Archive of Our Own ^beta

.lsd.

He takes the dot as he's leaving the party, realising only when he's at the end of Harrington's street that the crumpled five he'd handed over for it was the last of his cash and he now has no bus fare to get home. Which, shit, but also, whatever, it's fine, he's only, what, two suburbs over? He can walk twice that, easy.

So easy. Like Sunday morning easy, because that's what it is -- just another Sunday morning in gated community hell after a Saturday night he can't remember -- but he's paid his dues and he's not happy faking it and it's easy, so easy, walking home with some lucy in his mouth and I wanna be high, so high, be free, oh babe...

He's still earworming the song hours later when the crowd he's been walking with -- some odd mix of gremlins and topless women and that country singer with the wild beard but, whatever, the conversation while they've walked has been so fucking chill he doesn't care much who they all are -- starts to peel away, each one waving him goodbye as they head up impeccably swept driveways and HOA-manicured front lawns. He waves back, so easy.

The last one to go is a woman who looks like Alicia, who lets him hug her goodbye and brush his thumbs over her nipples, swallowing her gasp with a kiss that lasts and lasts and lasts...

Alone in his bedroom, sunlight spilling through his blinds and creating shadows on his wall he could almost climb, Nick sinks down onto his mattress and wraps his hand around his dick and closes his eyes.

.oxycontin.

He dozes after the oxy kicks in, drifting off to the sound of his mom pacing from the kitchen to the front windows, and stirring awake when he feels Alicia shove him so she can curl up at the other end of the sofa. He remembers lying like this with her when they were kids, their feet and knees pushing and wriggling and kicking for more space as they watched Saturday morning cartoons while their parents still slept.

She pushes on him now, too, wriggling until their legs are tangled and one of his hands is on her calf, fingers tracing the zig-zag pattern of Brain's tail as he ponders about asking if she's pondering what he's pondering, and if he's pondering what she's pondering, and if she's pondering what he's pondering, and --

Alicia shifts again, muttering something unintelligible, and wraps her fingers around his ankle, her thumbnail scraping back and forth on his skin until he can feel that sliver of sensation shuddering through his whole body.

"Narf," he manages. He's starting to sweat again, his gut tightening and his pulse kicking into high gear, his dick hardening like he's not in withdrawal and tangled around his sister, her body warm everywhere it's touching him, so warm, pondering pondering pondering...

She scratches harder.

.mushrooms.

He never did mushies before the Fall but when he's offered some in trade while Luciana and his mom are out scouting, he can't say no. Brewing them in a tea, he takes the mug to one of the stadium's watch points and sits there until the parking lot has turned into an ocean, waves crashing against the corrugated fencing below him and shark fins slicing towards the horizon.

"Hey."

"Shh." He doesn't dare look away as Alicia approaches, not wanting to miss anything. Spindrift is starting to occur as the water darkens and greys, the waves turning choppy. "Storm's coming."

"Really?" She sounds doubtful, like it's not obvious that there are heavy and threatening clouds appearing above them, and takes a seat next to him. "You sure?"

He rolls his eyes, not bothering to respond, and watches for the lightning.

"Share." She takes the mug out of his hands and drains the last two mouthfuls before he can even think to stop her, her body shuddering as she grimaces. "Ugh, tastes horrible."

"Serves you right for stealing."

"Serves you right for not sharing," she counters, which doesn't even make sense but, whatever. If she's going to act five, she can talk five. He's got an ocean to watch.

Thunder rumbles, the walkway vibrating. In the water, an Infected floats face down, its limbs jerking spasmodically like some fucked up version of freestyle or butterfly.

"Oh," says Alicia in a soft voice, stretching out her arm and waving her hand back and forth. "It's so pretty!"

She must be seeing something in the water that he can't. Frowning, he slides his arm around her waist and drags her onto his lap, his chin hooking over her shoulder so they can look together. She wriggles and fidgets and twists for a minute, before finally settling with her ass snug against his groin and her arms pinning his across her chest. He can feel himself getting hard and starts thinking about how good she would feel bouncing on his dick in this position.

"See?" she says excitedly, distracting him. "See!"

Lightning splits the horizon, revealing the tidal wave cresting towards them, and Nick flinches, holding her tighter. "Yeah."

She melts against him, sighing happily, like they're not a hundred percent about to die like they should have in that fucking dam. "So pretty."

In the moments before the water can reach them, drown him, Nick presses his mouth to the curve of her neck and takes a deep breath.

.heroin.

He finds the coffee tin on the top shelf of a wardrobe. It's empty, not even a hint of dust or powder clinging to his fingertip when he drags it across the slick surfaces, but he knows what was in it better than he knows his own reflection.

Dope. Gear. Smack.

He can hear the patter of rain on the windows, and the sound of Strand and Luciana clearing rooms downstairs, but in his head there's a radio playing Top 40 hits and he's standing at his old bedroom window, a Folgers can open on his rumpled bedsheets and his nose is burning with china white. On the other side of the glass, Alicia is sunbathing next to their pool, scraps of fabric barely covering her tits and her pussy, and his dick is leaking pre-cum as he fists himself...

Something thumps against the wall in the next room over, Alicia cursing, and he's by her side a heartbeat later, his gun cocked and ready.

"You okay?"

She huffs, and kicks at a box on the floor, "yeah, just tripped." She looks up and notices the Folgers can still in his other hand, her mouth tightening. "Anything?"

Shaking his head, he drops the can onto the mess on the floor, wishing he didn't feel disappointed. "Nothing."

.weed.

Days of walking and sleeping and foraging along the sides of roads, of eating ramen and dandelion and chickweed, of looking unsuccessfully for numbered flags and an El Camino, and hating on the fuckers who killed his mom so much.

He tosses and turns through Luciana and Strand's watches, and finally gives up sometime after midnight. Alicia is sitting by their small campfire, shredding twigs and leaves and feeding them into the flames, and he drops down beside her with a grunt, his shoulder knocking hers.

"Dick," she mutters.

"Whatever."

Something small rustles in the trees off to the south. Luciana rolls over, her back to them and the fire. Strand snores softly.

Alicia reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a joint.

"Rebel, rebel," he says, impressed. He watches her light the end off a stick from the fire, her first drag smooth and practiced. When she exhales, she tips her head back and lets the smoke curl out of her mouth in silver ribbons, the pale line of her throat in the firelight making his mouth go dry.

She takes a second hit before passing him the joint. "Do you miss El Sereno?"

Yeah, sure, of course, but that's not what she's really asking and he knows it. "I miss Mom."

She sniffles, and he brings the joint to her lips, trying not to notice the way her tongue flicks briefly against the side of his thumb before she inhales. The weed is just strong is all. His body is not actually melting because of hers.

"This is good shit."

She looks at him curiously. "Better than heroin?"

"Fuck no."

She snorts.

Inhaling, he tries to make smoke rings, failing miserably. Alicia watches him, staring, until the hairs on the back of neck start to prickle. "What?"

She looks away, scratching at the dirt between her feet with the stick. "Before the Fall... when you were... I used to think about what it would be like if you died. What Mom would be like."

He grimaces. "I --"

She doesn't let him talk. "I would imagine, like, the funeral, you know? And having to go back to school as the girl who's brother OD'd. The way they'd all look at me."

Guilt roils under his skin.

"And then I'd, like, imagine being pregnant, and telling Mom... telling her it was your baby in me, and that we'd -- and her finally seeing me, even if it was only because I had a piece of you inside of me."

Holy. Fucking. Shit. An image of Alicia on her hands and knees in front of him, her belly just starting to swell and her pussy leaking his cum down her thighs as he pulls his dick out of her, sears across his brain before he can stop it.

Tossing the stick aside, Alicia takes the joint back and draws deep, sighing out a cloud of smoke. "I miss Mom, too," she says, like she didn't just get him harder than he's ever been before in his life by telling him all of that.

He swallows with difficulty. "Yeah."

They sit in silence then, the fire popping and crackling, the joint getting lower and lower as they pass it back and forth. It's a quiet night; he can't even hear any groaning for once.

Alicia shifts beside him, leaning against his side and resting her head on his shoulder, her right hand moving to his thigh. Her fingers curve towards his inseam. "Remember Saturday morning cartoons?"

He remembers remembering them the night the world ended, Mom feeding him oxy and Alicia sleeping on the sofa with him, their bodies head to toe and her thigh pressing against his dick. "What are we going to do tonight, Brain?"

She snorts. "Dork," she says, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder. He can hear the smile in her voice when she continues with, "the same thing we do every night, Pinky."

He remembers all the nights he used to jerk off to the thought of his mouth on her pussy and his tongue licking into her as she sucked on his fingers, to her sliding under his sheets and onto his dick while their parents slept in the next room; his inhibitions lost to the drugs blazing through his veins.

"I know," she whispers, like he said all that out loud. Her hand slips further into the gap between his thighs, the side of her hand pressing against his straining zipper. "Me too."

He gives her the last hit of the joint, and flicks the remains into the fire, and wraps his arm around her shoulders, his fingers brushing the side of her tit. When he presses his mouth to the top of her head and leaves a kiss there, she shudders.

"Love you," she whispers.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, you too."

He holds her close, and doesn't let go.

The End