Chapter Text
It’s the end of the world as we know it.
He can hear it- he’s heart slamming against his chest, his breath stuttered as he exhales. He uses the back of his palm to wipe the spit from the outer corner of his mouth. Disgustingly, a habit from childhood, he inspects it, and just as he suspects, there’s blood mingled in his saliva, now starting to dry.
He just wants to rest, lay his head down for just a second, right here on the stone floor (he’s just so tired.) but there’s no rest for the wicked, as he feels the eyes begin to droop, the door to the kitchen- an old rusty metal, screaks as its yanked open.
“Another fight? Honestly, are you trying to get yourself killed?” There’s a bite to his voice- Aaron’s, but it’s not malice, it’s not intended to hurt- but he’s mad, Robert can tell (he’s sorry.)
“Robert,” Aaron snaps, forcing Robert to open his eyes. His breath is still shallow, a loud noise that kidnaps the room kidnaps his voice. Perhaps it’s for the best that Robert can’t speak, can’t let the truth tumble from his lips because he’s tired, just wants to give up, want’s this god damn war to be over already but it feels never-ending.
“I’m not Liv,” he finally says in a quiet voice, “I’m not gonna leave ya.” He stares Aaron in the eyes then, sees them wild and expects a punch, because they don’t talk about Liv- not even at night when they’re bundled under the covers, praying their camp isn’t exposed by skitters.
Robert had never met her, just gone eleven when she’d been taken. He hadn’t meet Aaron till well after the world had gone to shit, till well after science fiction stories-well stopped being fiction. And even now, going on two years since the evasion, they’re still at a loss as to what they- the skitters wanted with the kids they’d taken.
“You sure? Because you seem to be doing a pretty damn good job in making sure if the skitters don’t kill ya, someone in this camp will.”
“It’s not right,” Robert says through gritted teeth, “moving everyone- most of them won’t make it.”
Aaron moves forward then, until he’s right in front of him, his legs and torso right in Robert’s line of vision. He kneels, taking Robert’s hands into his own. “They will because they have you.”
He shakes his head, “I’m not a doctor.” He’ll always hate the way his voice wobbles because he wishes he was stronger, for Aaron, for Vic. He wishes he wasn’t so damn scared and tried (but he is.)
“Maybe not, but you’re all they got, and they believe in you- and so do I.”
Robert J Sugden, self-proclaimed medic, he wonders what his father would think of him if he was here. What he’d think of how his son handled the end of the fucking world, or at least the end of the world as they knew it.
“I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” he mutters, “it’s been one of those days, I’ll apologise to Cain first thing.”
Aaron nods, groaning as he stands up, stretching out his back. “Come on, Vic’s managed to save ya a ration in the mess hall, better hurry up Adam had his eye on it when I left.”
He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, “typical, you’d think the lad had two stomachs or something- maybe he’s a skitter in disguise.”
“Nah he’s to shit of a liar for that.”
He lets Aaron lead the way, still, a little light-headed from the punch Cain had thrown earlier; just between his jaw. It’s still sore, and when Robert put’s his fingers to the skin, his eye twitches from the pain.
It’s just another day isn’t it? Just another day since the world’s gone to shit. It’ll be better in the morning, it has to be their moving, and when he thinks about it the same sense of forbidding settles in his stomach.
He’ll make it work, he’ll get them through it. (He’s still so fucking tired though.)