Title: We Are
Nowhere, And It's Now
Summary: Seth blamed penicillian. Summer blamed flu shots. Ryan blamed his last name.
AN: Here's my death fic for Brandywine's challenge. I hope I managed to not embarrass myself completely.
The world was over.
It was just a fact. Just something that had been going to happen for a while, and it was Ryan's shitty luck that ensured it would happen now. Seth blamed penicillian. Summer blamed flu shots. Ryan blamed his last name.
Jennifer Aniston was first. If anyone ever remembered history again, Jennifer Aniston would be first, which seemed wrong and crappy and hilarious on more than a few levels.
She just dropped on the set of a movie, and dominated the news. Seth and Ryan made fun of Kirsten for crying, and Sandy came home with a cold.
He would be dead two days later. Kirsten rolled over to see blood pouring out of his eyes and his ears and his nose and his mouth, and she screamed to hell. And all that was left were red stains on the fancy sheets. Kirsten crashed her car the next day, she coughed blood on the windshield, and couldn't see.
Marissa sneezed once, and shot herself. Julie stopped breathing in the pool. Taylor stopped coming to school, and they saw her mom burying her in her backyard. Luke called from Portland to say that his dad was gone, and didn't pick up the phone three days later.
By the end of the month, as far as Ryan knew, he, Summer, and Seth were the only ones left in the world. The town stunk so fucking much, they hid on the beach, but even that was littered with blood-covered bodies. Seth wanted to leave. Ryan wanted to stay. Summer wanted to stay drunk, she had been for a few days. Ryan and Seth had a screaming fight, and Summer puked all over the sand.
Ryan did not really want to be stuck with Seth and Summer for all of eternity.
He died sometime during the night, and Seth buried him the next morning before Summer woke up with a pounding headache, and saw blood on the sand. She looked for Seth, had about ten seconds of exquisite panic, and then saw him standing in the water.
She waded in with him, cursing the sunshine. "Cohen," she whispered, lacing her fingers around his.
"Ryan's gone," Seth said, glaring at the ocean.
Summer nodded. Ryan was gone. Her dad was gone. Marissa was gone. Everyone was gone. And she wasn't gone, and Cohen wasn't gone.
She didn't get that at all.
"We can go now," Seth said, with a cracking voice. She nodded again. The salt water was making her legs itch, but they stood there for about ten minutes, because there weren't any bodies floating in the water. She stood there, and all she could hear were waves, and Seth breathing, and nothing. A lot of nothing, and nothing had the most distinctive sound of all.
They took Sandy's car.
They walked back through Newport, and Summer forced herself not to close her eyes. Seth clenched his shut, and she was leading him, but she thought he was jsut being stupid, because he couldn't close his nose. He might not know how it looked, but he would never fucking forget how it smelled. Even she closed her eyes when they passed Seth's open front door, because she knew what was inside. Sandy was still on the couch, and she pulled him hard past it, and up the stairs. She yelled at him to pack, and she was not crying. The wetness on her cheeks was just something else, because no one cried anymore, because there was no one to cry. Everything came back to the fact that there was nothing.
She laughed when Seth waved his pack of condoms in front of her face, and the sound was harsh and sudden. Maybe they shouldn't laugh either, there had to be something horribly fucking wrong with laughing while his dad's body was a floor away.
But she did shove the condoms in the bag.
They drove. They drove for days, weeks, maybe months, Summer hadn't thought to pack a calander. They went north, they went south. It was somehow important that they not stop.
Sometimes Seth would look at Summer curled in the front seat, and he would watch her chest rise and fall and he wanted to crash the car. But there was nothing to crash it into.
They stopped when Summer got sick.
She sneezed and coughed and was pretty miserable.
"If you die, I'm going to blow my fucking head off," Seth muttered, and it was very true.
Summer said she was cold.
He ran out and got some blankets. And a thermometer. Her temperature was 105, and Seth informed her that her brain was going to ooze out her ears.
Her lips cracked as she tried to yell at him. He pumped her full of Tylenol and whatever else he could find.
"Brilliant, Cohen. Treat the disease that killed everyone with Tylenol," she croaked, and he pushed hair out of her eyes.
He was pretty fucking pround of himself when she got better.
They didn't move as Summer recovered. Seth found a little house, and no bodies were in it, so he ran around stealing shit for them to eat, and Summer managed to keep a fire in the fireplace, and spent a lot of time shivering with a blanket around her shoulders.
By the end of the winter, it became clear that the condoms would have been better used as balloon animals.
So they stayed in the little house for even longer, and Summer's stomach got rounder, and Seth had a nightmare of a dead baby or a dead Summer every night.
Then Summer had a little boy.
"We should name him after someone," Seth said, as the baby slept wrapped in a t-shirt.
"There are too many someones," Summer said stubbornly, and she named him Emerson because she didn't know anyone who had ever been named Emerson.
When Emerson turned one, Seth stole a car seat from someone else's house, and thanked God that there hadn't been a baby in it, and they left again.
Summer twisted around in her seat and made faces at the baby, who laughed, and clapped his hands. Summer laughed too, and kissed the side of Seth's head.
There were plenty of places to go.