinks, onceand then twice, before he echoes Barty's own sharp smile. "I'm listening."
Barty's heart pounds in his chest, and he may never have even dared to think of anything quite so forbidden, but he also has never felt quite so free.