Warnings: Hmm, zombies, fairly graphic yuck descriptions, violence, gun violence, emetophobia (brief but there!), swearing, alcohol, and some suggestive content too! I don't actually consider this to be an M rating compared to other stuff I've read but I'm going to tag it just in case? Happy Halloween!
The sun was setting when they found the fair. It wasn't far off the beaten path, rotting privately in the hollow neck of the woods. The town was littered with slow-moving infected, but they were few and far between, moseying to the store and back with slack jaws and bleeding fingers. None of them had come into the woods. Their camp was safe as long as they didn't light a fire after dark, but even at the end of the world, safety wasn't something James Potter was overly concerned with.
"Don't even think about it," Regulus said.
James ignored him. Regulus should have been used to that by now, but it still aggravated him, how little James listened to his warnings. He hung back and peered over his shoulder, eyeing the dark trees uneasily. Nothing moved in them. No shadows or suspicious blurs of movement.
The infected could move fast when they wanted to.
"It's just a fair," James said. "It doesn't look like anything's been here in ages. Not even the undead. Coming?"
The fairground was wrapped in a border of metal fencing. The gate, which must have been where people queued to get in, judging by the dusty ticket stall, was closed. Iron gates were padlocked shut, and rust had grown since the last time they were opened.
"You can't know for sure whether it's empty," Regulus said. "The last time we thought it was safe somewhere, we ended up leaving half our camp behind."
Regulus had stayed pissed about that for a full week. An entire gas canister and half a month's worth of food down the drain. James was lucky he didn't chop him up and eat him then and there.
"Stop being so suspicious of everything!" James ducked forward before Regulus could grab his collar, laughing. "I'm going in whether you like it or not. You can either stay out here and be bored on your own, or come to the fair with me and have fun."
He found a tiny hole in the fence and hacked at it until it was big enough to crawl through. He crawled through it, dirt sticking to his ragged jeans. Not that it made a difference. Most of their clothes were flaked with dried blood and mud; the end of the world did not exactly allow room for prioritising hygiene.
"Mind the bags," he said, just as James popped out on the other side of the fence. "You've got glass in there."
"Aw, worried about me?"
"Worried you'll waste the last of our wine. None of the rides will even work," Regulus said, thoroughly exasperated already. "What do you plan on doing in there?"
"Get in here and find out." James flashed him a cheeky grin from behind the fence. "Want a balloon?"
"You can't be serious."
The cheeky grin only grew, dimpling at the corners.
"Of course you're serious," Regulus grumbled, ducking under the fence and crawling through with a beleaguered expression. James cheered right in his face, and he cringed back, slapping a hand over his mouth. "Shut up! Just because you've decided to be an idiot doesn't mean you have to be loud about it. Do you want every dark thing on this earth to find us?"
Every dark thing, James mouthed when he took the hand away, an incredulous look in his eyes.
"Stop it."
"You can just say zombies," James said. "Zombies, undead, big ol' people-eaters."
"Knowing our luck, you'll attract more than zombies."
"That's fair," James said, as he turned to survey the fair. "I am pretty irresistible."
Nature had done its best to reclaim the fairground. It must have been an impressive sight, once upon a time, but time had eaten away at it. All the rides were dark and still. A giant Ferris Wheel towered over everything, each rickety seat playing host to heaps of flowering vines. The faint scent of candyfloss still persisted, mixed with earth and blood. Regulus veered away from anything that looked like it might make noise, but James was not deterred by his hesitance.
"You know, if this was a date, you'd have to win me something," Regulus said, leaning back against the counter. "Since you're the one who asked me to come with you."
"I'm not sure you deserve anything," James said. "You didn't even want to come with me. Turned me down ruthlessly, over and over again. What kind of date are you?"
"Fine. I'll win you something."
James perked up. "Really?"
One good thing about an apocalyptic fair was that the games couldn't be rigged. Regulus slid into a perfect stance, a plastic gun held aloft. He set his sights on the tin fish lined up on spokes. The lack of power stopped them from swimming across the stall, but it didn't stop them from sinking. He knocked over all ten of them in quick succession; each little plink set his nerves alight, but lit him up with satisfaction.
"That's so fucking hot," James said, when the last bullet found its mark. He pretended to swoon, propping himself up on the counter. "All that practice shooting the dark things on this earth really paid off, huh?"
Regulus smirked, setting the plastic gun aside and patting his holster. "You've seen me with a gun countless times, and you choose now to be impressed? You're an imbecile."
"And you won me a toy, so I'd say you're a fan of imbeciles."
Only one in particular, but Regulus kept that little nugget of information to himself. He reached up and unhooked two pudgy soft toys from their plastic chandeliers. One was a dark purple elephant that had seen better days, and the other was a bear in a violent shade of orange. Regulus sighed, holding them out.
"Take your pick. But I know exactly which one you're going to choose."
James did pick the eyesore, just like he thought, but he also tucked the purple elephant inside his pocket. They were both in desperate need of a wash, but he didn't seem too put out by the musty smell or the dull glass eyes.
"Satisfied?" Regulus asked.
"Oh, absolutely. I finally have something to help keep me warm at night. You can't beat the company of a soft toy."
Regulus was almost ashamed to say that he felt a quick burst of jealousy. Over a teddy. He contemplated burning the soft toys to ashes, but James started laughing before the thought could fully complete itself.
"I'm kidding," James said. He bent down a little and pressed a lingering kiss to Regulus's mouth. "No one can replace you."
He dragged Regulus off to the next stall before he could respond. Which was a good thing, really, because Regulus was currently suffering from a buffering brain, and words were hard to come by. He used to pride himself on his cool exterior, his apathetic mask. James had stripped it all away the moment they stumbled on each other in a dirty parking lot, bruised and bloody and fighting for their lives.
"It's a shame the rides don't work anymore," James said, pausing outside the Ghost Train. The little carts were still on the track, webbed with dust. "I'd kill to see you be unresponsive and silent on a rollercoaster."
"You should be thankful the rides don't work. I'd shove you on the Ferris Wheel and leave you stranded at the top."
"Is that what I think it is?" James perked up, ignoring him completely. He made a beeline for the dark slip of space between the Ghost Train and the House of Mirrors, pulling Regulus along behind him.
"James," Regulus said, peering uncertainly down the makeshift alleyway. "We still need to be careful."
"Don't worry. You're safe because zombies eat brains, and you haven't got any."
"You didn't even know how to make a fire when we met."
"I don't see how that's relevant! It is what I think it is!"
They skidded to a halt beside a large box. It looked like a vending machine, but there was only one coin slot, and Regulus didn't want anything to come out of it.
"This is a health hazard," he muttered.
"You need to lighten up." James laughed, prodding the box. "Want to buy a fortune?"
The glass was smeared with soot and dirt, but the shrivelled head of a fortune teller was still visible through the grime. Both of its latex hands beckoned them forward, a coin displayed in its cupped palms.
"Not from that thing," Regulus said.
"C'mon," James wheedled. "You don't want to know what our future holds?"
He knew exactly what the future held. They would find a safe haven, a place where survivors had set up camp, and they would live out the rest of their days in relative peace or they would both eventually succumb to a virus that ate through the body and turned them into mindless, rotten creatures that stank of death. It wasn't a particularly pleasant thought. It kept him up at night. It kept him alert and wide awake when he was on watch. And he knew James felt it too. The tightness around his eyes told Regulus that he knew exactly what kind of future lay ahead of them.
"You said our future," Regulus said. "Not mine or yours."
James tipped his head. "Got a problem with that?"
"I never said that."
"And I guess I never said that we were staying together, but I thought it was a given." James crowded him against the wall, tucked in behind the fortune teller, close and warm. "I meant it when I said that no one could replace you. And I don't know if you've noticed, but it's kinda awful and evil out there. I'm not about to give up the one thing that makes it all worth it."
"That got very sappy very fast," Regulus said, but he wasn't complaining.
"It did, didn't it? I've got to combat your lack of emotion somehow."
"Idiot," Regulus said, and pulled him in for a kiss.
It wasn't sensible. They were in a dark and abandoned fair, pressed together near a grimy fortune teller's box. The world was ending and the sun was setting, reflecting off the rusted spires of towering rides.
"What is that?" Regulus murmured, trying to get the words out through desperate, deep kisses. "What's pressing—?"
"You have to ask?"
"Not that," Regulus snapped, giving him a little shove, though he couldn't help but grin. "It's your stupid soft toy."
The purple elephant was mashed against Regulus's hip. He snatched it up and moved to hide it in his bag. He heard James mutter definitely not soft and considered shoving him again, or pulling him closer so he could prove it. His heart thumped madly in his chest, and he felt dizzy with affection and something darker, something heady. The stupid soft toy wouldn't fit in his bag, and Regulus looked up to snap something, only to stutter and fall silent.
Over James's shoulder, a pair of eyes gleamed dully in the dark.
"Don't move," Regulus breathed.
James went still. Behind him, the undead thing shuffled forward, just an inch. It swayed like a sheaf of wheat in a breeze, limp and listless. Cracked, dry white paint still stained its slack face, but there were smudges of red all along its mouth and down its neck. It was still wearing its pinstriped costume. Bits of it fluttered and flared, torn the ballooned sleeves reduced to tatters. Rotten flesh peeked through the rips.
Where the red nose should have been, a chunk of its face had been torn clean off, as though someone had gouged at it.
"They're here," Regulus said. "Get ready to run."
The number one rule was not to run with guns, but that rule flew out of the window when it came to the apocalypse. Regulus slid it out of the holster, hidden underneath his jacket. James's eyes narrowed in on him, and his whole body went tense.
Regulus cocked the gun.
James whipped around, his hand flying to his pocket, one arm thrown over Regulus's chest. The undead moved fast when they wanted to. It surged out of the shadow of the building, mouth bared in a soundless snarl. Regulus aimed the gun over James's shoulder, and James ducked down, covering his ears.
The kickback sent them both reeling. The undead staggered, greenish fluid leaking from the bullet wound in its neck. It slowed, but didn't fall. James cursed, slinging an arm around Regulus's waist and shoving him down the alleyway.
"Was that a damn clown?" he demanded, as they took off, sprinting out of the dark. "A clown?"
"It was an undead clown, you absolute bastard!" Regulus shouted, firing another shot at the lurching, stumbling clown. "Because we don't have enough to worry about!"
"Just say zombies!" James shouted back.
"Fine!" Regulus spun on his heel and fired three more shots; the bullets seared through the clown's chest. "Don't bring your dates to a fairground crawling with fucking zombie clowns!"
The rides blurred around them. The sun had almost finished setting, and there was barely any light to see by. Shadows started to move, more figures dressed in attendant uniforms, handyman clothes; and, of course, clowns.
"Fucking clowns," James said, laughing desperately. "There!"
The fence loomed into view. The hole was low to the ground, and it would be a tight squeeze, especially in a rush. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw James slow down, as though he was waiting for Regulus to go first. Everything in him rebelled. He jerked to a stop and grabbed the back of James's collar, throwing him at the fence. James yelped, scrambling to get up, but Regulus pushed insistently at his back, hissing "Move, move, move!" in his ear until he got with the picture and started crawling forward.
Regulus turned and planted himself in front of the fence, taking aim in the dark. Bodies jerked and rippled as the bullets buried deep in their torn skin. His heart was pounding, but his hands were remarkably steady. The purple elephant was still clenched in his grip; he hadn't noticed, but the colour caught his eye briefly, mashed as it was against the gun.
"Regulus! Come through!"
He didn't waste any time. As more clowns sped across the fair towards him, he dropped to the ground and crawled through the hole in the fence. The soft toy was dragged through the dirt, its face crushed under his tight grip. He was almost out when a tight, unyielding grip circled his ankle, digging into the skin.
James gave a hoarse cry. Regulus dropped the gun and kicked out, trying frantically to yank himself free. They didn't know what passed on the germ, if it was through bites or blood, but the nails felt sharp and deadly, scraping against the edge of his sock.
"James!" Regulus croaked.
White-hot fear flooded him. He flattened himself against the ground, desperately searching for leverage.
The sound of the gun firing made him jerk. The grip loosened, and the gun fired again. He tore himself free, abandoning the soft toy in the dirt. James cursed, but the words were watery, as though they were coming from far away. Regulus hauled himself through, his chest heaving with fear and breathless panic, and frantic hands caught him, dragging him away from the fence.
"It's okay, it's okay," James said, stuttering on the words. "Let's go, come on. They're not following. You're fine, let's go."
And then they were running again, racing through the forest. It was pitch black by the time they finally stopped. Regulus's legs were trembling; his whole body was trembling. He wanted, desperately, to check his ankle, but he was terrified of what he might find. The moment they stopped, the moment the adrenaline fled enough to let them pause and take it all in, the gravity of it hit him. Regulus stumbled a few feet away.
"Regulus?" James asked, a little high-pitched, still panting from the run. "Reg, what…?"
Regulus bent over and retched.
"Oh." James's voice was soft, understanding. Again, it felt like it was coming from far away. Regulus barely heard what he was murmuring, but he felt the soothing circles rubbed against his back, and the way James swept his hair out of his eyes, smoothing a hand over his forehead.
James propped him up against a tree when he was done. The dirt was cool underneath him. He was still shaking, but it eased some as James handed him one of their water bottles. He helped him drink and spit, and then just drink, three fingers hovering under his chin.
"They stopped," James said, as he fumbled in the bag for something. "Why did they stop? They didn't go past the fence."
"I don't know," Regulus said hoarsely. "I don't care."
James looked up sharply. He must have seen the panic still lingering in his eyes, because he shuffled closer on his knees and pressed two kisses at the corner of his mouth. Gentle, chaste, but with an undertone of urgency. One after the other, like he couldn't stop at just one.
"Hey, it's fine," he said. "We don't have to think about it. We're not going back there, so we don't ever have to think about it again."
"What if—?"
"No," James said, placing a hand over his mouth. "Want me to look?"
Regulus peered at him over the offending hand. He didn't need to be babied, didn't need to be handled like glass. But he couldn't deny that he was afraid. His gaze flicked down to his ankle, hidden beneath ragged trouser hems. He nodded.
The hem rolled up easily. James was quick and efficient, checking every inch of skin.
"There's no wound," he said. "You've got grazes and bruises, but nothing recent. No blood. Nothing pierced the skin. You want me to clean it anyway?"
"Use everything we've got."
"Regulus…"
"James," he snapped. "I don't care what you have to use, just use it. I'm not taking any chances. Didn't you say you wanted our future to be spent together? It won't be a very long future if I change in the night and rip your throat out, will it?"
James's eyes softened. Regulus wasn't sure why, considering it hadn't exactly been a very romantic speech. But he didn't care what swayed him, as long as it swayed him.
"We ran out of ethanol, but I've got a tiny bit of the cheap disinfectant and some soap," James said, as he rifled through their cobbled-together first aid kit. "There's also the fancy wine that we stole, but I don't know if you want that all over your leg. Sugar's not great for bacteria, is it?"
He used a bit of the wine anyway, scrubbing Regulus's leg while he clawed himself out of another panic attack. Then he followed it up with the harsh bar of soap and a little more water, thrusting the bottle of wine at him. It was a miracle it hadn't broken in the bag, but then again, James took the handling and wrapping of luxuries very seriously. There was half a bar of milk chocolate tucked inside his last clean pair of socks.
"I'm not drinking that," Regulus said, pushing the bottle away.
"Just a sip," James insisted. "It'll help with the sick taste. Besides, you need to sleep tonight, and this'll help. I'm on watch."
"You think I can sleep after that?" Regulus demanded.
"You will if I'm on watch." James pressed it more firmly into his hands and went back to scrubbing. "I'm serious, Reg. Just drink and breathe, yeah?"
Regulus sipped it slowly, reluctantly. There wasn't enough wine to make him fuzzy, let alone send him to sleep, but it was clear that James was trying to inject a little normalcy into their evening. The camp still needed to be set up, and they needed to find some more water, to make sure they hadn't been followed.
Regulus would do it. He would get up and tend to his gun and put the bags away and make tripwires. He would make sure James wasn't hurt. He would wash his mouth out properly and make a plan for the morning. He would do it, and he would keep doing it until there wasn't a need anymore, because that was their future together, and it was worth fighting all the awful, dark, undead things in the world for.
But first he was going to drink some wine, pull James close to his chest, and shake.
[Word Count: 3,439]