No Rest For Rogues
Even with the no doubt apocalypse looming over his head, Pip often found himself laying in bed long after he had woken up, far after Damien had left the bed and gone about his morning rounds and exercising. He kept his eyes screwed shut and tried to will away the the intrusive, burning thoughts that constantly threatened the edges his mind every waking moment of his existence that was not consumed by Damien or hunting or trying to survive his horrific life in this god damned hellish town.
When the time finally came for him to wrench open his eyes into a dull stare, he climbed out of bed and down the stairs of whatever house he and Damien has squatted in for the past few days (or a week or two if they were lucky) and find Damien in the kitchen, making the two of them breakfast or in the living room, watching out the windows for nearby zombies. Finding Damien, watching him, catching his eye, Brought a rare smile to Pip’s face.
As a child, pip was all smiles, no matter what grief or misfortune fell on him. He had been sent to oblivion by the very boy he now spent every waking hour with and came back, only a years later, determined to keep his attitude about things as long as possible. It was only a year after that that the blast hit, only a year until his smile disappeared, a year until his life became a never ending cycle of running, hiding and hunting, only a year until he would put an arrow through the skull of the thing he once called his mother. While the rest of the survivors regrouped in town hall and split themselves up across the town, he slipped out with Damien. They walked away from the rest of the survivors and, while they never laid out a plan or decision between the two of them, they stuck together. He had heard through stray signals from the other’s radios that they called them rogues. perhaps, at one time he would have smiled at that. He had found little reason to smile since that day, since the silent months that followed, through the tears and panic and constant state of near death.
Now, four years later, he couldn’t say he was the cheerful little boy he was as a child, but he still caught himself now and then. Laughing at a particularly funny quip from Damien, grinning in relief after a surviving surprise attack, smiling softly as he and Damien slipped away from the hidden eye of the other survivors watching them, matching Damien's triumphant smile when they found and cleared out one of the many abandoned homes in south park, or the smile of contentment that came with eating after a hunt. Slowly, he felt his smile return.
“Are you gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna come help me?”
Damien watching him loom in the doorway from the corner of his eye, 2 plates of food on the dusty coffee table, and Pip’s bow grasped tight in his hands.
Pip sat on the couch beside him, placing his plate on his lap to eat, ”What did you do to my crossbow now?” he watched Damien’s hands and could see where he had been fiddling with the sight and had obviously messed up the string without realizing (or at least not caring). “You’re very lucky my bow already needed maintenance, or I might be upset.”
He cocked an eyebrow, smiling, “You know you’re never really mad at me, pip.”
“You would be surprised.”
Pip took his crossbow from Damien's hands and set his food back on the table, fixing his partner’s mistakes without much fuss, before putting it to the side and away from Damien so he could eat.
They sat in silence as they ate, both content to be safe and fed, if only for the moment. Pip thought briefly about a small cut he had gotten a few days prior, how Damien had been teaching him to heal himself in case one day wasn't there to do it for him.
A slight trickle of shame dripped down his back, thinking to what his mother would think of him, learning magic from the antichrist. He pushed the feeling back. This was the apocalypse, his family was dead and any god that might punish him for saving himself had already abandoned him.
Pip laid in wait in the branches of a tall tree. He and Damien had mapped out and gridded the woods around south park and were hunting on different sides of 3A, a favored territory for rabbits and foxed. Pip heard a rustling to his side and lifted his bow, ready to strike. He tended to wait until prey crossed his path while Damien was much more hands on (he once caught the boy trying and almost succeeding in wrestling a bear) and often caught their bigger prey.
He readied his bow towards the sound, but reared back when he saw a zombie stumble through the foliage. Typically they didn't pass the 2nd grid, but he supposed as the rest of the survivors got more careful, there were less casualties for the creatures to scavenge off of (they didn't seem to care for animals). He waited for the thing to shamble pass, not willing to waste an arrow on it. When he was sure the zombie had vacated the area, he grabbed his radio from his pocket, calling out to Damien in a hushed voice, “Dead caught passing into 3A, be cautious.”
He and Damien didn’t talk much on a good day, much less while hunting, but some things were worth breaking the silence. Damien didn’t answer, didn’t need to, they both continued on their ways. He noted 2 more entering the grid before he left and sighed. The animals would no doubt start getting harder to find as they relocated.
they met up at their latest house, just a few streets from his old family’s. Damien used his magic to mask the smell of their kill until they got inside and together they piled the rabbits, foxes and one deer in the garage and set to work separating the skin, meat and bones to be prepared for food and supplies without incident. After a timer had been set and everything had been set to cure, cook or dry, they dropped down onto the couch in the living room, giving themselves a rare moment to rest.
Pip could feel Damien’s eyes on him. “More dead have been making their way into town.”
“Must be drawn to the blast site.”
“How are they getting over the mountains?”
“No animals will touch them, the cold might not affect them either.”
Pip hmm’d and opened his eyes to look into Damien’s. “How long can we live like this?”
Damien raised a brow and Pip’s mouth shut with a click. Years ago, Damien had told him a way out. He could take him back to hell and leave South Park behind forever, be with him forever. He had refused then and every time after. He closed his eyes again, not wanting to face Damien’s eyes. Even if his faith had been shaken long ago, he couldn’t find it in himself to go, something deep inside pulling at him when he considered. And no matter how many times he refused him or how easy it would be for him to abandon this place, Damien wouldn’t leave him here. They were stuck together in a very different hell.
Regardless, there was no time to sit and contemplate or regret, not really, no rest for rogues and all. It was getting dark and they had work to do, they always did. Pip got up off the couch as the timer went off, Damien right behind him. He went to the garage to continue their work and Damien was on his way to the kitchen to make them dinner. Once again, the house was silent.