Title: Lost

Summary: Those who lived past the crash of Ocean Flight 518 struggle to survive on the mysterious island. This isn't anything normal; this is fate vs. reason. [based off the hit TV show Lost

Disclaimer: Neither Lost nor One Tree Hill belongs to me. How sad.

Author's Note: I know I should be working on my other fanfic, but tada! Here is a my new story: Lost. This will not exactly follow the TV show, even though it is largely based on it. There will be similar themes and plots, but that's about it. Some of the character's have taken on some story lines from the show, and I tweaked everything to have it all come together. Flashbacks are in italics, and every chapter after the first will focus on a certain character. The last chapter(s) will be different. Enjoy! Read and Review, please. (:

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Lucas Scott is, in all senses, awake. He is aware (for the time being), and he, to his great misfortune, knows exactly what is going on. The surroundings that reside next to him are oh so real, and his capability to feel it all is accurate. The smell, the sound; it taunts him. He stirs, creating the illusion for himself that he is fine. His eyes are shut closed, and he is reluctant to open them. The longer he keeps them shut, the faster it will all go away? No. No, he knows that, but there is no harm in hoping for the impossible. Lucas is a smart man.

He is also, in all senses, a hero. He knows what has to be done.

His eyelids lift. They are hesitant, but he finds himself looking hungrily at everything around him; he can't get enough. Splashes of green, areas of potential darkness, fresh flow of oxygen. Something is poking him: a fugitive twig. Lucas gets up, slow with caution, and takes a step forward. In the second it takes to shift weight, he is immediately engulfed by the shrieks of hysterics. The hero complex in him sprints forward. His arms strike against hoards of trees and buses, and new cuts breathe through his skin. His old ones, obtained within the hour, are starting to bruise. He is hurt, and this makes him run faster. The horrific noises sound louder against the stalks of trees, and Lucas pushes himself out of the jungle. The previous scene of nourished green opens up to an ocean view. Clear blue waters rush up against the island of smooth sand, yet the beautiful picture of a beach is broken by a perfect disaster. Oceanic Flight 518 lays defeated in front of him, and Lucas is in engulfed with catastrophe. The plane was torn into pieces; the pride it once held degraded into a tragedy. People are scattered like ants, half of them running around in a craze, the other half have given up. People are crying out for help, and Lucas darts around frantically, unsure what to fix first.

He runs to an elderly man, bald and frustrated, and he dismisses Lucas with harshness. The hero backs away in reluctance, and his eyes glance to a hazel pair. She is beautiful, with dark hair and mysterious eyes, and she is screaming in horror. No physical pain is present, but Lucas rushes to her anyways. He doesn't make it though; he is accidently slammed against a man older than him, madly dashing through throngs of chaos. "Jenny! Jenny, where are you? Jenny!" is all he repeats, and he does not notice Lucas during his search. As Lucas gets up from the crash, he locks gazes with a man with bone structure strangely similar to his own. He is standing alone, his eyes transfixed on his legs. Lucas is ready to inquire the man if he needs assistance, but his help is being sought somewhere else. A woman his age, clearly pregnant, is struggling to get up, and the sound of creaking metal sings above her. Lucas is quick to action, and he yells for the man who is stilling standing.

"It's going to fall on her!" Lucas screams out. The man, with an athletic build and dark hair, stares for a moment, looking from his legs to the Lucas. He abruptly runs after him, and together, they sling the pregnant woman's arms over their shoulders and rush her out of this potential disaster. "Watch over her, please." Lucas instructs the fellow rescuer. The man gives him a look, as if agitated by being given a command, but he does not budge. Lucas pushes himself up once more, running to devastation to devastation.

He is in the middle of splashing a visibly unconscious redheaded woman's face with water, when he notices a man staring at him. Lucas looks up from the woman, still dabbing her face with his t-shirt, and comes face to face with an aged man. He is watching Lucas with both curiosity and irony, and Lucas looks away from the intensity of the gaze.

People are crying, yelling for mercy. Every five minutes or so, he listens in despair as people scream of another death. The former passengers were dropping like flies, and Lucas muses sadly if the pregnant woman is still alive. He prays in all that is good that this calamity of a story is not real, and Oceanic Flight 518 is actually sailing the skies in perfect conditions. However, Lucas is too acquainted with his fantasies and their failure to come true.

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A man with a rather high volume of hair has his back against a part of the plane, an unlit cigarette tucked in his mouth. His annoyance is contagious, and he pushes himself away from the destroyed aircraft, passing by the pregnant woman, whose unruly long hair cascades down her back and a protective hand rests on her belly. He eyes her for a moment before moving away from the crowd. A small man with large lips stacks airplane food into piles, instructed to do so by the man who was saving the survivors. He hands a packet of peanuts to an older man with dark hair and dark eyes. He is sitting quietly on the beach and declines the food without a second thought. The man, dejected, moves on to a guy more his age, who looks very similar to the older man sitting down. He doesn't notice the offer of food, too busy checking his cell phone for service. No luck. A young woman with curly blonde locks passes by the group, a sharpie held steadily in her hands. She is drawing art on her wrist; it looks as real as a tattoo. As she moves along the edge of the beach, her shoulder accidently collides with a woman with black hair and a scowl on her face. She hisses at the blonde, who, in turn, rolls her eyes, and the woman with dark hair grabs the hand of her child, pulling her closer to the jungle.

Lucas watches all of this in the solidarity of the island, covered by a spot of shade. He is alone now, no longer rummaging through the wreckage for someone to save. The panic has subsided into an inner battle, and there was no more screaming. Lucas rests against the stump of a tree, breathing heavily. It is only a matter of time before panic rises again, and he sits in peace until it does.

"Can you help me?" He is startled by the sudden noise addressed to him. Lucas glances at the source; it is the girl from earlier, the one screaming bloody murder.

"What's wrong?" Lucas asks, resting his arm atop his raised knee.

The girl bites her bottom lip cautiously, and then begins to peel up the bottom of her shirt. Lucas stares in uncertainty, and he finds his cheeks a bit hot. She laughs, sounding almost pained to do so, and releases her grip. "I'm not going to flash you, handsome." Her voice is hoarse, and her dimples shine through her skin. Lucas smiles sheepishly, and the girl continues to peel her top above her abdomen. Lucas winces at the gash below her chest, and she grimaces at the exposure.

"Do you have some thread? A needle?" Lucas questions her, providing a supportive smile. She nods confidently, handing him one of those sample sewing kit that they give out at expensive hotels. It's slightly broken, and she gazes at it with a small hint of shame, and Lucas knows that the kit isn't hers. "This won't be pretty," he warns her as he stands up, but she smiles at him mischievously, unafraid of the unexpected. However, a series of wounded groans follow, and they forget to exchange names.

--------

Lucas is washing his hands in the ocean, kneeling on the grains of sand. He is rinsing the spots of blood from his fingers, thinking quietly about the girl he has just sewn up.

"Hey. You. What's your name?"

He switches his attention towards the man who asks the question. "Lucas," he mutters without hesitation; it's the first time he says his name out loud on the island and for some reason, it sounds weirder than normal.

"Lucas," the man addresses him. He is dark-skinned with a determined look to him, and his eyes reveal a past too deep for someone his age. "Come help me with the wood. It's getting late, and we should make a fire."

Ah. The wish to take a moment of rest escapes his grasp once more. Lucas nods and wipes his face with the shoulder of his sleeve. "Got it." He jumps on his feet, patting his hands on the sides of his jeans. "What's your name?"

He hesitates for a moment before announcing clearly, "Skills."

Lucas gives a friendly laugh, yet he finds it odd to be laughing in such a situation. "Is that your birth name?"

Skills shakes his head. "No offense man, but I don't trust anybody here with my real information." Lucas sighs, more sympathetic than offended. They both start to gather wood individually, absorbed by their own silent thoughts. The survivors around them are also quiet, mostly from fear of the unknown. They watch Lucas like a pack of wolves watches their leader, and he's not sure how to handle all of this. As he tosses another log of wood into the fire pit, he glances towards Skills direction. "You think they would be here by now."

"Who?" Skills asks vaguely, dumping a stack of wood. The flames flared wildly for a moment, then settled back to its previous state.

"Anyone." As the fire settles, so does the group. The rest of them crowds around it for warmth, and perhaps for their own sanity to reignite. Lucas feels the tension – mistrust, suspicion, and inquisition fills the spaces between person to person, and he wonders whether he should say something. He restrains, however, unsure what to say, and what he does say should be spoken as gently as possible. They are looking to him as their solution out of this problem, and Lucas curses himself. He never likes being the hero, but he finds himself unable to do anything else. He saves everyone before himself, even those who don't want to be saved, and that little fact makes him the silent head of the gang.

Finally, the curly blonde girl with a black sweater offers her voice. "So, how did this exactly happen?"

Lucas feels the eyes on him. This is what he gets for trying to rescue everyone. "Well," he begins gingerly, staring at the group. He does a quick check to see how many of them are crying; he loses count. "It could have been the turbulence. Something hit an air pocket, maybe. We were about 40,000 feet in the air, or that's what they said, and we could have dropped about 200 feet or so."

"I don't care how we fell. I want to know why we haven't been rescued yet." A man states loudly, almost accusing Lucas. It was the same man who helped the pregnant woman out of the clutches of a falling wing from the plane.

Lucas looks defeated. Before he can respond, another man responds. "Calm down, Nathan. You should be thankful –"

"No, you're right. This is terrific, dad." Nathan and his father scold heatedly at each other, and Lucas realizes that the father was the same guy who was staring at him during the crash and who was later gazing peacefully out into the ocean. "I'm freaking ecstatic."

"He's right. Maybe if we all just calmed down," Lucas begins.

"So we're just going to sit around and wait for someone to rescue us?" The redheaded girl frowns. He had helped her earlier, and Lucas feels slightly betrayed to have her point a finger on him.

"Wonderful, we're stuck with a bunch of morons," a raven haired woman with strong physical features retorts sharply. A young girl, no older than 10, flinches at her mother's severe choice of words, and she is pulled closer to her father.

"Nicki, don't." A tired looking man states warningly, but his wife dismisses him. He pulls the little girl away from her mother, and they abruptly explode into an argument. It is the same man who was earlier calling out for Jenny, and Lucas now knows that it wasn't his wife who he was desperately searching for.

"Here's the thing. Why don't you all call me when someone is actually here for us, rather than having squinty over here trying to be chief." He nods a head towards Lucas. "How about that? Well, I think that sounds mighty good to the Keller," the man with large hair and the unlit cigarette comments easily before backing away from the group, winking at a brunette- the brunette Lucas stitched. She rolls her eyes, folding her arms across her chest, and returns herself back to Lucas.

"Why don't you be a man and actually help?" Skills mutters darkly, walking dangerously up towards 'Keller.'

"Hey, come on!" Lucas calls out to them, hurrying himself in front of Skills, eager to prevent any kind of scene. Another guy follows him, ready to aid Lucas' help. 'Keller' scoffs in disgust.

"Screw off, pipsqueak." He intimidates the guy; he was the one passing out food earlier. He cringes slightly at possible threat, and he is moving away slowly.

"Hey! Don't speak to him like that, asshole!" The return of the brunette. She is walking up to him, her eyes flickering dangerously.

"Feisty," Keller grins, and Lucas holds her back.

The whole crowd suddenly breaks out into arguments. Lucas can hear a brother and sister disputing animatedly and a couple in a quarrel about something he cannot understand. He goes to do what he does best – being the superman protagonist. He races from dilemma to dilemma, trying to help resolve the matters that are destroying set bonds.

"Okay, fighting, seriously?" A few heads turn towards the source of the voice. The pregnant woman is standing, her hand affectionately rubbing her belly. Lucas wonders how she, of all people, is still carrying her good sense. He listens in admiration. "We just crashed on a plane. We were meant to go from the US to Australia, and now we're stranded on this island in God knows where with God knows who. Wouldn't it be just a little wise to focus on how to get out of here, rather than beating the crap out of each other? Arguing is going to do nothing but work against saving ourselves. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm leaning towards getting back home. So just stop yelling at each other and let's find a way to get back to normal." There is some silence, and Lucas smiles at her in thanks. She smiles back, her hand still stroking her stomach.

"Do none of you idiots know anything about aviation or aeronautics?" The elderly bald man shouts at the group. He does not seem bothered by his raised level in voice; he must be used to it, Lucas considers.

"What do you know old man?" Nathan raises a brow, and the pregnant woman hushes him.

"You have to find the damn cockpit. If it's intact, you look for the transceiver to send out a signal for a rescue party. The transceiver looks like a complicated walkie-talkie. This generation is filled with goddamn idiots."

The curly blonde laughs, and Lucas laughs with her. "All right, so we go to the cockpit."

The old man nodded. "You go to the cockpit."

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The next morning was brutal. Realization begins to hit everyone in the face, and it is only now that they understand the impact of what has happened. Lucas prepares his walk back towards the torn plane, trying to comfort as many people along the way. He feels obligated to do so, and it is tiring him.

"You're going off to the cockpit, right?" Lucas turns, facing Nathan. He looks rather peeved as he scans Lucas, his arms folded.

"Yeah," Lucas confirms and continues to walk.

"I'm going with you," Nathan states, striding to his side.

"Look, man, I'm fine. It won't take long."

"I didn't ask how long it was going to take. I'm going."

Lucas furrows his brows, but does not object. However, the pair does not make it very far before being interrupted again.

"If he can go, I'm going too." The blonde girl stands behind them, and a small smirk etches her face.

"No," Lucas shakes his head, feeling the situation becoming ridiculous. "This is a one person job. You guys can be putting yourself –"

"You can keep talking, but I'm going either way." She crushes him with her statement, and Lucas tries to hide his amused grin.

"Fine, then."

"Okay."

"Can we go?" Nathan demands, impatience building in his chest. He seems eager to stretch out his legs. The trio walks in silence for awhile, taking in the scenery. If their situation wasn't so tragic, Lucas would have enjoyed the sight of such an exotic beach and mysterious jungle. The reality was so unpleasant in comparison.

"I'm Peyton, by the way," she states out loud. She squints through one eye at them, greeting her fellow survivors as if the whole thing was so casual. She seems so at ease.

"Nathan," the other guy brushes off, indifferent about the exchange of information.

"I'm Lucas," he confirms.

"I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are."

Lucas laughs. "I don't know what to make of that."

"They think you're going to save them."

Nathan laughs bitterly, and Lucas frowns. His hero complex haunts him wherever he goes.

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They are back at camp, and to his lack of surprise, another fight has gone ablaze. Another predication: it's between Skills and Keller.

"Yeah, blame it on the black man!"

"Chris Keller isn't dumb. I know what I saw."

"'Chris Keller isn't dumb,' what the hell are you talking about man! You refer to yourself in third person!"

"Well I didn't blow up the plane." Skills punches the grin off of Chris' face, and Lucas and Nathan dart between them, grabbing each man away from each other.

"Stop it, guys!" Everyone seems to settle for a moment, and the two men release their grips on the fighters. Lucas sighs, rubbing his forehead in frustration. "Good news and bad news. We found the transceiver, but it's not working."

Peyton emerges from the crowd and waves it in the air. The redhead girl rolls her eyes. "It looks like a toy."

"Well that toy is going to save our asses. Now, I don't know how to fix it. Does anybody else know?" He looks hopefully towards the old man, but someone else answers his call.

"I might," Skills stated, still breathing heavily from the fight.

"Perfect. Why not trust him?" Chris snapped loudly.

"Hey, he's offering his help. We all want to get off this island, so why don't we show each other a little respect?" The small guy Chris had already threatened spoke up.

"Shut up, Tiny Tim."

"Give it a rest," Lucas shushes, giving Chris a warning look. Chris stares him off, but back away from the group and returns towards the far side of the beach. Lucas sighs and glances towards Skills and Mouth. "Some people just have problems. You know what's wrong with it?"

Skills sighs, rotating the transceiver in his hands. By this time, everyone has wandered off, each concerned with their own problems. "It's dual-band military spec. Chances are the battery is good, but the radio is dead."

"Can you fix it?" Lucas inquires.

"Maybe. It might take me awhile, no promises."

Lucas nods in appreciation. He turns to leave, but is bother by something. Glancing back at Skills, he wonders out loud, "How do you know all this?"

Skills does not look at him. "I don't tell life stories, remember?"

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Lucas sits alone on the beach. It's nearly night time now, and he finds himself regularly checking in on Skills' progress. Skills, on the other hand, becomes regularly pissed every time Lucas draws near. It is one thing to watch a sunset at home, hidden by buildings and homes, but when nothing but water lies in front of you, Lucas forgets momentarily that he is stranded on an island with a gathering of skeptical strangers. The sky turns from light blue to yellow to pink to red to purple, and now it is donning a navy blue. He thinks of his mother, and he prays she is safe. Learning that her son's plane has crashed will do no good for her in her condition. Troubled by his thoughts, Lucas focuses his mind at the day's end, and he lets himself be swallowed up by the dusk. He feels the presence of someone else sit beside him, yet he does not shift.

"I'm Brooke," the brunette states, and Lucas tries to smile at her greeting. It is the girl he slapped a stitch on earlier.

"Lucas." There is some collective silence as the two sit together, observing the waves wash up the shore, then down the shore. Lucas swears it's rising higher each time. He turns towards Brooke, who seems to be picking at her fingernails, and he notices something strong about her. "Have I seen you somewhere before?" he blurts out.

Brooke laughs her dimple-y laugh. "Probably." Lucas does not pry any further, because he has a feeling that Brooke would've elaborated if she wanted him to know. He is suddenly reminded of Skills' warning to not share life stories, so he keeps his a secret.

"You're lucky, you know. Not many guys get to see what's under my clothes on a first date." She pauses. "Well, at least, some of the time."

Lucas laughs and looks at the ground. "That was a date?"

"Date, sewing up some curtains, whatever." The two exchange smiles and leave it at that. It is wrong to joke around at a time like this. Why hasn't a rescue party come? It's been two days already; they couldn't be that hard to find. They were on course when the plane fell! Or were they? Was this all planned? Was it an accident? How far away were they from civilization? Someone should be looking for them. Anyone. Families of the survivors, the government, crew members. There has to be someone who is out there in the real world, doing everything in their power to save what Lucas could not.

"Nice to meet you, Lucas." Brooke has stood up, brushing the sand off her legs. She winks and smiles before she turns around towards the small guy with big lips, whom she addresses as "Mouth." He, in turn, stands up too, walking by the testy couple with a young girl. He avoids eye contact, not in the mood to get involved with another fight. As he continues his patrol around the beach, he feels almost guilty as he stares at nothing but the sand. He is not ready to answer questions or provide help again; Lucas does not know what is going on himself. Almost everyone is edgy, stressed by the slightest change, but as Lucas hikes up on higher ground, he notices the pregnant woman sitting by herself, singing sweetly to her stomach.

"You all right?" He can't help himself. She is calm, and perhaps he greets her to have that rub off on him. "No baby stuff going on?"

She gazes up at him and begins to respond positively, yet something forbids her to. "I haven't felt it kick since the plane ride," she admits.

Lucas knits his brows in worry. He knows nothing of babies or children, and he does not know how to respond. He reflects back on the protective father calling out for his Jenny, but he does not want to bring him into another hectic situation. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shakes her head rapidly. "No, no. It's probably a coincidence. I asked that guy to get me some water. I think his name was Nathan." Lucas has a hard time imagining someone like Nathan tending to a pregnant girl. "I'm Haley, by the way."

Lucas nods. "Lucas." She gives him a knowing smile. It reassures himself he is their distinguished leader, and he scratches the back of his neck in hesitation. "If you need anything, I'm here Haley." He leaves, and on the way, he passes by Nathan who has a water bottle in his hands. They get a glimpse at each other, but they do not acknowledge the other. Lucas continues walking back towards the shore to watch the sun go completely down, but before he reaches his destination, he suddenly hears the cries of Haley.

"He's kicking! Oh I just felt it, he's kicking!" Lucas takes a quick peek back to see Haley grabbing Nathan's hand and putting it on her belly. She is insisting and delightful as she rejoices the survival of her

baby. "He's moving around!" she laughs. "Oh, you felt that kick? His foot…" Nathan looks bewildered, but Lucas notices a small bit of relief on his face. He turns away from the two, not wanting to pester Haley's moment. He hears her voice one more time as he passes the fire: "I guess I think you're a he," she sings to her stomach.

Lucas sits back down on the sand and searches his body for anymore scars. There are plenty, but he is not determined enough to clean them all. He takes another glance at Skills who is still working on the transceiver, and Lucas decides it will be okay for him to sleep for the night. His mind drifts off to the airport, him as another passenger boarding onto Oceanic Flight 518 from Los Angeles to Sydney. Who would have known that in a few hours they would all crash, forcing themselves to survive in a mysterious island? It was something out of Lucas' hands. Something he could not slap a band-aid on and call it "fixed." This was reason vs. fate, and it would soon be time for the rest of the survivors to take their pick.

The plane wasn't full. People were boarding, each individual engulfed with their own issues. Haley James tried to push herself through a crowd, but no one gave way to the pregnant woman. She blew piece of hair out of her face as she forced her way through, a hand shielding her baby from any harm.

Brian "Whitey" Durham went to Haley's aid, helping her put her things up in the overhead compartment. He took his seat behind her and caught his breath. After a few moments, he grasped his wallet out of his back pocket. Flipping it open, he gazed at a picture of a young man and woman holding hands in the front holder. Whitey smiled sadly at as he read the back 'Camilla and Brian – 1962.'

Brooke Davis was walking up behind them, and her wrists were held close together, a dark cloth covering them from view. A US marshal walked cynically behind her, and Brooke stared into nothing, her face blank as the man seated her down near the window. He pulled off the cloth and released one handcuff from around her wrist and reattached it to her seat. Brooke didn't look at him as he did this.

Rachel Gatina looked around the plane in a provoked fashion as she made a quick stop at the bathroom before she took her seat. She stuffed something in her pocket before sitting down and wiped her nose of the evidence.

Chris Keller had his shades on as he tried to stuff his guitar case into the top compartment. He yelled at some attendants for some demanded assistance before hitting on them, and they thought they noticed him from somewhere, yet they couldn't put their finger from where. He cussed at them and proceeded to try and cram his guitar in, denting the sides of the leather case.

Antwon "Skills" Taylor boarded the plane late for having extra security check. He took his seat, and a man stared at him from across the way. Antwon stared back at him, and the man looked away, somewhat upset. Quietly bothered by this, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture from his pocket of a baby boy who looked quite similar to himself.

Jake and Nicki Jagielski were arguing. They were already seated with their daughter Jenny, who sat obediently in between them. Jake rubbed his face frustratingly into his hands and Nicki cussed at him. Jake stared stunned at his wife and told his daughter to switch seats with him, further away from her mother. Nicki watched Jake bitterly, and the couple stopped speaking to each other. Jake strapped on Jenny's seatbelt and handed her an inhaler. The little girl looked up at her dad both gratefully and frightened.

Peyton Sawyer appeared nervous as she hovered quietly towards her seat past the disputing family. No one seemed to notice her, and she appreciated that. When she sat down, she hastily rummaged through her bag, searching for something. A sharpie accidently spilled out of it, and she ran towards the floor to pick it up. She looked uneasy as some people saw her do so, and she swiftly returned to her seat, not making any more sudden movements.

Marvin "Mouth" McFadden was reading a magazine. Feeling a bit tired, he closed it up and put it down on his lap. It was then when he noticed the price tag; the magazine cost $0.99, but he paid $2.50. Frustrated, he tossed it aside before knocking down a bottle of juice he had bought. It consequently leaked all over his pants, and the red liquid almost looked like blood. Mouth groaned again as he noticed the price of the drink – it was $3.75, he paid $5.99.

Dan Scott was one of the first to board the plane with his son, Nathan Scott, who sat right next to him. The two were not talking. Nathan was reading a brochure for a sports medicine clinic, and Dan had his arms folded powerfully across his chest. As Nathan suddenly dropped the pamphlet, he tried to reach down and grab it, but it was too distant. He tried to push himself farther, but he couldn't get on his legs to do so. Dan had let out an aggravated sigh as he moved past his son to get it, but another man reached to it first.

Lucas Roe Scott grabbed a fallen brochure from the floor and gazed around the room for its owner. Nathan did a little wave of the wrist and snatched it with an annoyed look on his face. Lucas raised his eyebrows and turned back towards the opposite row, lifting up his baggage into the compartments. He glanced back and saw the man's father staring at him, and Lucas gave him a polite, meaningless smile. Dan Scott stared impassively at him for a moment before smiling back.

A voice overhead told them to take their seats; the pilots were ready to take off. The pleasant voice, a woman's voice, told them to get comfortable for it would be a long flight.