I felt so bad about leaving it so long last time I worked hard to bring you a quick update this time! Yaaay!
It's getting dramatic now! And remember when I said this fic was either gonna stay canon or go AU? Well, that turning point is next chapter, and I have not decided yet xD what happens happens, I guess! Will try not to leave you hanging too long- and I hope I don't disappoint you with whatever I do! If it turns out that I stick to canon and this whole fic basically ends up being a detailed series 2 write-up I apologise, and promise there will be more original stuff in the sequel xD
Enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: In The Flesh and all it's characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC3. Song lyrics belong to the lovely Gabrielle Aplin. Direct quotes taken from the show belong to the original writers, I make no profit from this story and write it purely out of love for the series! :3
"There's a ghost upon the moor tonight
Now it's in our house
When you walked into the room just then
It's like the sun came out."
-'The Start of Time', Gabrielle Aplin
"For He so loved the world that he gave His one and only son…" Simon murmured, the familiar verse gliding as smoothly from his tongue as the knife into his pocket.
The sun had risen, the birds had sung, and Simon had not slept a second all night. Instead he had lain face-up, staring blankly at the ceiling as a thousand thoughts vied for attention. He had done his best to banish each from his mind as soon as it made itself known. He had one job now, and it was really very simple when he cut out the extra variables.
The First Risen must be destroyed.
Best not to think about the First Risen himself. Just think about the knife and where it needs to go.
He stood up, watching himself carefully in the mirror. The suit that had been to the grave and back covered his scarred flesh and obscured the blade from view- in many ways, a perfect disguise. All he needed now was the mask to match- which meant no doubts, no second guesses. When the blade bites deep his face cannot show a split second of remorse. Everything relied on his job today. Everything he'd worked for.
The hall was empty, but he could hear the voices form the living room. Everyone had gathered, everyone was ready. Today was the single most important day of their second lives, after all.
But he paused on his way, knocking gently on Amy's door. "Amy, can I talk to you?" he called. No answer. "Amy?"
He pushed the door open, it yielded with no resistance. The room was empty, the bed perfectly made and the curtains wide open. No one had been there all night. He frowned, pulling the door shut behind him. Maybe she'd gone to see Kieren.
Kieren.
He closed his eyes and shook his head, hand resting over the knife again. No, not Kieren. The First Risen. That's all he was, his only purpose.
As he went into the living room (the name more ironic than ever before with the half a dozen zombies gathered in its centre) and spoke to his followers with words put into his mouth by the Prophet, he wondered why he'd even gone to look for Amy. He didn't want her there, not when he had to… No, she wasn't going to find out about this. Not now, at least. Maybe once the job was done. When he does what he has to do, he'll probably appreciate a punch in the mouth (or worse). He'll deserve it.
As he sent the others on their way and started walking the lonely road to the Walker house, he considered the far more likely possibility that he'd wanted to see Amy that she might find out what he was planning and talk him out of it. If anyone was going to change his mind, it was Amy Dyer. Woman could draw blood from a stone.
No. It was good she wasn't there. He couldn't have distractions, or objections. What had to be done had to be done, no way around it other than to just grit his teeth and get through.
It was for the greater good.
Kieren would understand.
…Wouldn't he?
Nope, that's doubt again. No time for that.
The walk to the house took less time than he was expecting. Before he knew it he was across the road, considering how he was going to do this. The Prophet would probably tell him to bring Kieren to the graveyard with the others, let them bear witness to the sacrifice that would bring about their salvation. But when he considered tricking Kieren, misleading him or dragging him away by force his stomach turned. If he had to die, the least he could do was let him do it with dignity, without fear.
But he wondered if he could really do it any other way. Could he knock on Kieren's door right now, greet him with kind words and soft touches like that last morning, stroke his hair and kiss his neck and plunge the knife into the base of his skull as he's gasping? He could see it now, black blood trickling down his back, kiss-wet lips parted in horror and confusion, those eyes searching his for answers even as the light faded from them. The last thing he'll feel is betrayal, the last thing he'll see is Simon's face as he pleads for forgiveness.
He closed his eyes. He had to lean against the wall a moment, his fingers twitching and tapping the stone in rapid staccato bursts. Too vivid. Tone it down.
No matter what he did- whether Kieren met his end in the open air or the quiet of his bedroom- the outcome would always be the same. He would die with pain and betrayal in his eyes, and Simon would be left whispering raw confessions to his twice-dead corpse. Though he knew of the beautiful spectacle outside at the start of the Second Rising, he knew he would not look away from Kieren's face for a second.
He would never be able to look Amy in the eye again.
He'd never be able to look himself again- he remembered Kieren telling him about the towels he hung over the mirror to avoid meeting his own gaze. Simon would no doubt carry on the tradition.
But it had to be done.
When he got to the corner he saw the jeep. He knew that thing a mile off. Remembered Kieren telling him about the night he'd seen Freddie tossed into the back like a sack of potatoes, trussed up and stomped down. He could see the ropes and chains in there now. Gary.
He was just processing the information when the door to the house swung open, and Kieren emerged.
His heart involuntarily lifted as he saw his strawberry-blonde head come into view, but the feeling was short-lived. Firstly came the abrupt mental reminder of what he had to do, what this whole fucking mission had been building up to.
Then came Gary, pushing Kieren roughly out onto the driveway. It was only as Kieren stumbled unsteadily on the tarmac and nearly fell over that Simon realised his hands were tied.
His black blood boiled in his veins- partly from rage at Gary for doing it, partly from shame at the knowledge that he'd been considering doing something similar. Even from across the street he could hear Kieren's grunts and hisses as he fought desperately back against Gary's iron grip. He fought all the way to the jeep, and didn't stop for a second as the brute manhandled him into the backseat and slammed the door behind him.
As he heard the engine rev and saw the jeep pull away from the curb, his mind raced.
Perhaps this was a chance to get out. Be free of his mission. Chances were whatever Gary had planned, without help Kieren would be dead within the hour- Gary was not known for being merciful to 'rotters'.
But there was no guarantee. And if he missed his deadline the Rising wouldn't happen.
No. It had to be him. There was no other way.
At least if he did it, he could make it quick…
"Fuck…" he muttered, hand hovering at the knife in his pocket. It had to be done.
So he ran.
He's hungry. So hungry…
There's blood here. He can smell it. He can hear heartbeats- beating so fast, racing from fear. They call to him. He pictures plunging his nails in, feeling the blood spurt from between his fingers, coating his hands and arms like war paint. He can already see it. Smell it. Taste it…
He's so hungry…
"Kieren?"
He knows the sound. It's quiet, it's fragile, it barely seeps through the red haze of hunger, but it's there and he knows it. So familiar…
"Why, son?"
He turns his head to the noise- it calls him, attracts his attention, he needs to see the source. A shape comes slowly into focus. Pale. Wrinkled. Old. Scared. Coming closer, so slowly…
"Can you 'ear me, son?"
There's another voice, higher and more urgent, but he ignores it. His attention is fixed on the one that tries to speak to him. Tries to…
He shakes his head, tries to shake away the buzzing and the pain, shake away the bloodlust so he can just think for a second…
…Think?
Simon can't take his eyes off him. Kieren Walker, rabid as the day he rose. There's something beautiful about it- something primal, brutal. He sees the bloodlust in his eyes and it's more powerful than he'd ever expected. God, the First risen could not have been anyone else.
But no matter how many sermons, how many verses and teachings he goes over in his head, he can't make the scene before him make sense. He looks at Kieren, staggering on animalistic impulse to the sound and smell of pumping blood, and thinks that he should be the most beautiful creature in existence. That's what he was told- that in their natural state, unshackled by the living and the drugs they poisoned them with, they were beautiful.
It isn't beautiful. Well, maybe it is, but it's nothing compared to what Simon has seen. He's seen those pale eyes alight with intelligence and understanding and passion. He's seen those slack, black-stained lips curved into frowns and smiles and cocky, irresistible little smirks. This is nothing- this is just a puppet on a string.
It's better this way. Easier. When he plunges the knife into his skull it won't be Kieren. It'll be a creature, wearing Kieren's skin like a disguise, a flimsy mask barely covering the beast within. It'll be less like sacrificing the innocent maiden, and more like slaying the dragon.
Kieren isn't in there. There's nothing of his Kieren left.
Steve is trying to reach him. Trying to talk him down. It's pointless- Blue Oblivion is as brutal as it is unshakable. Simon saw from a distance as Gary emptied the entire contents of the bottle into Kieren's neck- there was no coming back from that kind of dose. His Kieren is dead, all that's left is the monster in his skin. But he respects Steve's hope, his solidarity- he wonders if his mother would have survived if it had been a trait his own father possessed. Wonders if maybe he did possess it, and that was why she was gone. Perhaps he should have just killed him when he'd had the chance.
His eyes flicker to the clock. He sees Steve advancing, sees his rabid son shuffle ever closer. His grip tightens on the knife.
Maybe at least one life can be spared today.
"I've got to believe yeh can 'ear me, Kier…"
He shakes his head, he closes his eyes, he slumps forward as a tiny voice in his head screams that he can hear him. That he's still here. That he isn't gone just yet.
God, he's so hungry…
"I know we 'aven't seen eye to eye, lately," the voice insists, and Kieren wants so desperately to just let it in. "But that doesn't mean I don't love yer, no matter what yeh are…"
His eyes prickle. He thinks he wants to cry…
The smell is so close now. Blood and heat and fear. He can hear the heartbeat, pulsing so close he could just reach out and snatch it straight from the chest. The phantom memory of the taste lingers on his tongue- it tasted like warmth, like life. Life he doesn't have anymore. But he could have it again, just for a moment…
"I won't let 'em take yeh away," the voice is so quiet now, so scared and yet so hopeful.
Kieren's hands grip something. He anchors himself in it, raises his eyes to look into the face above the beating heart that calls to him with every thump. His whole body shakes with the effort of not diving forward, sinking his teeth in, cracking open the ribs and skull and feasting for the first time in so long…
"You're me son."
Something inside him wakes up. Looks out at the grey sky and the greyer hair of the man he clings to, kicks out, claws and fights its way to the surface. The little voice that screams 'I'm not gone'.
He fixes his gaze on that endless grey, uses it as a guiding light through the red haze.
Kicks, drags, claws, tears. He's not down.
Not yet.
Simon can't believe what he's seeing. Can't blink, can't look away from the spectacle for even a second because what he's witnessing is nothing short of a miracle.
Kieren's hands are on his father's chest, clutching his jacket, and he's so close now that he could just lunge forward and tear the flesh from his bones in a single bite.
But he doesn't lunge. Doesn't attack or even threaten Steve in any way.
His body shakes. His eyes flicker open and closed. A soft whimper escapes his lips.
He's fighting it.
Simon can't help but stare. He can't help but feel awed as he sees what must be a turning point in history. Even Kieren's baser instincts- the primal kill or be killed, hunt to survive genetics within him- even they can't break him. Can't shake the iron grip on his morals. The boy has more humanity inside him than anyone Simon's ever known, and it's fighting back with every ounce of strength in his body.
"I've found the First Risen."
Kieren meets his father's gaze, and there's clarity shining through his pearlescent eyes.
"You should see him…"
BONG!
His hand squeezes the knife.
"He's beautiful."
BONG!
The time is now. The clock is chiming. There's no time left to debate.
With an ache in his chest, he takes the first step forward.
BONG!
But something wraps around his neck, yanking him back, holding him still.
"Got yer," a voice mutters from behind him, a blade pressing into his neck.
BONG!
He's pinned, his head immobile.
Hands tied, face down, sobbing into the dark as he feels his body being lacerated, inspected like meat on a slab. He wants to curl up into a ball, hide away.
BONG!
He sees Kieren. Eyes clearing, mouth desperately trying to form words.
This is his last chance.
BONG!
A click. A gun being loaded.
Cold fear runs up his open spine.
BONG!
It's as instinctual as breathing when he breaks from Gary's hold.
He doesn't even pay attention to the smack of his body hitting the ground.
BONG!
He looks to Kieren. Looks to Pearl. The knife is in his hand.
BONG!
No curling up. No hiding away.
BONG!
He runs.
The clock chimes, the blackbirds crow.
A gunshot rings through Roarton Valley.
"And the day is clear
My voice is just a whisper
Louder than the screams you hear
It's like the sun came out…"
Well, there it is.
Feedback is, as always, much appreciated, and I'll see you all next time- stay awesome, guys! X