[ ¤¤¤ ]
"If we can make it through the storm
And become who we were before
Promise me we'll never look back
The worst is far behind us now
We'll make it out of here somehow
Meet me in the aftermath
Oh, meet me in the aftermath."
- Lifehouse
This fanfic is dedicated to my amazing, unconditionally supportive discord mutuals, my adoptive online family. Their love and encouragement keep me motivated to never give up on my writing, and it's through the inspiration they provide that this work came to be a reality. Thank you 3
CHAPTER ONE.
[ try to chase the crazy right out of my head ]
When Nick closes his eyes, all he sees are ghosts.
They appear to him in the shapeless, haunting forms of loved ones, those either long since gone from this barren earth he still clings to, or those whose fate is left entirely unknown. Sometimes, he isn't sure which is worse, nevertheless left to mourn for faces he'll never see again. These ghosts are familiar, yet unrecognizable at the same time, plaguing his every move with their agonizing absence from his life.
Most days, he feels as if he's losing his mind. Finally, he'll think, for insanity must surely be better than the harrowing reality he's forced to face each time he wakes up all alone between the four, cold walls of the bomb shelter he can hardly call home.
Nowhere is home, not anymore. It's by sheer dumb luck he'd managed to find the old bunker, even if there's not an ounce of his mind that can manage to feel lucky. Freeze dried meals and bottled water keep him going physically, while mentally he seems to deteriorate further by the minute. Like a ticking time bomb with no visible countdown, no way to know when it will go off and take with it whatever feeble remains that's left of him.
At night, his memories twist and turn into unforgiving nightmares. He's grateful that sleep regularly alludes him, the preference of suffering with his insomnia far more appealing than dealing with the monsters that creep up on him in the dark of his unconscious.
Above all else, it's the last moments spent with company that torments him the very most. Conscious or not, Nick remains entirely unable to escape it, driven by everything he so desperately wishes he'd done differently. It all plays back to him on a sickening loop, right there behind the blackness of eyelids every time they slip shut for more than a second or two.
He can still hear Sarah's cries echoing in his head, see the twisted agony of her face when they first found her curled up on the dingy carpeted floor of the abandoned trailer she'd sought refuge in. In that moment, so strong and tangible that it had nearly choked him, Nick could feel the last of her innocence ripping away, gone with the man who had fought so hard to preserve it. It overwhelms him even now, the little girl's desperation for her dead parent that reminded him far too much of himself.
He can still count the lines of worry etched into his best friend's face as he repeatedly tried and failed to correct the situation, so completely out of his element for what had seemed like the first time in his life. It terrified Nick to his very core how he could hardly recognize him the more he sputtered and the thinner his patience became. Gone was the kind, soft hearted southern boy he'd grown up with, warped into a solemn and restless man aged far beyond his years, reduced to nothing but a shell of his former self. Nick hated what he'd become, what the world had turned them all into.
Two people who meant the very most to him in what was left of his crumbling life, and he could hardly stand to look at either of them in that very moment.
Helpless. Stupid, good for nothing kid. Nick ran out of there as fast as he could manage, a cowardly escape disguised as a noble attempt. The bullet hole in his shoulder didn't matter, he didn't matter. The lurker that roamed inside of the trailer park compound nearly got its way in ending Nick's life then and there, and as he reflects back on it, he wishes it had.
Pete would have been ashamed of him. His mother would have been appalled to know the only son she worked so hard to raise on her own would be so weak. There was no doubt in his mind that he deserved to get lost in the dense forest around them, deserved to end up alone if it meant that anyone else who mattered would no longer get hurt because of him.
Still, he hates himself now more than he ever has before. The time spent drinking whiskey back in the cellar with Clementine nothing but a joke when compared to his recent, endless days spent in isolation, the gunshot wound steadily growing worse with his lack of desire to treat it. After so long fruitlessly struggling to survive, with everything that once kept him grounded now lost and gone away, Nick finally feels content with the idea of dying.
In the beginning days of solitude, he used to think about being rescued. Hours would become lost to useless daydreams that offered him nothing but grief rather than any comfort. He'd imagine that overhead door swinging open to reveal Luke in all his glory, there to save the day as he's done for him so many times before. It used to happen all the time, long before the dead began to walk, when fresh bruises and bloody knuckles stained Nick's skin, back when the hatred for his father was the most they had to worry about.
He misses his best friend's guidance, feels more lost mentally than he does physically without his leadership he's always habitually depended on. Nick can still see his face as clear as day in the back of his mind whenever he lays back and closes his eyes, able to effortlessly imagine every distinct feature with nearly a lifetime spent in his company.
The one he'd fallen for long before he knew what love was all about, the one he can't help but still love despite the blatant unlikeliness of ever seeing him again. It eats away at him from the inside out, the loss of someone so entirely irreplaceable gone with the blink of an eye.
As the tail end of fall bleeds into winter, Nick stops eating. He's finally reached the point of delirium he'd been mindlessly wishing for, yet it's not insanity that can be thanked for it. The infection that unknowingly brews within his shoulder sparks a vicious fever, and with it, hallucinations officially join the mix.
The tiny space dimly lit by the oil lamp beside his ratty old cot dissipates before him, and he wonders for a moment if he's finally slipping away.
Until the hazy fog that envelops him clears as fast as it had set in, and he blinks blearily to find himself suddenly back at the cabin. For a fleeting moment, he almost feels happy again, to be surrounded by the people he's only been able to uselessly mourn for in the past. It's the first time he's able to see the faces of his fallen companions without the gut wrenching agony that usually accompanies their memory, and for once, he allows himself to enjoy it.
His eyes flick between each of their faces. His mother's kind smile, Pete's unwavering, patient gaze. Luke wears the same expression of excitement he'd come to yearn for in his later years, while Sarah has rightfully earned back her innocence as she proudly stands underneath her father's watchful eye. Next to Alvin's calming presence, Rebecca has adorned her motherly glow as she holds in her protecting arms the newborn infant he hadn't gotten the chance to meet. Clementine no longer looks to him with skepticism or doubt, but rather with a sense of childlike joy he's never seen on her face.
All seems so right with being so wrong. In the distance, creeping from the shadows out of nowhere, Nick can hear an unfamiliar voice break through the haze, so out of place among those who surround him. He feels instantly defensive, the desire to protect building inside him like a blazing inferno, swallowing up what little fear he has left in him. He won't let it slip away this time, can't let himself run away again from those who need him.
He stands his ground as he should have done time and time before.
"No!" His voice sounds feeble in comparison to the ferocity he feels inside his head. The intruding voice only grows stronger, closer, and is soon joined by several others.
Too many, too close. He won't let them hurt his family.
He tries again. "Get the fuck back!"
As desired, the voices abruptly come to a stop. He's about to breathe sigh of relief when someone speaks up again, and he wants to scream, trash, fight them back to wherever they came from. This particular voice is feminine, rough around the edges, and he strains to hear what she's saying.
"David, we can't just leave him here."
Why not, he thinks, and it's with that very thought he suddenly realizes he's coming back to his senses. The faces of his loved ones slowly begin to fade away in front of him, to be replaced with the blurry shapes of strangers, and he reaches out with a choked sob as they're ripped away from him yet again.
There's a long stretch of silence as Nick is pulled back from the comfort of his hallucination, and for a moment, when he closes his eyes, it's as if he's all alone again. It's near impossible to differentiate between what's real and what's not, whether anything he sees before his very eyes are a product of ill-induced imagination or tangible factuality.
A deeper, gruffer voice breaks through the quiet air shortly after.
"Hey. Can you hear me?"
Nick doesn't dare speak, doesn't trust his own head and its warped perception of reality. The more he blinks, the more features he can make out on these foreign people's faces. He can count four bodies in total, all crammed inside the tiny bunker alongside him, and none offer him any sort of consolation.
The man who'd last spoken is far closer than the rest, crouching a mere few feet away from the cot Nick is spread out upon. If he wasn't so drained of all his senses, he might think about punching him in the face to prove his existence.
"Look, we're not animals." The woman's voice breaks through again, urgent and unwavering as she looks between the faces of her comrades. "We can't rob him and leave him to die."
Nick can't grasp why anyone would bother to care about him or his wellbeing, most especially in his obvious state of peril. He's not sure he'd be able to walk out of here if he wanted to, and he's undoubtedly not willing to let them carry him.
His life isn't worth that kind of trouble anymore; he's not sure if it ever was.
The man in front of him heaves a great sigh, a look of conflict passing across his features before he takes on his previous overall expression of stoicness. He stands tall, and looks back towards the rest.
"Pack up what you can. Food, water, medical supplies, we can use it all."
The woman steps forward in an instant. "And what about-"
He doesn't give her a chance to finish, raising a hand that silences her on what seems like a reflex. He casts a solemn look towards Nick, who does his best to glare back. Though his vision has since become blurry again, not by delusion, but rather a sudden creeping feeling of exhaustion he can't seem to fight against. He feels himself slipping into unconsciousness faster than he can process.
Nick fails to hear the man's next response as he slumps against the battered mattress, nor does he get the chance to verbalize his desire to be left behind. He'd rather die here than be taken away by these people, the fight to persevere sucked clean from his tired bones. He's been through too much, can no longer stand to go on living after everything that's repeatedly shot him down.
His body reduced to ash, his mind a barren wasteland of pain and misery, the bunker which had originally offered him sanctuary has morphed into the tomb where he's content to lay forever. There's nothing peaceful about it, yet shall become his salvation if it means he'll never have to walk this unforgiving earth ever again.
Voices swarm around him, and as his mind gives way to darkness once again, he doesn't feel himself being lifted from his grave.
chapter song: echo - jason walker.
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