Age of Heroes
Part twelve of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma
Disclaimer: I do not own, or pretend to own, Young Justice or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs to DC, Warner Brothers, and associated parties.
"There comes a point when you have to realize that the sum of all your blood, sweat, and tears will ultimately amount to zero."
~World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War, Max Brooks
It started with the storms.
It was mid-August by now, and while they had been forced to huddle inside some meager shelter for the occasional rainfall, the weather had been largely hot, sticky, and humid as they travelled. It was uncomfortable, but not unmanageable, as long as they stayed hydrated and didn't push themselves to the point of heatstroke (for Wally, anyway, since Connor was pretty much immune to the temperature). But almost five weeks into the journey, they were hit by a solid week of cold, wet, dreary weather, the kind that left a person wanting to be lazy and sleepy and hide indoors pre-Z-day and pretty much locked up all forms of movement after the apocalypse.
To make matters worse, the entire mess began with a massive thunderstorm that rushed up upon them almost out of nowhere, while they were caught out in the open. Both Superboy and Wally had seen the dark clouds rolling towards them on the horizon, and even without a pack of zeds on their heels they ran as if their lives depended on it. It hadn't done them much good, and they'd found themselves caught out in the icy downpour for nearly half an hour before they'd finally found some scattered suburbs and mostly abandoned houses they could use as potential shelter. They'd been forced to fight a few of the walking dead to get in—the streets were more populated than they would have liked, and if the circumstances hadn't been so desperate they would have avoided the area altogether.
The end result was that, by the time they were safely ensconced in somebody's second-floor bedroom with the stairs torn out and the walking dead now fully dead, they were soaked straight through to the bone. Their shelter wasn't the best, either; the windows had been shattered long ago, leaving the building drafty and cold, and parts of it had rotted, but it was the best they could get on such short notice. Connor was unaffected by the wind or the rain, but Wally shivered uncontrollably, even after he had changed into drier clothes, and they'd been forced to light a careful fire on the second floor, which inevitably attracted more zeds. The storm had cut into their planned foraging time too, meaning there was barely anything for dinner. It was a bad night, and Wally couldn't seem to get warm even when he was huddled as close as he could get to the fire and wrapped in all the blankets they had, or find sleep no matter how exhausted he was. It turned into a bad morning the next day too, when the weather remained dismal and they were still stuck indoors. The next four days were much the same, unnaturally cold for August and very dreary, barely giving them a few hours of travel time in between chilly drizzles and ear-shattering, blinding thunderstorms. Their already slow travel rate diminished to a snail's pace as they staggered forward bit by bit.
It made Wally miserable—he'd always hated the rain anyway, something about it just always killed his normally cheerful mood—but it got worse when he realized the situation was nastier than he'd originally realized. The cold and the wet, while little more than an inconvenience and an annoyance to Connor, were sapping Wally's strength. He couldn't seem to get warm anymore, no matter how much he huddled into his thick jacket that he'd traded for back at New Batcave. And between the weather, the lack of food and rest on top of grueling travel conditions, and the constant strain and tension of keeping an eye and an ear out for zeds, he realized he was steadily getting worse.
It was absolutely confirmed for him when the coughing started, part-way through the miserable week. At first he didn't think much of it, with the occasional cough here or there, but when he was still hacking a few hours later he began realizing he was actually getting sick. Still, it was just a cough, which was unfortunate but not the end of the world. The cold was just getting to him, that was all. It wasn't anything important, and he'd get over it just fine once the weather started warming up a little.
Superboy noticed it, inevitably—it would be hard not to, with his hearing—but when he asked if Wally was okay, with his normally grumpy expression drawing into a deeper frown of confusion, Wally brushed it off and insisted he was fine, just fine. Just a cough. Nothing special. Connor did not appear entirely convinced, but Wally knew he couldn't exactly argue, either. Supey'd never been sick after all, and Wally was well aware that medical information was not one of the things covered in that massive index of telepathically downloaded stuff in his head, meaning Connor was out of his depth on this one. Wally had never steered him wrong before, so he'd have to assume Wally was correct on this one, which let Wally bend the truth just a teensy bit. No point in worrying his companion, after all, not when Superboy already had to handle more than his fair share of their survival troubles on the road.
Wally did start to worry to himself, though, when a few more days passed and the coughing still hadn't gone away. In fact, it had gotten worse, with much deeper, dragging coughs and fits that came more often. Sometimes he felt like he was having a harder time breathing in between, too, like he couldn't get quite enough air. He kept his concerns to himself, but inwardly he was starting to panic, just a little. Getting sick while traveling through zed territory was bad. It had happened to him a few times before, and even though he'd been lucky enough to be close to major settlements and had been able to retreat for proper medical treatment, those times had still been pretty terrifying. And this was worse, far worse; they were still in no-man's land, barely across the state line into Indiana and still a good three hundred miles from the military base they were aiming for. At their current snail's pace they were still at least three weeks from reaching any sort of safe haven, and probably it would be even longer than that, with the number of zeds they'd seen since hitting central U.S. If he didn't start getting better soon, he was going to be in serious trouble. But without the proper medications or nutrition or a chance to rest safely for a long enough period of time, that probably wouldn't be happening any time soon.
Not good.
To Wally's immense frustration, despite trying to treat himself quietly with some aspirin from their first aid kit and being careful to drink as regularly as he could to stay hydrated, he found that his cough had still not retreated a few days later, even though the weather had shifted to becoming humid and sunny once again two days ago. Despite the newly returned heat he also found himself shivering in his jacket frequently. And it was getting harder and harder to push himself to keep up with even their usual slow traveling pace; he tired much faster than before, and sometimes by the end of a long march his legs all but collapsed underneath him, when they finally found shelter. He was getting worse, and he knew it.
More frustrating still was that by that point Superboy was really starting to catch on, and regarded Wally's continual insistences that he was totally fine, dude with more and more skepticism. "You don't sound right," the clone observed out loud once, with his usual bluntness. "Your breathing sounds...different. You look paler, but your core body temperature looks like it's risen." The way he was squinting hard at Wally implied he was using his infrared vision to confirm that last part. Crap—if he was right then Wally was developing a fever, too. Not good.
But out loud all he said was, "We've been walking a while, I'm tired, of course I'm breathing different. And it's hot out, so no wonder my temp's risen."
"They've never done that before."
"Have I ever told you it's kinda weird that you're checking me out to see how hot I am? I mean, don't get me wrong, I guess I'm flattered, but keep it up and I'm gonna start getting the wrong idea about you, y'know?"
Superboy scowled at him, but didn't pursue the topic further. Wally thanked his lucky stars he could run his mouth off as easily as he did even when he was perfectly healthy, and the deflection had done the trick—this time, at least. He hoped it would hold, although he could tell that Superboy kept glancing at him when he thought Wally wasn't looking, as if surreptitiously trying to check on Wally's progress and keep an eye on him without letting on that he was. Wally grit his teeth and tried hard to ignore it.
His deflection lasted another day, as he put near super-human effort into keeping himself moving despite being as drained as he was, choking his coughs down, and fighting back unnatural shivers in the late-August heat. Unfortunately for him, the arrival of yet another pack of zeds in the afternoon, the inevitable precursor to several hours of grueling running, dodging, and evading, finally exposed his secret in full to his traveling companion. They'd barely been pushing themselves for twenty minutes, it was broad daylight, and they were a comfortable distance from the zeds trailing them, with reasonable probability that they'd be able to ditch the walking dead safely before nightfall—in other words, superb conditions for this neck of the woods. So there was really no excuse for Wally to be breathing as hard as he was, especially when he'd proven he could run for hours with no trouble in the past. And there was no avoiding the way he crashed to the pavement and could not make his watery, weak limbs push himself up again.
Superboy actually jogged a good ten paces ahead before he even realized Wally was no longer behind him, and shot back to him with a frown on his face, which deepened when he caught sight of Wally's pretty terrible attempts to haul himself to his feet. The zeds were safely far enough back that Connor actually paused to cross his arms angrily over his chest and glare down at Wally as he stood over the fallen teen.
"Don't give me that look," Wally rasped at him, although speaking was difficult at this point, when breathing was practically impossible. "Just help me up or something, must've twisted my leg, I can manage from there—"
"You're a terrible liar," Superboy growled at him—it was that same warning tone he typically took right before smashing a zed's head to paste, or when sizing up a potential threat. Wally had never had it focused on him before, and his attempts to rise fell still in surprise. Before he could regain his voice, Connor hauled him up completely, carrying him the same way he did when he jump-ran them anywhere, and snapped, "I knew something was wrong with you!"
Wally tried to protest, but Superboy's glare was vicious—even scarier than that look Dick gave him when Wally was about to do something monumentally stupid, and Dick reportedly emulated the infamous Bat-glare remarkably well. So he snapped his mouth shut meekly, and didn't protest when Connor began running again, this time carrying him. He felt too tired and too weak to fight back anyway, and there was certainly no way he'd win out against Kryptonian strength. But that didn't stop him from feeling guilty any, as something dark and heavy rolled around in the pit of his stomach at the thought that he'd screwed up yet again, and Superboy was paying the price for it, forced to cover for both himself and Wally and risking himself in the process. As if he wasn't already enough of a burden as it was—now he was literally weighing Connor down!
The guilt only increased when Wally realized that, even without using Superboy's jump-runs—which were typically too loud to use unless they were desperate, by now—they were still moving at a remarkable pace, faster than usual. It only confirmed Connor always had been holding back on himself to keep pace with Wally. Connor outpaced the zeds with a speed so impressive it made Wally dizzy—or maybe that was just the illness manifesting. Either way his head was spinning when Connor set him down an hour and a half later, in a small town that the clone had clearly judged to be devoid of zeds. He staggered for a moment when his feet touched ground again, with Connor holding him steady by the shoulders until he could stand under his own power.
"You're sick," Superboy said flatly.
Wally was about to argue that he wasn't, but Superboy gave him that same I can break you in half and we both know it so you'd better tell the truth look, and he sighed. "Okay fine, I'm a little sick."
"You collapsed."
"I'm just tired! It's fine. I'll be fine." Another spectacular coughing fit arrived at the worse possible moment, completely destroying his argument as he bent over and valiantly attempted to hack up a full lung.
"You haven't been fine for days. You're getting worse," Connor said, sounding accusing, as he hovered nearby. He looked like he was preparing to catch Wally again if he collapsed after that fit.
"These just aren't very good conditions for getting better, okay?" Wally said, fighting to keep the defensiveness (and more hacking) out of his voice and substituting it for placating. Connor didn't like the unknown and he didn't like things he couldn't fight, and it tended to make him aggressive when he came up against them. It would be a bad idea to trigger that aggression, verbal or otherwise, so best to take a more honest route now. "I'll be fine when we get to the settlement. They should have better medicine there and we'll be able to rest. That's all I need."
Superboy did not look particularly appeased by this, but said, "Fine. Let's find something to eat and look for shelter."
"Supey, it's barely four in the afternoon," Wally said disbelievingly. "We can still push for another couple of hours before it starts getting darker."
But Connor shook his head, and said firmly, "No. This place is safe. We don't know if there will be safe places ahead, and you can't keep moving like this anyway today, especially if there are more packs of dead heads down the road. A run like that one we had before will definitely make you worse. And a siege won't help either."
Wally grit his teeth. Connor had a perfectly valid, practical point, and he could use the rest, and the food. It might even help his current condition. But it would also cut out valuable hours of travel time, and he didn't want to hold Connor up like this, not in the middle of no-man's land when they were getting closer to safety. That dark, twisting ball of guilt in his stomach grew a little more, but Connor clearly was not taking no for an answer and he was more stubborn than a bull when he dug in his heels, so finally Wally just nodded in agreement. "Okay."
Wally figured that giving in to Superboy's demands would be enough to placate him for the moment. But apparently it wasn't enough to ease Superboy's worries, because when they started scavenging in the town to look for something edible Supey decided to follow him. Normally in a location like this, deemed zed-free by Connor, they tended to split up—it was extremely difficult to find anything of use or value, these days, but splitting up usually increased their chances of finding enough to eat. They usually set up a meeting point and returned within a certain time. If for whatever reason they came across unexpected trouble, both were good enough to escape from it, and Supey was still within hearing distance if Wally got in over his head, so he could always call for help.
But this time Connor abandoned the practice entirely, and stayed within viewing distance of Wally the entire time as they hunted through buildings and the town outskirts for anything edible. And that was when Wally first started to realize that Connor was not just angry at him for attempting to conceal his illness, but worried about him too, and sticking close so he'd be able to help right away if he had to.
Wally wasn't really sure what to think about that. Part of him was relieved to have somebody there that actually cared about what happened to him, and very happy to know he had a freaking Kryptonian playing guardian angel, because pretty much nothing was more badass than Superboy at this point. The rest of him just felt guilty, awkward, and more than a little insulted at the prospect of needing a babysitter after figuring out how to survive on his own for over four years now.
Still, by the end of the scavenging session Wally supposed he couldn't really blame Superboy for hovering nearby, because he'd been pretty useless and spent most of his time coughing and wobbling around on exhausted legs and waiting for the world to stop spinning. In the rare instance that he found anything at all, Superboy was forced to actually collect it, because Wally found himself curiously uncoordinated, unable to break into cabinets, dig through shelves, or climb the apple tree in somebody's backyard for wild produce. By the time an hour had passed they'd managed to scrounge up enough food for the both of them, barely, and Superboy carried it while quietly keeping his free hand curled around Wally's upper arm, half leading and half holding him up as they made their way to a safe building that Connor had spotted.
Wally's head felt foggy and thick by that point; he was exhausted and still cold and his throat hurt from coughing too much, and he barely even noticed when Connor seized him around the chest long enough to leap them up on top of a fire escape. The door had been locked, but that was no deterrence to Connor, and soon the lock didn't exist anymore (nor did the doorknob). Wally idly found himself wondering about how breaking and entering had become so easy and whether or not they would have been master criminals if the world hadn't basically ended, and it took him a second to realize that he was laying on the floor; he hadn't even realized Connor put him down.
"You should eat something," Connor told him curtly, "And then you should rest." Wally blinked when he realized the clone was crouched in front of him, looking a little concerned. He'd also put some of the dried rations and one of the four good, non-rotting apples they'd found down in front of Wally, as well as his water bottle, and the smell was so heavenly Wally wasn't about to argue with that first part. He sat up, still a little dizzy, and began making his way through his share of tonight's scavenged meal, although not nearly as fast as he usually did. Connor sat across from him and quietly ate his own half, although he never took his eyes of Wally for a moment.
"Sleep," Connor repeated, when Wally had finished what passed for dinner.
But Wally shook his head. "No way," he muttered. He was exhausted, and his head felt muddled and slow because of it and the illness combined, but he wasn't about to be babied—or cut out of doing his half of the work. "My turn for first watch, 'member? You sleep first, Supey, you've been doing more today anyway."
"I'm not tired," Superboy countered.
"Well neither am I," Wally bluffed.
Connor snorted. "Liar," he shot back. "You can barely stay awake. I can hear you slowing down. And you're sick. I take first watch." And when Wally looked about to protest, he added, "I'll wake you later."
Wally grit his teeth at that, but Connor was being stubborn again, and it was hard to make him do anything he didn't want to even on a good day, which this was not. "Fine," he agreed finally, "But you'd really better wake me, okay? This is a joint effort."
"Sure," Connor said, and dug through one of the packs, pulling out both of the blankets and tossing them in Wally's direction. "Now sleep. I'll keep an ear out for zeds." Wally didn't argue further; he was already halfway gone as it was, and a little bit of rest would do him wonders. He dragged the blankets around himself (still not quite warm enough, and he shivered, but at least it was a little better) and slipped into a fitful sleep. It wasn't perfect, and he spent most of it tossing and turning, coughing, and shivering, but it had some effect, at least.
When he woke again he felt marginally better, his head was a bit clearer, and while he figured he wouldn't be running any marathons in the near future at least his limbs could support his own weight. Then he realized he was seeing the first smudges of light on the horizon as dawn approached, and turned to give Superboy an accusing stare. "You said you would wake me to swap watch!"
"I lied," Superboy said flatly, without a trace of regret. The lines under his eyes were a little darker than usual, but besides that he didn't look or sound all that different from before.
"You were supposed to switch with me!" Wally said in frustration, pausing long enough to cough again. "You need the rest too, Supey!"
"Tough. I didn't, and you need it more," Connor answered. He didn't even sound angry, which was the weirdest part; his eyes were narrowed, but he sounded more unyielding with a trace of concern than anything else.
"I'm not the one that has to get us out of tough spots—"
"Are we in a tough spot right now? No," Connor interrupted. "It's been zed-free all night. And when we are in tough spots, what do you tell me? We need me at the top of my game to escape. Well we need you at the top of your game too so you can make it to the base. I'm fine. And now you're looking a little better."
"Supey, really, you don't need to go and stay up all night on my account—"
"Yeah I do," Connor shot back, and now there was a little bit of anger in his tone. "I promised I'd look out for you, remember? You want me to explain to Dick that I let you run yourself to ground 'cause you were too stubborn to admit you were sick and had to take it easy? You know he'd never forgive either of us for that. Besides," he added, almost as an afterthought, "he's Batman's former protege, how much you want to bet he's still got Kryptonite hidden away somewhere? I'm not taking that bet."
His smirk at the end, and the grim half-hearted joke, was really not enough to deter Wally's concerns. He grit his teeth, and admitted grudgingly, "Yeah, I guess you're right. Sorry. I do feel a little better, at least." But inwardly he was becoming more and more frustrated with that stupid promise. He hoped Superboy didn't take it too seriously—he didn't want Superboy putting himself in danger or making himself sick, trying to protect a much weaker human. This was already bad enough.
The rest did help a little bit, at least—that much Wally hadn't lied about. He was able to keep going for another few hours without any assistance, despite Superboy watching him like a hawk. But by mid-afternoon he was starting to lag again, with his coughing fits growing worse once more, and his shivering increasing. Connor did not seem happy to see this; he'd probably been hoping a single night of rest would help more than it had. Wally hardly wanted to disappoint, but it was difficult to keep himself going independently. After a while he was forced to lean on Superboy for support as they walked, and he was barely on his feet at all by the time they reached another abandoned suburban complex in the late afternoon.
He hadn't even realized how badly he was holding onto awareness until he realized it was darker, and Superboy was carrying him up the stairs in somebody's abandoned house, and setting him down on one of the dusty but mostly intact beds still upstairs. He tried to ask what the hell was going on, but his coughing started up again, and it was difficult to breathe, so Connor told him to shut up for a moment. The clone set down their packs and vanished, and for one horrible moment Wally was actually pretty convinced the clone was finally abandoning him. But then he heard a lot of thudding and banging, and the floor shook slightly, and Wally registered rather distantly that Superboy was ripping out the stairs, making the second floor impossible to reach without jumping or climbing—things zeds didn't do.
The clone returned minutes later, and crouched down next to the mattress, pulling their blankets out of the packs again and tossing them over Wally's shivering form. "I'm gonna go scavenge," he told the sick teen. "I'll stay close, so if something happens, yell, okay? I'll hear it. Otherwise, just rest. I'll be back."
Wally blinked in surprise. "What?" he said intelligently, coughed hard, and then followed up with, "Wait, Supey, you shouldn't go by yourself, I'll come with you—"
"No way," Connor vetoed firmly, and when Wally attempted to roll out of the makeshift bed anyway and stumble to his feet, it was child's play for the super-strong clone to splay one hand out on Wally's chest and hold him down. "You're sick. Stay here. I'll know if you leave, and you know it. Rest. I'll find something for us to eat and be back."
Wally couldn't have argued if he tried; he could hardly talk without hacking by now, and it wasn't like he could compete with Connor's strength. He nodded tiredly and added, "Stay safe."
"Sure." And Connor was gone.
Wally hadn't even realized he'd dropped off to sleep until he felt himself being shaken awake. It was some time later, and he only knew that because the last vestiges of light were vanishing out the bedroom window. He blinked blearily, and could just barely make out Connor's face in the gloom, hovering over him.
"Need to eat," the clone said. "I didn't find much, but we've got some left over from yesterday too. Then you can go back to sleep."
"Need to watch," Wally muttered tiredly.
"No. You're sleeping."
"You can't stay up two nights in a row on top of all this," Wally protested, finding himself waking a little more at the thought. "It's not good for you either!"
"I know," Connor said. "I did a quick patrol around the area. This place is small, I haven't seen any signs of zeds recently, and it seems safe enough. I also gutted the bottom of this house and ripped out anything that would let zeds get up here, so it should be safe. Even if they do show up I'll hear them long before they get to us, and I can be up in time to keep watch. So we'll both rest tonight."
"I can keep watch—"
"No you can't. Now eat up." He left no room for argument, and Wally, in between muttering and coughing, downed his meager dinner and flopped back down on the mattress. Sleep came for him quickly again, and the last thing he was aware of was Connor stepping around the bed and settling down sitting upright near the window.
All he could think to that was huh...that sleeping standing up thing is coming in useful, after all. Then it was dark and he sunk down into another fitful but slightly relieving rest.
Travel after that fell into much the same pattern. Wally would wake up a little more refreshed than the previous day, and spent the first few hours of their journeying moving under his own power. But inevitably his strength would be sapped away before too long, and he would be forced to lean on Superboy for the support, or stop for rest breaks. When they were caught by zeds, still far too often for their tastes, Connor didn't even bother to ask anymore before scooping Wally up and bolting. Disgusted as he was to admit it, Wally had to agree it was the right choice—he just didn't have it in him to outrun even the walking dead anymore.
Connor would inevitably halt their progress long before dusk, usually whenever he found the first relatively safe structure to act as a shelter. He would modify until it was safe enough for him to leave Wally there to rest while he hunted down supplies and scouted the area for zombies. Sometimes he would come back looking grim but satisfied, which inevitably meant he had smashed in a few zed heads, and sometimes he'd return looking more concerned, collect Wally, and leave while the going was still good for the both of them. They'd find another shelter, rinse, and repeat. Sometimes if the place was relatively safe they'd both rest for the night; if it seemed more dangerous Connor would usually stay up to keep watch, for all Wally's protests to the contrary and insistences that he should help.
Wally hated every minute of it. Most of it was largely because being sick in general was miserable, and being sick during the apocalypse in no-man's land was infinitely more so. But there was more to it than that, because the longer the pattern held, the worse Wally felt in ways that had nothing at all to do with his illness. If he'd been useless before, he was absolutely dead weight now, sometimes even literally when Superboy was forced to carry him to their next destination or away from hunting zombies. He was too weak to participate in foraging and hunting and scavenging anymore, forcing Connor to leave him behind in relatively secure locations for longer and longer periods of time, as he struggled by himself to find the necessary food and supplies they required in a place that was already fairly barren of anything useful. That also cut into their travel time, when Connor had to do all the hunting and searching on his own, and Wally was already slowing them down simply by being sick and unable to move quickly, meaning they were barely moving at all by this point. And sometimes when the weather got worse—another day of storms, or passing rain-showers—they couldn't afford to move at all, because Wally would certainly get worse if exposed again to the rain and the cold. It meant they were locked up in a makeshift shelter for another day without moving, while the surrounding area had already been picked clean of anything useful.
And as if that wasn't horrifying enough, it had been like a super-powered punch to the gut when Wally discovered, five days after Connor confronted him about his illness, that sometimes the clone hadn't even been able to find enough food for the both of them, in which case he gave it all to Wally because Wally was sick and he wasn't. He neatly deflected Wally's frantic, cough-interspersed questions and accusations over the matter with unrepentant, unconcerned responses like "I'm not hungry" or "I already ate" or "I don't need it anyway." But Wally couldn't help but feel like he was stealing all the same, even if he had no choice in the matter.
The worst of it all was, for all of Connor's efforts, despite taking on all of their responsibilities and sacrificing some of his own needs in the process, Wally still wasn't getting better; he was certainly getting worse. His coughing increased, as did the shortness of breath when he wasn't, and lately when he tried to take deeper breaths there was a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest that left him aching and curling up on himself. His shaking increased, and he was nearly always chilly, but frequently found himself sweating at the same time. When asked, Superboy reported grimly that his body temperature appeared to have risen further, which meant that his fever had likely gotten worse. He sometimes got nasty headaches, which were only slightly relieved with the aspirin in the first aid kit. He was almost always tired now, even after resting for hours, and his strength drained away even faster than before when they had to start traveling again, to the point when Superboy was spending more and more time carrying him and less and less time just helping him walk.
Wally couldn't claim to be an expert on illnesses, but he had once been a huge science buff back in the day, and illness and medicine was just another aspect of biology and chemistry. When his mind was feeling less hazy and he was able to focus better, he tried to diagnose himself. He knew he'd gone far beyond just a common cold, but he wasn't showing flu symptoms either. Most of his current symptoms were suspiciously in line with pneumonia, which sent a chill that was not related at all to his fever up his spine when he finally realized it. If he was dealing with pneumonia, he was pretty sure he was screwed. Back before Z-day, simple cases could be easily treated with rest, regular fluids, simple analgesics, and oral antibiotics, while more dangerous cases would require hospitalization and stronger antibiotics, sometimes intravenously. Unfortunately for Wally, none of these things were available; rest and regular fluids were hard to come by when zeds were beating down your door every day, his aspirin was doing nothing at all for him, and antibiotics were frequently hard to get access to in fully established colonies, let alone in no-man's land. And pneumonia had been a notable killer even before Z-day, when people still had regular access to medications and hospitals.
For the first time Wally began to wonder if he was going to walk away from this at all. Statistically speaking his chances were extremely poor, which was not a comforting thought. But he kept his observations and thoughts to himself, at least for the moment, and tried his hardest to recover, resting when Superboy told him to, drinking often, and trying to reserve his strength for the journey. For all his guilt and frustration at causing Connor so much trouble, he very much did not want to die. He'd promised himself he was going to live through anything and everything until he found his family again, and he had a hint now, a goal that they were moving towards, and he couldn't give up on that, no matter how much it hurt to do so. So he held on with everything he had, struggled to keep going, to fight, to keep breathing for one more day with Superboy's help.
But two weeks after Superboy had cornered him about being ill, two weeks of slow travel and poor conditions and a steadily deteriorating body, Wally started to realize he was in deep trouble. They had been forced to skirt around the heavily infested Indianapolis, a detour that had taken a heavy toll on Wally's already badly weakened body, and they were still over one hundred and fifty miles out from the base they were making for, while barely making fifteen to twenty miles a day in travel time if they were lucky. He was trying, he really was, but it was too much strain for Wally to handle, apparently, because his condition fell still further. His appetite dropped significantly, and he could barely force himself to eat anything Superboy managed to find for them anymore, no matter how much the clone coaxed, insisted, and outright ordered him to do so. It was all he could do to force himself to keep drinking, now, which Wally knew was a very bad sign, because he had to stay hydrated to get through this.
Except, Wally was starting to realize with the dull, hazy mentality of somebody truly ill, he probably wasn't going to get through this, not anymore.
It was a painful realization to come to, but it was, unfortunately, the truth. Wally was an optimist, but he was also a born scientist, and he could add up the facts as well as anybody. They were miles away from any chance of any form of medical treatment, moving too slowly to make a difference, and he was falling apart too rapidly to hope to reach help in time. He didn't want to give up, he wanted to keep fighting hard to survive, because he had to get back to mom and dad and Aunt Iris and Uncle Barry, but he doubted he was going to make it that far. He already wouldn't have made it as far as he had, if not for Superboy.
And Superboy...Superboy was family too, no matter what the circumstances of their meeting were. Wally wanted to survive for him too, but the fact of the matter was, the harder he fought to hang on, the worse he made things for his adoptive brother. Connor was already doing too much to try and help him: running himself ragged to provide for a sick, useless kid, starving and depriving himself of rest in order to give those scraps of food and sleep to Wally, risking his life in solo fights against packs of zeds to try and make their campsites safer so there wouldn't be as much risk to his sick companion. It was a show of incredible loyalty and it was truly touching that the clone was fighting so hard for him, but it was also wrong. If he kept this up he was going to wear himself thin, exhaust himself, make a rookie mistake when he wasn't watching his back because he was watching Wally's. And when that happened he was going to get himself killed, all over Wally's dead weight.
And Wally was not okay with that. It should never have happened this way. He was the one that had promised to look out for Connor, back when he'd found him abandoned and blind to the world in that pod. He was the one that was supposed to reassure Connor, teach him the ropes, encourage his personal goals and help him reach them. He shouldn't be causing Connor this much grief, this much trouble, be this useless. Most of all, he didn't want Connor wasting his life, still so incredibly short and with so much potential in the future, on him, not when it was clear Wally was never even going to reach the end of the trip. Connor still had options, was strong enough to survive and carve a new place for himself in this world, and could do practically anything he wanted now with his skills and powers and survivalist knowledge; it was a crime to chain him to a corpse with an obligation and the very real risk of becoming a corpse himself. It was cruel and selfish and wrong to ask that of Connor at this point, not something a big brother should ever do.
And he still remembered his role as older brother, blood or not. Connor was still family, and as much as he wanted to find his parents and his aunt and uncle, he had to protect Connor too. At any cost.
He figured they'd understand. They'd be sad, but they'd understand, he was sure. And hey, they wouldn't fault him for at least trying, right? He'd done his best; it just wasn't enough. Now he had to act fast to protect the last family member he had close to him before he didn't have the option at all anymore. They'd get it. They would.
He tried the subtle approach first...as subtle as he could get when his head felt cloudy and talking—breathing—hurt. By now Wally had accepted the fact that he was not going to make it to help before he died, and had been perfectly aware of the very high probability for the past two days. But he'd yet to voice his thoughts to Connor, and he doubted the clone was on the same page as him. Connor knew he was sick, and badly enough to be concerned, but Wally didn't think he knew the extent of it, still. Which was why he knew he had to do something, break the chain before it was too late. Because he knew he was screwed, and for all his powers and skills Superboy couldn't ever hope to save him, but Connor would keep trying stubbornly, and Wally couldn't let him risk himself on a person already irreversibly marked for death.
So he tried to broach the subject one night, when Superboy had managed to find a four-story business building that was still pretty solid, enough that they could safely light a fire in one of the top floors without major risk of attracting zeds. Wally was curled as close to it as he could get without actually being in the fire, wrapped in everything they could possibly find to keep him warm, and yet he still couldn't banish the chill that felt like it stabbed down into his bones, and shivered hard. Connor watched him in concern after another failed attempt to get Wally to eat, refusing to touch the rations he'd set aside for the sick teen despite Wally's insistence that he not let it go to waste. It was the sight of the dark lines under Connor's eyes and the way his clothes hung on him more than they used to that finally prompted Wally to speak.
"I'm not...I'm not doing so good, Supey."
Connor frowned at him as the words prompted a new bout of coughing, and growled, "Stop talking, it makes you worse."
" 'm really sick," Wally said, ignoring the clone's orders. "Like...real sick."
"I noticed. Stop talking so you get better. Also, sleep."
"I don't think it's gonna help any..."
Something in his tone must have unsettled Superboy, because his eyes narrowed, and he said more ferociously, "It will if you'd actually try sleeping. Stop talking." There was an unvoiced but painfully loud like this tacked on to the end, and Wally was aware enough to realize Connor knew what he was getting at.
Wally fell silent for a few moments. Connor seemed to think he'd had enough of the discussion, and the tension was just starting to leave the clone's shoulders again, when Wally tried one more time, fighting to get the words out in between the coughs and sharp pains in his chest. "I...Supey...you know you don't...owe me anything, for getting you out of that pod...right?"
Connor frowned at him again, and cocked his head slightly in that way that Wally had long since learned meant he was listening to something no human would ever be able to hear. His expression shifted to something more concerned a moment later as Wally continued to try hacking his organs out, and he said softly, in the most reassuring tone he could manage, "Just get some rest, Wally. We can talk about this later. Just...just sleep."
Wally felt everything inside of himself go dull and numb at the answer. He knew a deflection when he heard it, and Connor hadn't answered his question at all. His worst fears were confirmed...Connor was going to stick with him, out of some sort of obligation to Wally reinforced by a stupid promise to Dick, even if it was for a pointless cause, even if it killed him. He couldn't let it happen, but subtle was clearly not going to cut it.
He had to get serious.
Wally knew what he had to do now, but with so little energy and with it so hard to focus, it was difficult to come up with how to do it. Still, he gave it a lot of careful thought, as much as he could when he wasn't coughing hard or focusing on breathing or putting one foot in front of another for the short amounts of time he could move under his own power. It would be difficult to get anything past Superboy with all his powers, which meant he had to do it carefully and right the first time, and he had to wait for just the right opportunity.
Fortunately for him—because Wally wasn't sure how much longer he could hold his strength together enough to wait for an opportunity—the chance came two days later, in the middle of another heavy storm. Superboy had been forced to retreat barely at noon when the downpour hit them out of nowhere, hauling Wally with him off the freeway at the first available exit into some town's industrial district. They hid away inside an old factory's second floor that Connor had deemed safe for the moment, waiting out the storm while Superboy dutifully built up a fire to dry Wally and try to get him warm again. But when the rain still hadn't passed hours later and the lightning still flashed and the thunder rolled in the distance, Connor was finally forced to admit they'd be spending the night in that town—which meant he had his usual share of work to do, to prepare it for their stay. He checked one last time to make sure Wally was as comfortable and safe as possible before heading out into the wet and the cold that he was impervious to for scavenging and a quick zed-check patrol.
And that was precisely the moment Wally had been waiting for.
He'd known he'd have to do this for days now, but the hardest part had been figuring out how to circumvent Connor's super-hearing, which he nearly always kept fine-tuned these days to listen for sounds of danger or distress back wherever he'd left Wally. Which was clever and all, except it also meant he could listen in if Wally tried to do anything stupid, and come back to put a stop to it—and Wally knew he wouldn't hesitate to do so, either, if he thought Wally was risking himself.
But the storm and the rain would interfere with his hearing, and hopefully give Wally just enough cover that he needed.
He hauled himself to his feet through sheer willpower more than anything else. Fortunately, the early retreat at noon meant Wally had been resting for a few hours already, so he'd been able to recover some of his pitifully limited strength back. It would be enough. Moving as quickly as he could, he shuffled through his pack, pulling out most of the supplies and leaving anything behind that Connor would need for travel in the future. He kept only a few things for himself—flashlight, his water bottle, one of the blankets, and the crowbar, because he knew he was going to be dead soon but he'd be damned if he was going to die by zombie bite, and he still intended to go down fighting if it came to that.
And he left.
He felt bad about it, really. Part of it felt like Wally was running away, and while he always had an affinity for running and found no shame in hauling ass from a horde of zeds, it felt almost like a betrayal to abandon Superboy. Especially since Connor had been a great friend and better family; he'd come to enjoy Superboy's company, silent and grumpy though it frequently was, and the past few months up until his illness had been some of the best since Z-day hit.
But it was better this way. Of that, Wally was certain. He wasn't afraid that he was abandoning Connor to a bad fate; Connor had proven these past few weeks that he was strong, capable, and smart enough to survive on his own. And he'd do it even better when he didn't have to keep slowly sacrificing himself for a dying human. At this point the only thing Wally was doing for Superboy was holding him back, from his full potential, his own health, and his goals. If Wally just removed himself from the equation, everything would get instantly better for Connor, and the clone would be okay again. He wouldn't let his little brother waste away on his account.
Superboy would try to stop him, of course, which was why Wally had waited for the perfect opportunity to leave. But Wally wasn't as worried about once he got away. His recent memories and mind were misty, but he knew he'd expressed his knowledge that he was too sick to make it, and he knew Superboy had understood. And he'd repeatedly stressed, in all his lessons, the survivalist policy of the human race, how it had ultimately degenerated to 'every man for himself.' Supey had been a good learner; Wally was sure he'd pick up on this lesson, too. As soon as Wally was out of sight he ought to be out of mind as well, and if he was smart Connor wouldn't bother looking for him because there was no point looking for a dying kid in a world where more things were dead than alive these days. And without Wally there to distract him he could start to focus on his own life again, without feeling like he owed Wally anything. It was morbid logic, but all of it made just the perfect amount of sense to Wally's sickly, tired mind, so much sense it was tragically beautiful.
He wondered if Connor would get it. If he'd understand Wally's reasoning. If he'd know Wally was just trying to protect him. But ultimately it didn't matter, as long as it worked. If it worked, Wally could, and would, die happy.
"Sorry, bro," he coughed under his breath. "S'been nice knowing you. Really."
And he didn't look back.
Remember when I said I couldn't post the full prompt because spoilers? Well, now I can post the full prompt. It went as follows:
Wally lives in a world were surviving is all that matters. He has been alone seace the out break started while he was a road trip by himself a year ago, now his only reason to live is to find his family and friends. That is tell one day when he searching through a place called 'Cambas' for supplies when he stumbles onto a teenager in a pod. Wally lets him out and ends up promising him the moon. Superboy quickly becomes attached to the red head, the same can be said for Wally. So when Wally finds himself coming down with a bad fever he runs away because he thinks he's holding the other boy back. Superboy is not happy with this, at all. So he goes off to find his sorry butt.
Yup.