Chapter Text
It started quietly, just like every other world event; only certain parts of the world actually knew about it. We weren't the first country to see the demise of our own, and we weren't the last either (thank god).
It started out in the Russian mountains, which wasn't a very big concern at first. I mean, Russians could handle anything, with living in snow for almost a year. A bad cough, runny noses, migraines, muscle weakness, and fatigue were the basic symptoms. It sounds like a rough cold...until you reached the second stage. Profuse swelling of the limbs, bloody diarrhea/stool, projectile vomiting, sensory deprivation, and paralysis were common symptoms. The third stage was when the virus would "die down". Patients would be on the brink of death one night and wake up happy and hungry the next. This went on for days, so naturally the doctors (not finding anything wrong), would release the patients on a cautious note. About a week or so later, the victims would start bleeding; from the eyes, nose, ears, everywhere, with no stop or cause or anything. The blood went out of their systems too fast for anything to stop it. The CDC, like always, kept the big important parts hidden to keep us under control and not cause a panic. Oh boy, did they fail miserably. Widespread panic ensued, mass riots and praying and burning of hospitals were just around the corner, and the steep drop of everything we had built on in the last 1000 years was just the beginning. The world was ending, and it would be over before we knew it.
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"GAVIN!?" Michael screamed from the top of his lungs, gun on his right shoulder and finger on the trigger as he dashed around a corner. Soot and embers were filling the air; another fire had been started nearby. Silently cursing to himself (a habit he'd nurtured after all this started), Michael ran farther and farther away from their meeting point. "GAVIN!" He screeched, embers burning his skin and eyes stinging because his glasses were gone and there was nothing to protect his eyes now. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fUCK!" A door, slightly ajar, was propped open with what looked like a shoe. "Gavin's shoe." Michael thought, running towards the barely unrecognizable building. "Gavin?" He finally whispered, worried that maybe they weren't the last ones left (although they were, at least in this area) and that someone bigger or tougher or more heavily equipped than he was would kill him, drastically lessening his chance for finding "his boi".
"Michael."
Gavin's soft, dumb, nerdy British accent called out to him. It sounded pretty fucking weird, but Gav's voice was the one thing he had left to keep him "tethered". After the downfall of the Fake AH Crew, he took what he had and cherished it like...fuck, water.
"Jesus, Gavin." He whimpered, a rush of relief and anger slowly coming over him. "I thought I...lost you. I thought I lost my boi." Michael scuffed the ground with his shoe, gun now back in it's holster and his fingers at his lips in a nervous habit of sorts. Gavin kind of smiled, the kind you give as if shrugging off an insult and playing around.
"Sorry 'bout that."
"You okay buddy?"
"Top."
A deadly silence hung in the air. Gavin still stood in the exact same place, leaning against the exact same island of what was once a kitchen. Michael licked the front of his teeth and waited. And waited. And waited. He needed to calm the fuck down, and Gavin's attitude and secrecy wasn't exactly helping.
"You're a bad fucking liar, Gavin. You and I both know this." Michael finally said after a long sigh.
"What?"
"Don't 'wot?' me, Gavin Free. Not now. You never act like this, so tell me what your goddamn problem is!"
Gavin clicked his tongue and scoffed, a harsh sound coming from his throat. "I'm tired, Michael. There, are you happy?"
"TIRED? YOU'RE TIRED, GAVIN? WELL SHIT THEN. SOMEONE GIVE THIS FUCKING 2 YEAR OLD A BLANKET AND SOME MILK, BECAUSE HE IS TIRED. NOTHING IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN MEETING YOUR FUCKING NEEDS IN THE MIDDLE OF A GODDAMN APOCALYPSE, GAVIN." Michael shouted, getting in Gavin's (surprisingly calm) face, occasionally stopping to wipe the spit from his mouth or to kick something.
"Oh, those things you said...such sweet things! I never knew you cared." Gavin grumbled, a small smile forming on the edge of his mouth. Michael practically let out a battle cry and tackled the Brit to the floor, fingers tugging hair and slamming him onto the dusty floor, nearly knocking the poor Gavin out.
"Michael!" Gavin whimpered, trying to shield his side and face and make a cushion so his head would stop pounding on the (literally) bloody floor. "Michael, please, listen to me! MICHAEL!" Reaching out a shaky hand, Gavin tried to reach out to Michael, to be that tether and bring his anger down to something manageable. Of course, that was a little hard with his head being slammed into the ground and cuts raining blood down his face.
Finally giving up, Gavin laid back and started crying. Crying because this wasn't Michael, not his boi. Not the one currently sitting on him, something terrifying in his eyes that made Gavin's heart ache and stop and sag all at once. This wasn't his Michael; not the one that he fell in love with, not the one he will stand by until the end of the world. This was a demon of mixed emotions and hurt just looking for ventilation. So Gavin let Michael ride out his episode, tears drying up on his face and his entire body going increasingly numb punch after punch.