Chapter Text
“It’s a sasquatch,” Iwaizumi declares, absolute in his certainty. His arms cross over his chest as he reclines against the cushioned bench, appearing perfectly at ease, despite being bound by several layers of safety harness.
“Extraterrestrial!” Oikawa cries defensively, spinning around in the co-pilot seat. His voice is a bit distorted by the serviceable, but rudimentary comms system in the small seaplane. They’re all wearing a noise canceling headset, equipped with a microphone so they can still hear one another.
This argument has persisted throughout the past several days, with Oikawa certain this investigation will prove the visitation of Earth by UFOs, and Iwaizumi flatly denying him any credibility whatsoever. Oikawa won’t admit it, but it’s plain to see Iwaizumi is wearing him down, a fluster bringing color to his cheeks.
The actual pilot ignores their near-constant bickering, despite being the one to ask what the boys had planned for their weekend, inadvertently setting them off again. Iwaizumi had said camping trip. Oikawa insisted they were not just on a camping trip, but on a mission to record a UFO sighting. Since then, the two have carried on without so much as a hint of getting bored.
“No, Iwaizumi has a point,” Hanamaki cuts in before the other two can trade another round of arguments. “Think about it. Why would UFOs hang out at a lake in the middle of nowhere?”
Oikawa huffs indignantly, and the sound sends a crackle of static through their headsets. “That’s what I want to find out, Makki! We talked about this!”
“I just wanted to go camping!” Hanamaki shouts back, a smug grin plastered to his face as Oikawa winces at the static crackle transmitted through the headsets.
Every year during and since high school, they’ve gone on an annual excursion. One year they hiked a haunted trail, another summer was camping in cryptid infested woods. Last year was a boating trip to look for signs of lake monsters. Issei thought the tradition would die after graduation, but Oikawa and Iwaizumi just celebrated back to back twenty-first birthdays, and here they are again, strapped into a seaplane on their way to a remote lake in the middle of the forest.
“It’s a sasquatch,” Iwaizumi repeats, completely deadpan, except for a slight, nearly imperceptible twitch of a grin at the corner of his mouth.
Finally, Issei speaks up. “It could be both.” When Oikawa shoots him an exasperated, incredulous look, he merely shrugs.
“Silent Invasion!” Hanamaki cheers excitedly.
“What.” Iwaizumi shoots a glare at his two best friends, suddenly offended that they would validate Oikawa, who he’s been steadily riling up all day.
“During the 1970’s, there was a brief period of time where UFOs and Bigfoot sightings happened simultaneously, within miles of each other. One person would be calling the cops about Bigfoot looking in their bathroom window, while another would call the cops about strange lights in the sky. “ Issei’s grin grows steadily wider as he explains, mirroring the glee in Oikawa’s eyes.
“Oh shut up.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and lets his skull thunk against the back wall of the plane behind the bench.
Undeterred, Issei finishes his short retelling with, “And then the sightings stopped. Just like that, and nothing like it has been documented before or since.”
“Holy shit,” Oikawa exclaims, thrilled. “Is that real?”
“Deadass,” Hanamaki concludes, exchanging a conspiratorial look with Oikawa.
The haunted lake they’re camping on this weekend isn’t in Pennsylvania, but it might as well be. Every couple of years, a new and strange story crops up around the area. Reports vary, from sightings of aliens to ghosts that terrorize campers in the dead of night. Lost hikers are never seen again, children spot tall, shadowy figures in the trees, and even an abandoned camping and recreation site that never completed construction because one of the workers allegedly suffered a haunting-related (or if you ask Oikawa, alien-mind-control-related) mental break and attacked his fellow workmen. The abandoned campsite is fenced off now, but there’s nothing keeping visitors from the rest of the lake.
Despite the alleged haunting and/or secret alien headquarters, all the photos of the secluded lake show an absolutely gorgeous setting for a weekend trip. The fact they can expect to have the beaches all to themselves doesn’t hurt either. Most locals steer clear of it—at least, they would, if there were any locals. The lake itself is a hundred miles out in the middle of nowhere, accessible only by an unkempt dirt road, or by seaplane, if you’re insane enough to hire one.
The plane rattles with turbulence, jarring Issei from his thoughts. His stomach churns. Truth be told, he’s spent most of the flight trying not to puke in the cockpit. Motion sickness has always been his greatest weakness. The summer they went fishing, he spent most of the trip chumming the water with the contents of his stomach. His parents always told him he’d grow out of it, but he’s pretty sure it’s getting worse with age. Compounded with being a nervous flier—well, he’s barely hanging on.
Hanamaki’s hand wrapped around the inside of his thigh is the only thing keeping him sane. The warmth of his palm sits where Issei’s shorts cut off, just above his knee, and he rubs soothing circles with his thumb. If it weren’t for the silent reassurance, Issei probably would have given up his ghost already.
If Iwaiuzmi noticed anything about it while sitting in the back bench with them, he hasn’t mentioned it. What he does mention is a hatchet strapped to the wall behind the pilot’s seat.
“What’s that about?” he asks.
“Oh, that old thing?” The pilot turns his head to glance at the hatchet, and laughs a bit into his mic. “It’s just an old superstition. We keep it for good luck.” Just as he finishes speaking, an orange light flashes on the instrument panel, and for a split second, the high pitched whir of an alarm blares through the cabin. Without flinching, the pilot punches the button beneath the orange light, silencing the alarm.
“Is that important?” Oikawa asks.
“That’s been faulty for years.” The pilot shrugs and waves it off, a gesture that does absolutely nothing to quell the sudden bolt of panic that went straight to Issei’s frantically beating heart. This stupid camping trip is actually going to kill him.
“The lake is coming up, you’ll be able to see it in a second here,” the pilot tells them over the comms. “We’ll land on the water in just a couple of minutes.”
Hanamaki nudges Issei’s shoulder, probably to get him to look for the lake, but he doesn’t want to remember where they are, hundreds of feet above the ground.
There’s an ominous, extremely loud whining that overcomes the noise canceling headsets, and a rattle that comes from the outside of the seaplane. The orange light and the alarm go off a second time, a split second before an explosion shakes the entire cockpit. Their pilot curses and frantically punches the controls. It’s no use, the alarms continue, and a swooping sensation makes Issei’s stomach flip as the plane drops altitude.
“Now what’s happening?” Oikawa shouts again.
“One of the engines went out! We’ll be fine, just—shit!” The pilot is cut off by an impact that violently jars the entire cabin. Issei is thrown against the straps of his safety harness. The sudden drop brought the craft down very close to the tops of the trees. He can only guess they just hit one. Despite frantic efforts, the pilot makes no progress in regaining control over the plane.
“I’m taking us down over the water! Brace for impact!” the pilot shouts over the din of the burning engine, and multiple alarms going off all at once.
Issei spots the water as the seaplane finally clears the trees—and then the blue is all he sees. The plane isn’t falling into a nosedive, but with a damaged wing and blown engine, the pilot is doing every thing he can to maintain a modicum of control.
Over the water. Issei’s panic is dampened by a sudden calm. At least they aren’t going to smash into the ground and explode into a billion fiery pieces. The lake will be a much softer landing, he thinks, perhaps delusional in his belief, but nonetheless comforted by it.
Or maybe asphyxiation is the cause of his sudden irrationality. His vision is going gray and dark at the edges. He’s hyperventilated himself into fainting spells before. Hanamaki rips the headset off his head to shout something into his ear, but he doesn’t hear it before he blacks out.
⦻
Issei wakes suddenly with a jolt. His chest hurts and he’s soaking wet. It’s too loud, and someone—or something—is trying to rip him out of his skin.
“It’s sinking!” Hanamaki shouts frantically. “Come on! Let’s go!”
It isn’t the first time Issei has woken to Hanamaki rudely screeching directly into his ear canal to get his ass in gear. It is the first time Hanamaki is telling him to get a move on because they’re inside a sinking seaplane.
The front windshield is entirely smashed to pieces. He and Hanamaki are the only two left inside the otherwise abandoned craft. Suddenly, he realizes Hanamaki isn’t trying to rip off his skin, he’s just tangled in his safety harness, and Hanamaki can’t see where the clasp is since they’re sitting in water that’s already up to their necks and only getting higher.
Issei reaches down and undoes the clasp. The water lifts him up immediately, and Hanamaki grabs the front of his shirt, kicking and splashing to pull him over the pilot’s seat and toward the shattered windshield where water is pouring into the cockpit, shards of broken glass swirling too close and getting closer. Finally, Issei’s limbs begin to work again.
“I’m fine! You go!” he shouts, and then to prove it, shoves Hanamaki ahead of himself. One after another they fight the rushing current to scrape and crawl their way from the cockpit window. Issei slides off the nose of the plane and kicks, somewhat uselessly, to swim after the figures of his friends bobbing in the water ahead. His soaked clothes are so heavy that a paddle is the most he can manage.
Iwaizumi has an arm across Oikawa’s chest, holding him so his head is on Iwaizumi’s shoulder and out of the water. It looks like Oikawa hit his head. There’s blood down the side of his neck and soaking red into his hair. Iwaizumi is panting heavily, kicking hard to support them both.
Spinning back to look at the plane, Issei searches for the pilot. He spots the man, and the obstacle keeping him away from the rest of the party. The plane’s fuel storage must have been damaged in the crash, because there’s fire burning on the water, following an oily dark trail that slowly drifts away from the sinking craft.
The pilot looks like he’s doing okay. There’s some kind of flotation device under his arm, and the strap of the emergency pack is clasped in his hand. He waves an arm over his head, and shouts, “You boys take the fastest route to the shore! Stay put! I’ll hike around the lake and meet you!”
Someone shouts, “Okay!” It sounds like Iwaizumi, but there’s still a persistent ringing in Issei’s ears.
The water is so cold that his whole body has gone numb. Hanamaki shouts after him again. He and Iwaizumi are already kicking toward the beach. Issei paddles after them, all while remaining thankful that lakes aren’t known for harboring sharks.
⦻
By the time they drag each other ashore, Oikawa asks, “What happened?” for the third time. He’s confused, but his speech is clear. The cut above his ear is still bleeding, but it slows down as they begin walking. Iwaizumi doesn’t let go of him even once as they limp down the shore.
A nearby rock formation makes an almost cave-like structure. It seems like as good a place as any for them to sit and wait. The ground is dry, and the bit of rocky overhang would shelter them in case of sudden inclement weather.
Hanamaki and Iwaizumi help Oikawa safely to the ground. Issei knows he’s a total basket case, but everything feels so wildly out of his control that all he can do is mutely follow his friends, lest he think too hard about what just happened and work himself up into another panic attack.
Oikawa groans, clutching at the sides of his head. “What’s going on?” he asks again.
“Relax, ‘kawa.” Iwaizumi positions himself for Oikawa to lean on.
“Iwa-chan?”
“Yeah, I’m right here. You’re fine.”
Once Oikawa has settled again, the remaining three lapse into an uncertain silence. Hanamaki grabs Issei’s fingers and tugs gently. He realizes he’s just been standing there, dumb and completely useless. Staggering like he’s drunk, Issei gracelessly collapses to his knees in the dirt with his friends and obligingly scoots closer to Hanamaki’s side. The warmth of their touching arms is nice. Issei fights the urge to cling onto his best friend like a child might clutch onto a teddy bear.
“Is anyone else hurt?” Iwaizumi asks, looking particularly hard at Issei.
“No,” he rasps, then coughs. Beside him, despite the blood smudged beneath his nose, Hanamaki also shakes his head.
“Is Oikawa going to be…okay?” Hanamaki asks quietly. The old captain seems to keep dozing off, but wakes easily each time Iwaizumi shakes him.
“I think he’s just exhausted…at least, not getting worse.”
Issei takes his word for it, and Hanamaki seems to as well. Out of the four of them, Iwaizumi is the only one with any kind of first aid knowledge.
“How long do you think it’ll take for the pilot to come find us?”
“Hours? A day? Who fuckin’ knows.” Iwaizumi sighs, and drags a hand down his face. “Alright, empty your pockets. What do we still have?”
Issei tosses his waterlogged phone and a pocket knife into the middle of their half-circle. The rest of his shit was in his backpack. Probably at the bottom of the lake now.
Besides his jacket, Hanamaki had on a bright orange fanny pack, an accessory he seemingly chose only to taunt Oikawa with its hideousness. It contains the usual suspects, a plastic baggie containing a trio of neatly rolled joints, a lighter, and a ruined pack of bubblegum.
Iwaizumi’s phone screen is cracked, but the battery is still half charged. He shifts awkwardly, still trying to hold Oikawa while reaching to his belt. He pulls out the hatchet that he somehow had the presence of mind to grab in the middle of the plane going down.
Oikawa doesn’t look like he has much. No one bothers to go through his pockets.
“No service on mine,” Issei says.
Iwaizumi glares at his own device. “Same.”
“Mines at the bottom of the lake,” Hanamaki murmurs somberly.
“Why didn’t you put it in your fanny pack?” Iwaizumi nips.
“Shut up.” Hanamaki shoots him a look. “Whatever. At least we can make a fire. It’s gonna start getting dark soon.”
“That’s…actually a good idea,” Iwaizumi concedes after a moment. Their clothes have mostly dried, but they exchange glances. No one is willing to say it, but each realizes they can’t afford to let Oikawa get cold, in addition to whatever else is currently wrong with him.
“I’ll get some firewood then.” Hanamaki stands suddenly. He snaps his fingers in front of Issei’s face. “C’mon. You’re helping me.”
“Okay,” Issei mumbles, and shoves to his feet. At least his limbs feel more like his own. He’s steadier than before.
“Who knows, maybe we’ll stumble across the fabled combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell,” Hanamaki muses as he steps out from beneath the rocky overhang. Issei easily falls into step beside him, and the dark cloud hanging over his head grows lighter when he catches a sneaky hint of a grin flashed in his direction.
“Don’t go far!” Iwaizumi calls after them.
“Whatever, mom!” Hanamaki laughs. He must believe he’s gotten away with being cheeky, until a coin sized stone zips through the air and bounces off the back of his head.
“Ow, shit!” Hanamaki hisses, throwing a look over his shoulder. Iwaizumi’s aim hasn’t gone even a little bit rusty. Their old spiker reaches for another nearby pebble, but before he has it in hand, Hanamaki grabs Issei’s hand and breaks into a sprint. “Hurry!”