Title: ...and I feel fine
By: geekwriter
pairing: Nick/Greg
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Nekosmuse asked for post-apocalyptic fic.

Greg squinted at the light reflecting off the tall, white building. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes and stared for a long time, unable to decide if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Two white towers, the one on the right ending with a flat fourth level, the one the left taller with a curved dome and topped with a cross. In between the towers an ornate brown façade, carved with columns and scrollwork, in the center of it a wrought iron balcony. A church? It seemed so out of place, literally in the middle of nowhere. He squinted again, looked away, looked back. It was still there.

"Why'd we stop?"

"Shh," Greg cooed. He didn't say anything about the building. He didn't want to scare Nick in case it wasn't there. In case he was going crazy. He gripped Nick's wrist tighter and made sure Nick's arm was firmly across his shoulders. "Come on."

"Feels good to stop."

"Just a little bit more," he said. "Come on."

He should have known better than to stop. Nick never wanted to start against once they'd stopped. He started walking, grunted as he pulled Nick the first few steps, sighed as Nick's feet started moving on their own.

"Mom made pecan pie yesterday," Nick said.

"Shh," Greg whispered.

"Pecan pie and milk so cold it was like drinking ice. Went skating with Lisa and Teri and then we had pecan pie."

"Was it good?" Greg asked. They'd been out of water for nearly two days.

"The pie was good. The milk was so cold."

"I'll bet."

"It was like ice. Like drinking ice. It's so cold outside."

"It's OK," Greg whispered. "It's OK, baby. We'll get you warm." He tipped his head up to the sky as he took a deep breath. The air was thick with the buzzing of cicadas, thick with dust and heat. He licked his lips and his tongue stuck to the raw, chapped skin. The building wasn't disappearing. It seemed to loom against the bright blue sky as they neared it.

His knees buckled but he forced himself to keep walking. There was an actual tree there in front of the building, the church. There was an actual tree with branches and leaves and everything. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a tree. There were three or four trees there, three or four trees and trees meant water, didn't they? Trees were better than cactus, anyway, and Greg thought if he never saw another saguaro cactus in his life he'd be just fine.

He could see the building clearer. It had to be a church. Two towers, one on each side of an ornate façade. There were trees, actual trees and an adobe fence. There was a whitewashed brick archway to the left with a wrought iron gate. He could see a bell in the left tower, the tower with the dome and the cross. He could see that the top of the tower on the right was open to the sky. He wondered what had happened to its dome, its cross. He wondered if he wanted to know.

They were walking on gravel, then. Not desert sand, but gravel, laid there by people. They were getting closer and the church hadn't disappeared. There were actual trees there, and trees meant water, didn't they?

His knees buckled and he hit the gravel hard. He hadn't had time to let go of Nick to brace himself and he groaned into the dust.

"Why'd we stop?" Nick asked. He didn't sound like he even knew they'd fallen.

"Just resting," Greg whispered. He tried to get up but he was too tired to move his arms. He tried to take a deep breath and inhaled gravel dust. His left arm was throbbing. He wondered if he'd broken it in the fall. He wondered why he didn't care. They hadn't had water for two days. The air was thick with the drone of cicadas.

Greg closed his eyes.

When he opened his eyes what he saw was a pair of red Converse high tops. He heard a voice far away and muffled, thought maybe he heard two voices.

He rolled over, or someone rolled him over, and the sight in his vision became a face instead of shoes. A broad, round face with dark skin and dust worked into the creases around his eyes. "Dunno," the face said to someone that wasn't Greg. "I'll ask." He looked down at Greg, his long black hair falling forward. "You dead?"

Greg shook his head.

The face looked up again, away from Greg. "Nope," he said. "They're not dead."

"How do you know?" the other voice was even further away than the one that belonged to the face with long black hair.

"He says he isn't."

"Is he lying?"

"Dunno. I'll ask him." The face looked down at him again. "You lying about being dead?"

Greg shook his head again.

"He ain't lying."

"What about the other one?"

"Dunno. He ain't talking. He's bleeding, though. That's good, innit?"

Greg heard a scuff, slap, scuff, slap to his left and turned his head. He saw sky and gravel and a pair of dusty brown feet in black flip-flops. "Look at his teeth."

"Why?"

"Cuz if they're zombies they'll have sharp teeth to crack open your skull."

"Oh."

Greg tried to lick his lips. "Water," he whispered.

"What's he saying?"

"Dunno." The face peered down at Greg again. His eyes were so dark brown they seemed liquid. "What you saying?"

Greg tried to lick his lips again. "Water."

"He's saying he wants water."

"Oh. They're not zombies, then."

"How do you know?"

"Zombies don't ask for water."

"They don't?"

"No. Zombies ask for brains."

Greg closed his eyes again as he felt hands slide beneath his shoulders and hook under his arms. The gravel scratched his ankles as he was pulled along but he didn't care. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to ask if he could have some brains.