I'm vaguely scared of what you might do but Ed x Brooke (6 for the ask)
6. “You can’t die. Please don’t die.”
When Ed was twelve, his class had had to fill out some stupid worksheet about where they saw themselves in five years.
No one had taken it seriously. They were a group of rowdy twelve-year-old boys. They neither knew nor cared what they would be doing five days from then, let alone five years. But Ed Carter was a good, studious boy, and he had given it some thought - about ten minutes of thought, before he abandoned it in favor of more fun pastimes, like kicking a football around his room, or helping his parents with dinner, or doodling on his math assignment, or anything but this.
“God, please, no.”
In the end, Ed had slapped on some generic fluff about hanging with friends and making good grades and maybe having a job so he could have extra money to spend. It took all of five seconds and no heavy thinking, but it was still more than the rest of the class bothered with and he had received the highest grade on account of being one of two people to hand it back in the next day.
“Oh, my God.”
Were he to be completely honest, his answers were unlikely to change even if he had sat and really thought about it. After all, what does a twelve-year-old know about where he’ll be in five years. What does a twelve-year-old care?
“Oh my God, oh my God, ohmygod ohmygod omygod.”
And as it turned out, he would have been wrong anyway. How could he have predicted that the world would end? That his parents would die? That everyone’s parents, everyone’s older siblings, everyone who was supposed to know what to do in bad situations would all die? Or not die, and just. Hang around. How could he have predicted that he and all the other surviving kids would be spending their lives fighting the shambling, rotting, ravenous remains of their society?
“Please no, God. No no no nonono no, please no.”
And as it turned out, he would have been wrong anyway. But how could he have predicted that he didn’t have five years to imagine?
“You can’t die. Please don’t die.”
When Ed was sixteen, he had led a group of kids - children - into battle. A battle to the end, against the ravenous, rotting, murderous adults, who would stop at nothing to see them dead. Who had given up their sense of fear, had lost their sense of pain, had nothing to lose. How foolish they - children - had been to think they could win. To think they could do anything besides delay the inevitable.
“Ed, please, please, please, stay with me.”
Ed’s eyes rolled around, searching for the voice hovering somewhere above him. He couldn’t quite make out what it was saying, but it did not sound happy. Why? Where was he?
“Ed, oh my God. Okay. You’re going to be okay. Okay?”
It was a nice voice. Familiar. Relaxing in its familiarity. He may not recognize where he was, or know what he was doing, but at least this nice, familiar voice was here to keep him company.
“Ed, you have to be okay, please, don’t do this to me.”
Ed tried to remember, but it kept slipping away from him. It was hard to see, since his surroundings seemed to be so blurry and clouded, so he couldn’t garner any context clues from what he could see.
“Ed, okay, fuck. Just. Let’s get you up, okay? I’m going to pick you up.”
Something about a flag? Maybe? That sounded just south of right.
“God, God, God.”
What was their flag? Was it even about their flag? Was it even about a flag?
He remembered bodies. Lots of bodies. Moving around. A lot of people moving around. Was he at school? Where was Jack, was he not going to help him?
“Ed, don’t - fuck. What do I do? Oh my God, okay.”
No, Jack wasn’t here. There was some reason Jack wasn’t here. Was he sick today?
Was he at school?
“Help! Somebody! Please.”
Everyone was looking for someone, an adult - a teacher? - someone important. Was that it?
“C’mon, Ed, you’re doing great, just keep - just keep walking okay? You’re going to be okay, okay?”
The flag. A crowd. Some teacher? Was that it?
“Don’t - fuck, Ed, please, please move your feet, I can’t -”
“Fuck - Ed!”
Without warning the ground gave way beneath him and he felt it suddenly rise up and slap him in the face, felt the pressure of it, felt where the pain would set in in his neck. He couldn’t feel his face.
“Ed, no, fuck, Ed, please”
He couldn’t feel a lot of things.
“Ed, look at me, please, I can’t”
The world rotated around him and then there was more pressure on his head, on his face. What was that?
“Okay, let me just - You’ve got - There’s blood, everywhere, fuck”
The pressure kept at his face and suddenly he could see but all he could see was light. It was a nice, sunny day. Maybe after everyone found that teacher, he could go check on Jack, see if he was up for some football.
“Ed? Ed, God, please”
He saw the voice. The voice was Brooke. That was odd, Brooke didn’t go to his school. Also, if Brooke was here, then Jack was dead. Jack was dead?
He tried to answer her, but something wasn’t right. He still couldn’t feel his face, among other essential body parts. His mouth didn’t seem to be working. Or maybe it was and his ears weren’t.
Was Brooke crying? Why was she crying? They should be looking for that adult, shouldn’t they? She didn’t really have time to be crying, they had to find St. George.
He was really tired, though, that kind of fatigued where you’re just completely out of it and woozy. Maybe he could take a raincheck on the whole find St. George thing. Someone else could do it probably. Maybe he’d go find Jack and they could chill. Maybe his mom would make them cookies.
Brooke put her face right in front of Ed. Now he couldn’t see the sky. Where was Jack?
She sobbed. Her chest hurt.
He wished Brooke wouldn’t cry. They had more important things to do, he was pretty sure. Also, he wasn’t very good at comforting crying girls.
Her voice cracked, her gasps scratching her throat.
He raised his hand to Brooke’s face. He was pretty sure he did. He didn’t feel his hand respond, but that was definitely his hand on her cheek.
If she had had the energy to scream, she might have done so, right there.
He stared at Brooke. His voice still didn’t seem to be working, or else his ears weren’t, so he tried to convey all he meant through his eyes alone. It was tough. What was he even trying to tell her?
She grabbed his hand, clinging desperately, capable of nothing more than gasping sobs.
She couldn’t breathe, her voice kept getting caught somewhere in her chest or her throat or her heart.
I love you.
She couldn’t do this again. She whimpered. She couldn’t do this again.
You’ll make it.
She hiccuped, worn out, thoroughly spent. She wouldn’t do this again. She didn’t want to.
Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, my inbox is super weird and I didn’t see your message until just now. I hope you like this and it makes up for the wait!