Fic - From The Ashes Of Disaster (6/12)
Aug. 25th, 2010 11:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redfiona99Author: Red Fiona
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, Spyglass Entertainment do. No money being made.
Pairing: Quinn/Creedy, eventually. Some Creedy/OFC in the first part.
Rating: M, especially later on.
Spoilers: None. Prequel to ‘He Who Fights Too Long Against Dragons’ - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/471485.html.
Summary: In the ruins of Britain, humans still try to eke out a living where the dragons cannot find them. A band of roving bikers arrive in the remnants of Birmingham, both sides have to try to reach an agreement.
Part 1 is here - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/589916.html
Part 2 is here - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/598026.html
Part 3 is here - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/610429.html
Part 4 is here - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/625409.html
Part 5 is here - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/637055.html
Quinn was nowhere to be found and Creedy knew that was never a good sign. When Quinn had somewhere to be officially, like school or in the workshop with Creedy, it was fine, because you knew he’d be there, and if he wasn’t he’d either be ill, which was easy enough to check, or he’d be dead in a ditch somewhere, because those were the only things on Earth that were going to stop Quinn from attending. When he wasn’t supposed to be somewhere though, or if the agreement was something looser, like agreeing to go and play pool with Creedy, then he had a horrible, aggravating tendency of being late or not turning up at all.
Creedy searched the usual places, and, with the way these things always went, Quinn was in the last place Creedy looked. Quinn was still in the massive dorm room that he shared with the rest of the orphaned boys. There was a reason that Creedy left that until last, Quinn spent the minimum amount of time there that he could. There was no good reason for him to still be there, not when they had planned to be at the pub.
Quinn seemed to be busy twiddling the knobs on his radio. As Creedy watched, Quinn moved the frequency dial in tiny increments, desperately searching for something. Creedy knocked on the blue metal frame of Quinn’s bunk-bed.
“I can’t find the BBC anywhere on here.”
“You’ve checked the other bands?”
“Of course. Everything, FM, AM and medium wave. I even tried long wave. There’s nothing there.” Creedy was seized by an irrational urge to grab the radio and try for himself, but he didn’t. There was no point; Quinn would have gone through the frequencies with a fine toothcomb before declaring the airwaves dead.
Even a couple of months ago, Creedy would have asked why the lack of radio signal upset Quinn so much, but now he understood. Radio Four was like cockroaches, it was supposed to survive everything. It was how the various outposts of survivors kept in touch. Still there could still be hope. Maybe the dragons had only attacked one of the masts, and someone was being sent by to fix it. Maybe, even if there had been a dragon attack on the main broadcast hub, it might only have caused minor damage and they were just putting themselves back together. Maybe. “How long as it been dead?”
“A week and a day.”
Maybe nothing. The radio was down.
There was no way of comforting Quinn, there never was, but Creedy had another plan. It was a shame, he’d been looking forward to playing pool on the table now it was fixed; Fitz swore he’d taken sandpaper to the other legs so that it didn’t tilt towards the top right pocket anymore.
“Put the radio down.”
“But ... but ...”
“Come with me.” Creedy all but marched Quinn out of the dormitory. They stopped at Creedy’s place to pick up a bottle of his most potent homebrew. He’d been saving it for a rainy day and decided that today was bad enough to count.
They headed to the most deserted spot that Creedy knew of, up the hill, past the trees that had grown up around the old factory.
“So this’ll make me feel better.”
“Probably not, and you’ll wish you hadn’t been born in the morning. But it’s the best idea I’ve got.” And there was something to it, the way you could look up at the stars when you’d had half a bottle of moonshine, and see them spin, the universe continuing on its merry and mildly nauseating way, no matter what you did, it was comforting, because life carried on, there was no need to stress out about it.
Of course Quinn might not see it like that, the drink got to everyone differently. Quinn was presently addressing the world at large, with particular attention being paid to a spot of grass about two feet away from Creedy’s head, about the necessity of keeping to the master plan, and when he’d worn out that topic, Quinn moved on to his hopes and fears for the future.
Creedy wished the others could see Quinn then, full of life and fire and managing to communicate it rather than sullenly telling people what they should be doing as though his word was law. This was who he could be, and the message was the same, it was just that Quinn couldn’t talk like this unless his belly was full of booze and his head was spinning. It was a shame, but it wasn’t like Creedy could get Quinn soused every time he needed to say anything to people, it’d be impossible to make that much alcohol for a start.
“And it’s just not fair.” Quinn finally finished his rant. Creedy had tried to follow what Quinn had been saying but he’d lost the end of it, so he’d mostly stuck to making encouraging noises. Creedy would have lifted his head to reply, but it felt too heavy. Quinn sat down next to him with a thump. “None of it’s fair.”
Quinn lay down; Creedy put his arm under Quinn’s head. There was a stillness about Quinn as he lay there. There always was though, it was one of those slightly off-putting things about him that Creedy liked. Creedy blamed it on having spent so long riding bikes, you didn’t have time for wasteful movement and you couldn’t talk so you didn’t. He missed that sometimes, but he’d found something similar enough in Quinn.
So they lay there and the world spun and the stars twinkled.
“What are we doing here?” Quinn asked.
“We’re getting by.”
“We should be doing more than that.”
“You’ve got to survive before you can do anything else.”
“That’s not a long term plan.”
“It’s what we’ve got.” Creedy shrugged, a difficult movement given their positions.
Quinn rolled over to face him. “It’s not enough.” Quinn bridged the gap between them and kissed Creedy.
It wasn’t the best kiss Creedy had ever had. He was drunk enough that he couldn’t feel his lips properly and he worried that his kisses are too sloppy.
But it was good enough.
Creedy turned so they were face to face, and Quinn wrapped his fingers in Creedy’s curls to pull them closer together. They twisted and turned to get comfortable. They didn’t go any further than kissing, mostly because the amount they’d drunk was so much that kissing was only just within the bounds of their co-ordination, plus, this was actually lots of fun.
~~~~
Creedy woke up with a splitter of a headache the next day. It was early, the sun was barely up. He always woke up early when he’d had a heavy night the night before. He would have felt worse, but he had Quinn to mock. Quinn had turned an interesting shade of off-white green, and was looking speculatively at the holly bush to see if he could throw up into it without it being seen and without being pricked half-way to death.
“I feel like death. I hate you and I think I wish I’d never been born.”
Creedy laughed. “Definitely a good bottle then.”
Quinn was half-way through rolling his eyes when they went wide and one hand gripped his stomach while the other shot up to his mouth. He raced to the holly bush and was violently sick. It carried on for a while, with Creedy making suitably soothing noises in the background when he wasn’t laughing.
“Why do I let you talk me into these things?”
“Because it’s fun.” Quinn didn’t disagree. “You done?”
“I’ve got nothing else to throw up.” The last few heaves had just been dry retches. Quinn suspected that everything he’d eaten in the last forty-eight hours was sprayed over the bush.
“Come on then. I’d best get you sorted out.” Creedy’s plan featured a hair of the dog and a full fry up. Nothing like it for curing a hangover. Quinn’s was worse than his and his was going to be a belter once he’d actually sobered up. Creedy walked over to where Quinn was, and Quinn slung his left arm around him. There wasn’t a kiss, Quinn had been sick and Creedy knew his own mouth probably tasted worse than it felt, and it felt like it had been attacked by a roving band of unwashed socks, but Quinn leant in too close, too tightly for friends.
Creedy wasn’t even sure how you were supposed to deal with things like last night, they’re both a lot better at doing than at talking, and Creedy didn’t know how to express what he felt better than ‘more please, but not if you don’t want to, and not if it’s making you freak out, and drunken kissing happens, and it’s not a problem, but yeah, more, if you’re cool with that’, and he was aware of exactly how stupid that sounded. He was supposed to be the sensible one.
Quinn, on the other hand, was not together enough to panic. He was aware that he was probably going to feel this bad for the next few hours, and that there was every chance that he’d throw up again, despite not having anything left to clear out of his system. He didn’t feel bad about kissing Creedy, Creedy held his alcohol better than Quinn, although Quinn wanted to believe that was only because Creedy had had more practise, and if Creedy hadn’t wanted to kiss him he would have said something last night, probably would have punched Quinn in the face if he’d felt like it. It would all work out all right.
Still, he had to steel himself to say what he said next. “Once I’ve cleaned my mouth out, we’re getting back to what we were doing last night, right?” He had the pattern of the arm of Creedy’s jumper imprinted on his face from where he’d slept last night; anyone willing to let you use their arm like that had to at least be fond of you.
Creedy chuckled and kissed the back of Quinn’s head. Given how often Quinn wound people up with what he said and how he said it, this time what he’d said had probably been perfect.
They walked back down the hill. Quinn would probably have needed to lean on him a little for support anyway, but he was comfortable like this, and, if Creedy slipped his hand into Quinn’s right pocket, then it was just to steady him, if anyone asked. That their other hands were linked, fingers entwined, he’d have to come with an excuse for that later. No one could find out, not right now. Creedy was looking out for Quinn really, his life was difficult enough already, and, being slightly more sober now than he was last night, he knew how it would look, with Quinn being fourteen and him being seventeen, claiming to be a little older. He didn’t regret a thing, his fingers were clasping as tightly as Quinn’s, but there was no point in bringing trouble down on their heads unnecessarily. And Quinn would understand that, Quinn who held everything close to his chest, he’d get why. Get through today, because tomorrow might not be there.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, Spyglass Entertainment do. No money being made.
Pairing: Quinn/Creedy, eventually. Some Creedy/OFC in the first part.
Rating: M, especially later on.
Spoilers: None. Prequel to ‘He Who Fights Too Long Against Dragons’ - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/471485.html.
Summary: In the ruins of Britain, humans still try to eke out a living where the dragons cannot find them. A band of roving bikers arrive in the remnants of Birmingham, both sides have to try to reach an agreement.
Part 1 is here - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/589916.html
Part 2 is here - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/598026.html
Part 3 is here - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/610429.html
Part 4 is here - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/625409.html
Part 5 is here - http://redfiona99.livejournal.com/637055.html
Quinn was nowhere to be found and Creedy knew that was never a good sign. When Quinn had somewhere to be officially, like school or in the workshop with Creedy, it was fine, because you knew he’d be there, and if he wasn’t he’d either be ill, which was easy enough to check, or he’d be dead in a ditch somewhere, because those were the only things on Earth that were going to stop Quinn from attending. When he wasn’t supposed to be somewhere though, or if the agreement was something looser, like agreeing to go and play pool with Creedy, then he had a horrible, aggravating tendency of being late or not turning up at all.
Creedy searched the usual places, and, with the way these things always went, Quinn was in the last place Creedy looked. Quinn was still in the massive dorm room that he shared with the rest of the orphaned boys. There was a reason that Creedy left that until last, Quinn spent the minimum amount of time there that he could. There was no good reason for him to still be there, not when they had planned to be at the pub.
Quinn seemed to be busy twiddling the knobs on his radio. As Creedy watched, Quinn moved the frequency dial in tiny increments, desperately searching for something. Creedy knocked on the blue metal frame of Quinn’s bunk-bed.
“I can’t find the BBC anywhere on here.”
“You’ve checked the other bands?”
“Of course. Everything, FM, AM and medium wave. I even tried long wave. There’s nothing there.” Creedy was seized by an irrational urge to grab the radio and try for himself, but he didn’t. There was no point; Quinn would have gone through the frequencies with a fine toothcomb before declaring the airwaves dead.
Even a couple of months ago, Creedy would have asked why the lack of radio signal upset Quinn so much, but now he understood. Radio Four was like cockroaches, it was supposed to survive everything. It was how the various outposts of survivors kept in touch. Still there could still be hope. Maybe the dragons had only attacked one of the masts, and someone was being sent by to fix it. Maybe, even if there had been a dragon attack on the main broadcast hub, it might only have caused minor damage and they were just putting themselves back together. Maybe. “How long as it been dead?”
“A week and a day.”
Maybe nothing. The radio was down.
There was no way of comforting Quinn, there never was, but Creedy had another plan. It was a shame, he’d been looking forward to playing pool on the table now it was fixed; Fitz swore he’d taken sandpaper to the other legs so that it didn’t tilt towards the top right pocket anymore.
“Put the radio down.”
“But ... but ...”
“Come with me.” Creedy all but marched Quinn out of the dormitory. They stopped at Creedy’s place to pick up a bottle of his most potent homebrew. He’d been saving it for a rainy day and decided that today was bad enough to count.
They headed to the most deserted spot that Creedy knew of, up the hill, past the trees that had grown up around the old factory.
“So this’ll make me feel better.”
“Probably not, and you’ll wish you hadn’t been born in the morning. But it’s the best idea I’ve got.” And there was something to it, the way you could look up at the stars when you’d had half a bottle of moonshine, and see them spin, the universe continuing on its merry and mildly nauseating way, no matter what you did, it was comforting, because life carried on, there was no need to stress out about it.
Of course Quinn might not see it like that, the drink got to everyone differently. Quinn was presently addressing the world at large, with particular attention being paid to a spot of grass about two feet away from Creedy’s head, about the necessity of keeping to the master plan, and when he’d worn out that topic, Quinn moved on to his hopes and fears for the future.
Creedy wished the others could see Quinn then, full of life and fire and managing to communicate it rather than sullenly telling people what they should be doing as though his word was law. This was who he could be, and the message was the same, it was just that Quinn couldn’t talk like this unless his belly was full of booze and his head was spinning. It was a shame, but it wasn’t like Creedy could get Quinn soused every time he needed to say anything to people, it’d be impossible to make that much alcohol for a start.
“And it’s just not fair.” Quinn finally finished his rant. Creedy had tried to follow what Quinn had been saying but he’d lost the end of it, so he’d mostly stuck to making encouraging noises. Creedy would have lifted his head to reply, but it felt too heavy. Quinn sat down next to him with a thump. “None of it’s fair.”
Quinn lay down; Creedy put his arm under Quinn’s head. There was a stillness about Quinn as he lay there. There always was though, it was one of those slightly off-putting things about him that Creedy liked. Creedy blamed it on having spent so long riding bikes, you didn’t have time for wasteful movement and you couldn’t talk so you didn’t. He missed that sometimes, but he’d found something similar enough in Quinn.
So they lay there and the world spun and the stars twinkled.
“What are we doing here?” Quinn asked.
“We’re getting by.”
“We should be doing more than that.”
“You’ve got to survive before you can do anything else.”
“That’s not a long term plan.”
“It’s what we’ve got.” Creedy shrugged, a difficult movement given their positions.
Quinn rolled over to face him. “It’s not enough.” Quinn bridged the gap between them and kissed Creedy.
It wasn’t the best kiss Creedy had ever had. He was drunk enough that he couldn’t feel his lips properly and he worried that his kisses are too sloppy.
But it was good enough.
Creedy turned so they were face to face, and Quinn wrapped his fingers in Creedy’s curls to pull them closer together. They twisted and turned to get comfortable. They didn’t go any further than kissing, mostly because the amount they’d drunk was so much that kissing was only just within the bounds of their co-ordination, plus, this was actually lots of fun.
~~~~
Creedy woke up with a splitter of a headache the next day. It was early, the sun was barely up. He always woke up early when he’d had a heavy night the night before. He would have felt worse, but he had Quinn to mock. Quinn had turned an interesting shade of off-white green, and was looking speculatively at the holly bush to see if he could throw up into it without it being seen and without being pricked half-way to death.
“I feel like death. I hate you and I think I wish I’d never been born.”
Creedy laughed. “Definitely a good bottle then.”
Quinn was half-way through rolling his eyes when they went wide and one hand gripped his stomach while the other shot up to his mouth. He raced to the holly bush and was violently sick. It carried on for a while, with Creedy making suitably soothing noises in the background when he wasn’t laughing.
“Why do I let you talk me into these things?”
“Because it’s fun.” Quinn didn’t disagree. “You done?”
“I’ve got nothing else to throw up.” The last few heaves had just been dry retches. Quinn suspected that everything he’d eaten in the last forty-eight hours was sprayed over the bush.
“Come on then. I’d best get you sorted out.” Creedy’s plan featured a hair of the dog and a full fry up. Nothing like it for curing a hangover. Quinn’s was worse than his and his was going to be a belter once he’d actually sobered up. Creedy walked over to where Quinn was, and Quinn slung his left arm around him. There wasn’t a kiss, Quinn had been sick and Creedy knew his own mouth probably tasted worse than it felt, and it felt like it had been attacked by a roving band of unwashed socks, but Quinn leant in too close, too tightly for friends.
Creedy wasn’t even sure how you were supposed to deal with things like last night, they’re both a lot better at doing than at talking, and Creedy didn’t know how to express what he felt better than ‘more please, but not if you don’t want to, and not if it’s making you freak out, and drunken kissing happens, and it’s not a problem, but yeah, more, if you’re cool with that’, and he was aware of exactly how stupid that sounded. He was supposed to be the sensible one.
Quinn, on the other hand, was not together enough to panic. He was aware that he was probably going to feel this bad for the next few hours, and that there was every chance that he’d throw up again, despite not having anything left to clear out of his system. He didn’t feel bad about kissing Creedy, Creedy held his alcohol better than Quinn, although Quinn wanted to believe that was only because Creedy had had more practise, and if Creedy hadn’t wanted to kiss him he would have said something last night, probably would have punched Quinn in the face if he’d felt like it. It would all work out all right.
Still, he had to steel himself to say what he said next. “Once I’ve cleaned my mouth out, we’re getting back to what we were doing last night, right?” He had the pattern of the arm of Creedy’s jumper imprinted on his face from where he’d slept last night; anyone willing to let you use their arm like that had to at least be fond of you.
Creedy chuckled and kissed the back of Quinn’s head. Given how often Quinn wound people up with what he said and how he said it, this time what he’d said had probably been perfect.
They walked back down the hill. Quinn would probably have needed to lean on him a little for support anyway, but he was comfortable like this, and, if Creedy slipped his hand into Quinn’s right pocket, then it was just to steady him, if anyone asked. That their other hands were linked, fingers entwined, he’d have to come with an excuse for that later. No one could find out, not right now. Creedy was looking out for Quinn really, his life was difficult enough already, and, being slightly more sober now than he was last night, he knew how it would look, with Quinn being fourteen and him being seventeen, claiming to be a little older. He didn’t regret a thing, his fingers were clasping as tightly as Quinn’s, but there was no point in bringing trouble down on their heads unnecessarily. And Quinn would understand that, Quinn who held everything close to his chest, he’d get why. Get through today, because tomorrow might not be there.
