#day 1 part II | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

megalony · 6 months ago

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Horrors To Overcome

Okay, this is my first time writing for A Quiet Place Day One with Eric (Joseph Quinn). I hope you all will like this, I am in love with the Quiet Place series and I have another idea lined up for Eric if anyone would be interested.

Please let me know what you think.

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Summary: When the world turns to chaos and silence overrides everything, (Y/n) bumps into a familiar face and they both try to stick together to survive.

Enjoy.

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Stay quiet. Don't make a sound.

(Y/n) never really realised how hard it would be until now to stay quiet. She had no idea how many things could make a noise or how loud she could be when she thought she was being quiet.

Sometimes the sound of her breathing sounded horrendous. The sound of gravel crunching beneath her shoes was so quiet it was almost non-existent. Almost. But everything had a little sound to it, like a signature written across everything and it was frightening.

What kind of a world was this going to be for those of them that were left if they couldn't make any noise?

If they couldn't listen to the sound of each other's laughter, if they couldn't hear a loved one's voice or hear them murmur how much they loved one another. If they couldn't hear funny voices or hear the most beautiful singing or the sound of a piano or a soft guitar strumming in the background.

A world without noise was going to be so bleak. But it was a price people were willing to pay for survival. For what other choice did they have? Would it really be worth it for everyone to make a sound and have their lives taken away? Have the world change so much that no other life could survive out here?

A world without noise was a frightening prospect, but it was the only one that they had left.

Both (Y/n)'s arms coiled around her chest as she tried to walk down the street. She thought about taking her shoes off, but she wasn't wearing heels and they weren't clicking against the pavement. At least not yet. And if she had to start running, it was preferable to run in shoes rather than barefoot.

She wanted to tilt her head down and stare at her feet, but she had to keep looking. She had to keep moving and she had to make sure she didn't bump into anything or kick something or trip over.

The streets looked so different. So bare and broken and bewildered. Cars were turned upside down. Small fires were dotted around the road. Craters as big as sink holes filled the ground and buildings were partially collapsed. There were even blood splatters up the side of high rise buildings.

(Y/n) hadn't seen anyone in a while. Not since everyone tried to make their way to the river.

She wanted to go home. (Y/n) wanted to go home and see if there was anything left. She wanted to feel safe and secure and be somewhere familiar. Then she could decide whether she wanted to risk making the journey to the water and travelling to somewhere unknown, somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere with complete strangers. She had to decide whether to try and find refuge somewhere nearby or whether to risk leaving forever and finding salvation with complete strangers.

It was unusual to have to count each and every step she took and watch where she placed her feet.

On a normal day, on a day before the world turned to chaos like this, (Y/n) wouldn't look where she walked. Sure, she would glance ahead, make sure she didn't barge into anyone or step in any muck or dirt on the street. But she would never purposely count each step, never tread carefully to ensure no amount of noise echoed from her steps.

She had never been so cautious before.

It didn't feel right.

Her arms stayed deadlocked around her middle, her own way of comforting herself and giving herself so she didn't start crying. So she didn't let out one whimper and alert the creatures that she was here. She was in distress, but she was here.

Each step (Y/n) took dodged broken glass, crumbled buildings, bricks and grit. The broken buildings made it hard to find her bearings and work out where she was. She would just have to keep walking and walking until she found something familiar. Until she got home. Then tomorrow would be a new day with new decisions and choices and horrors to overcome.

A burst of water to her right made her take body freeze on the spot. The gust of water was followed by a spluttering and a cough and such deep, ragged breaths that (Y/n) felt sure that this was it.

That person had alerted the creatures that they were here. One would be climbing the walls at any moment. They would come down, screeching and stabbing their pinchers into the ground. They would wreak havoc and attack anything they heard, anything in their path.

Tears welled up in (Y/n)'s eyes and she felt the desperate need to close her eyes and wait for the inevitable, but she couldn't. Something drew her eyes to her right, something made her look.

Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps it was desperation. Or maybe it was the simple fact that nothing had come to kill her yet which made her look.

As soon as she looked, it felt like a fire roared to life within (Y/n)'s chest and her heart lurched up into her throat.

She moved before she could think better of it. Her feet danced across the pavement in a tap dance to avoid bricks and crumbled pieces of road and tarmac to get towards the entrance to the subway.

(Y/n) had never seen the subway look so strange as it did with water flowing from every orifice right up to the top step. She wondered where all the water was coming from. Surely there weren't enough water pipes in the subway and beneath the roads to flood it like that. Well, there had to be, but it just didn't seem real.

She stopped right before the top step, afraid to step into the water and make a splash, make a sound, a trickle of water that would alert the creatures of their existence.

Her hands waved out in front of her as a look of desperation flooded her face and her knees bent so she was level with him.

Eric.

He looked shell-shocked. his chocolate brown suit was drenched and glued to his frame like it had become a second skin. He was pushing back against the fence, stood on the second step down so his lower legs were still submerged in water.

The look in his eyes was unreadable and it made (Y/n) wonder what horrors he had seen down there in the subway. What had he witnessed? How many deaths had he seen? What had he done to claw his way back up to air, to some moderate sense of safety?

When another spluttering breath left Eric's lips, (Y/n) moved her hands again to gain his attention. He hadn't seen her yet.

The moment Eric twisted his head to the right, he jerked and cowered down against the wall as if he thought (Y/n) was one of those creatures here to end his life. The look of horror in his eyes was frightening and heartbreaking and his parted lips continued to pant as his chest rose and fell to the point it looked like his chest was going to pop.

Eric's brows furrowed slightly when he looked at her. Oh. He knew her. They worked together; at least, (Y/n) worked at the law firm where Eric was studying. Or where he had been studying. He guessed neither of them would be working there anymore.

The way she pressed her finger to her lips had his eyes narrowing again and he heaved for breath. He watched with intent concentration as (Y/n) pointed at him before she smothered her finger against her lips so much it must have hurt. And he watched what she tried to mouth across to him.

'Be quiet.'

He found himself nodding and he pressed his palm against his mouth to try and ensure that his breaths didn't make a noise and he didn't start to wheeze. He couldn't make a sound. He gathered that.

Every person who he had seen in the subway who screamed, who lashed out or slipped or slammed their feet too harshly had attracted attention. Eric found out very quickly that if he didn't move, if he stayed silent and pretended to be a statue, the creatures would move right past him.

It didn't work out so well when the subway became flooded. Eric had screamed into the water, he has gasped and choked and flung himself about. He collided into people, he pushed bodies and bag and prams and all contents of things out of his way when the water became too high and he couldn't breathe.

He scrambled, kicked, fought and pushed until he got towards the stairs and managed to swim up here. He thought he was going to drown down there. Eric didn't know what was worse. Drowning in the subway or coming up for air and being attacked up here. Neither option felt welcoming.

Once (Y/n) looked around and ensured there were no creatures within sight, she held her hand out towards Eric.

Maybe, if it had been a total stranger that came out of the water like a beacon of hope, she would have ran. She might have hurried, left them to fend for themselves because that was survival. (Y/n) couldn't help everybody and at times like these, helping people could get her killed.

But that wasn't just anybody. That was Eric. That was one of the young ones at the law firm who was just learning the tricks of the trade. The one who made a point to learn everybody's name. The guy who brought (Y/n) coffee whenever she was at work on a morning shift. He was down to Earth, he was sweet and sensitive and kind.

(Y/n) couldn't just leave him. She wouldn't run away without knowing if Eric had any sense of what was happening. If he didn't know and made a noise, he would get himself killed. (Y/n) didn't want to witness that, she didn't want that to happen to him.

Surprise flooded Eric's system when he saw (Y/n)'s hand outstretched towards him.

He couldn't stop himself from shaking when he reached out and took her hand. Hers was warm compared to how his blood was freezing in his veins. He tried to be careful, taking one step at a time towards her until he was out of the water and out of danger of making a large splash and drawing attention to either of them.

He stood still, again taken by surprise when (Y/n)'s free hand held onto his shoulder and she seemed to take a moment to check him up and down. She was making sure he wasn't hurt.

When she mouthed 'okay?' to him, Eric nodded and took the time to look over her as well. She didn't look injured, she wasn't bleeding or limping or cradling any part of her that seemed to be hurt.

Eric had a great urge to shake the dripping water off his frame, but he knew that would cause too much sound. Any sort of sound would be too much. Instead, he tightened his hand around (Y/n)'s and pointed down the street. They needed to move. He didn't care where they went, as long as they got away from here.

He took slow steps alongside her, but he couldn't focus on looking ahead when all he could do was look down at the shell shocked girl beside him. There was a faraway look in (Y/n)'s eyes and with each step she took, she seemed to move closer and closer to his side until their arms were brushing alongside each other and her free hand moved to curl around his upper arm.

His body was soaked but the cold water was refreshing when (Y/n) felt like she was overheating from all the excersion from the day's events. Staying close beside Eric made (Y/n) feel some sense of security.

It reassured her that she wasn't alone. She may have started this terrible day alone and she may have started this defense by herself, but not anymore. At least, not for a while. Being with someone felt safer than being alone. She felt like she could keep walking without her thoughts becoming too much for her to handle.

Another set of eyes, another set of ears and another mind to help hide and figure out where to go and what to do, it was helpful. It was comforting.

Both of them seemed to shudder and press together when the rain started to fall.

At first, it was little droplets. Small splatters on the floor and it made them pause their treck along the road. Rain made a sound. It made a noise when it tapped against the roof of cars and when it splashed into puddles and when it started to hammer down and fall from the trees and tap on the windows, it could become a symphony.

The creatures must know. They must have known that the rain was making that noise, that it was nothing they could harm, nothing they could kill. Because none of them came; no creatures climbed the buildings or scoured the streets and aimed towards them.

One of the announcements said they don't like water, maybe that included the rain too.

When the rain started to become heavier and the droplets felt like pins scratching against their skin and sticking to their clothes, Eric pointed to the pavement. There was a building that was clearly under construction with scaffolding and wooden boards set up. That would provide them some shelter.

When they got under the scaffolding, they both paused. Their fingers were still woven together as they hunched over near the wall.

(Y/n) took a moment to listen to the rain. It was loud. It dripped from the scaffolding and splashed into puddles on the floor and it made background noise. It made a cover for them.

"Are you okay?" (Y/n)'s voice came out barely more than a whisper and as she spoke, she could feel a lump forming in her throat. Her eyes welled over and she looked around, making sure that the rain covered the quiet sound of her words.

She could see the panic written across Eric's face. She could see the contemplation in his eyes until he realised that the rain was their protection. It would provide a blanket for their words, as long as they kept their decibels low.

"I think so. Where are you going?" Eric took the time to look around and guess where they were.

They were in mid-town. Somewhere he didn't usually go. This was somewhere he went right beneath when he travelled to and from work each day on the subway. He didn't even make it to work this morning. He had barely been on the train for five minutes before it stopped.

An emergency announcement sounded, everyone was evacuated just as the chaos started. Eric didn't get off the platform before the creatures swarmed the subway and he ended up swimming out of there.

He didn't know what to do.

Would his home still be there waiting for him? What good would it do him to go home alone? He couldn't very well go to work, anyone there would be in hiding or trying to get out and get somewhere safe. He had no idea where to go. Did he hide in a shop? At least a shop would have food and drink and shelter.

"Home, for now at least." (Y/n) cast her eyes down to her feet before she looked back up into Eric's melting chocolate eyes. "I don't- I don't have any family here, home seems the best choice right now."

(Y/n) didn't want to think about her family. What was left of her family was broken, but they were all in different states. No one was here, no one was close by and the few friends she did have would either be dead or in hiding or making their way to the water. She was alone.

A sad sort of smile formed on Eric's lips as his shoulders sagged down and his hair began to curl as the water finally faded from his hair and trickled into his clothing.

"My family are in England. I was only here to study." Eric raised his hands at his sides like he wanted to laugh or make a joke but it only made him tear up and had a lump forming in his throat.

He was in New York to study. He was here to become a lawyer, his parents had pushed for this and he wanted to make them proud. How could he do that now? How proud were they going to be of a son who was crying and walking the streets aimlessly with no idea how to help himself?

Were they even alive? Was this chaos happening back home? Was this happening all around the world or was there one country, one town or one little village that didn't have these creatures?

(Y/n) didn't have a response to that. Just looking at the sadness and uncertainty in Eric's eyes was making her want to burst into sobs right here and now. They were both alone. They were both isolated from any family or friends and they both had no destination in mind or way they could get through this.

"Can… can I come with you?" There was an air of desperation in Eric's words that made (Y/n) want to scream because this shouldn't be happening. They shouldn't be this frightened, this traumatised and upset and afraid and isolated. None of this should be happening, but it was, and they could do very little about it.

Eric didn't want to ask, part of him really didn't because it felt strange. He felt bad for asking if he could tag along with her when the world was ending. Maybe she wanted to be alone. Maybe she thought he would be a hindrance. Maybe she thought he was weak and being silly for asking.

But when she reached out and took his hand again and stepped closer to him, Eric felt his heart doing summer saults in his chest. "Of course."

He got the sense that just maybe, (Y/n) didn't want to be alone either. Maybe if they had been strangers this would have been a little more unorthadox, maybe it would have been uneasy or uncomfortable. But they were friends, they were colleagues and they spoke almost every day at work. Eric felt he knew her enough to be comfortable enough to panic and cry and be himself around her. He hoped she felt the same.

With their hands entwined, they moved back onto the road and began to trudge through the rain.

They walked in tandem, their steps and their paces matching while their hands stayed deadlocked together and their arms were glued up side by side. (Y/n) took to leaning her cheek against Eric's arm, focusing on the sound of the rain and listening out for anything else that sounded unfamiliar.

The silence was comfortable between them. They seemed to cling to each other the further they walked. They rounded a corner onto a new street that finally looked familiar and (Y/n) began pointing to the street signs to show Eric which way to go.

(Y/n) could of cried when they were finally on her street again, although it didn't much look like her street. She barely recognised the road that had been covered in craters and pot holes. The corner shop looked like it had combusted. Everything looked like the blitz, but at least the two apartment buildings on each street corner were in place.

(Y/n) took a step forward but before she stepped onto the road, she paused short when she felt Eric's hand slip from hers.

Her head turned to look beside her but Eric was no longer right beside her, he was behind her.

Both his hands clamped down on her waist and he pulled her back towards him until his chest was glued down into her back. His face hovered dangerously close to her ear and (Y/n) couldn't be sure whether he wanted to whisper something to her or if he simply wanted to breathe close to her skin to calm himself down.

His fingers were puncturing into her hips and he was trembling behind her. Had he suddenly become afraid? Did he want to go somewhere else? Had something spooked him?

As if he could hear her thoughts, Eric managed to unclamp one hand from her hip so he could point across to the building across the road on their left.

A creature.

A cold shiver ran down (Y/n)'s spine and she found herself shrinking down and pushing back into Eric. Her hand reached behind her to grip his arm and her jaw dropped but no sound escaped her mouth. She wanted to cry. Tears were welling up in her eyes and her throat was turning dry and she felt the great need to cough and splutter through a howl.

Her eyes snapped closed when Eric's hand moved from pointing out the creature and his palm clamped across her mouth. The touch wasn't forceful or smothering, but it was enough to coax (Y/n) to stay quiet.

She tried to stay deathly still, clutching at Eric's arm while she felt his head turn just a little more until his lips were touching the side of her temple. The touch was delicate, like the first flakes of snow on the grass but (Y/n) could feel how badly his lips were trembling and how he was fighting back his own sobs.

He breathed shallow and quick against her temple, almost like he was kissing her skin and his fingers were puncturing into her hip leaving bruises in his wake.

Eric kept his eyes on the creature despite how badly he wanted to close them and disappear. He wanted to curl up and wish this whole scene away. But holding onto (Y/n) was doing something to keep him grounded. It was stopping him from screaming and getting them both killed here and now.

He watched the creature, the odd block of arms and legs and a strange shaped head that could splinter apart and crack open like a walnut shell. He watched it dig its pointed claws into the building across the street. He watched as it made a horrid echoeing noise that had (Y/n) quaking in his arms and made Eric double over her like a security blanket.

The creature was moving away. It was heading in the other direction. It continued down the street until it was far away from them and just out of sight.

Once it was gone, the pair of them stayed deathly still, making sure nothing else was lurking around the corner about to become a predator.

(Y/n) dared to open her eyes when she felt Eric press his lips harder against her temple and kiss her head. She could feel the relief pouring through him into her. She felt him stop shaking and finally breathe softly against her skin.

Her hand unlatched from his arm and she shakily pointed to her building. The rain continued to beat down against them and lightning struck the skies as their beacon, their safe haven, was finally within sight.

Eric's hand stayed on her hip as they crossed the road at such a slow pace it didn't feel like they were moving at all. But going any faster in this weather felt like tempting fate far too much.

The door was open. It felt like a sign, like something welcoming them inside, like the building was promising to protect them and keep them safe.

Once inside, Eric didn't bother to shut the door, it could stay wide open like that because it meant they could come and go without fear and if anyone else needed shelter, they could hurry inside.

(Y/n) turned her head and looked up at Eric, letting tears fall freely from her eyes while she pointed down to the stairs.

"Stay this side." Her voice was barely audible, the quietest whisper she could manage, but she had to tell him.

She walked these stairs each and every day, she knew which floorboards creaked and which steps would be loud and which would be quiet. Walking on the left side of the stairs and staying close to the bannister was the safest bet as the boards didn't creak as much over here.

As not to tempt fate, (Y/n) walked on her tiptoes and she was sure Eric looked down and copied her movements. He stayed on his toes, barely setting his feet down on the floor until it felt like he was gliding on air.

It took them five minutes to climb two flights of stairs but when (Y/n) approached her door, her expression turned grave and her stomach churned.

Her bag. Her keys. Her phone. Every possession she left the apartment with was somewhere in the streets, lost in the chaos. She didn't have a spare key outside, it was too dangerous when anyone could walk in the building and try and get into her apartment.

A clap of thunder outside made her jump and she stepped to one side while she looked up at Eric.

"No keys."

Eric nodded before it seemed to sink in what she had said and his lips rolled together tightly while he looked around. He had nothing but his foot to use to get them inside the apartment.

He stepped back and nudged (Y/n) to one side and raised one leg in the air. He knew he had to kick just below the lock to make sure it broke properly.

He watched (Y/n) wave her hand out in front of him before she pointed to the window and waited. As soon as a flash of lightning struck the sky, she pointed and Eric snapped his eyes closed.

He kicked the door just as thunder tore through the air and shuddered the foundations of the building.

The door was open.

When they headed inside, (Y/n) felt brave enough to carefully twist the door handle and close it. She prayed no creatures would be inside the building. She prayed they wouldn't be nearby and being here in her home with padded walls and other apartments enclosing them in would keep them safe. She prayed they could make a small amount of noise, a few hushed words and a few movements around the flat. Hopefully they would be safe, for a while at least.

Tears were drenching her face the moment she turned around to face Eric and she took her chance before her courage dissipated.

Her arms bound around his waist and she smothered her face in his chest, glueing herself up against him to try and seek whatever comfort she could and to hold him together. Because she could see Eric looked like a puzzle that was about to fall apart.

She felt his shoulders quake and the tiniest, smallest whimper left his lips before he smothered his face in her hair and tried to breathe in her scent. He kissed the top of her head with one arm bound around her waist and the other hand cupping the back of her neck.

They held one another close as if letting go or moving back would physically tear them apart limb from limb and kill them. Neither of them wanted to let go.

"It's okay." Eric's voice was a whisper on the wind, just a little bit louder than he had been when they had been out in the rain, but it was enough. It was enough to soothe one of the many broken nerves within (Y/n) and when she felt him start to sway them from side to side, she gripped him tighter.

For now at least, it was okay. They were okay.

***

Sleep had always been something Eric thought of as peaceful. It was an escape. A way to leave the real world behind when things got too heavy; a way to drift off and get lost in an alternate world. A way to recover and rest and feel a sense of bliss that you just couldn't find in the real world.

Eric didn't see sleep in the same way anymore. He couldn't. How could sleep be something peaceful when it came with consequences and threats?

If he went to sleep, he risked everything. He risked going to sleep alone and waking up alone. He risked something happening during the night and not knowing it. Going to sleep meant letting his guard down.

What if a creature passed the building in the dead of night and Eric made a sound by mistake? And what if that mistake led to the creatures harming (Y/n)?

Eric had never had to think about making noise in his sleep. When he slept alongside someone, the only thing he worried about was if he snored while he slept- something he was adamant he had never done. He didn't consider that the covers would rustle or that he could make noise by turning over and have the bed creak or the cushions move.

He never considered before that he could make a whimper or a groan in his sleep or that such a quiet noise could be the undoing of him. Of everything around him.

He was in a frightful battle of needing to sleep so he could function but being too afraid to sleep and risk it all.

This led to a few sacred hours of sleep where he seemed to wake at least twice every hour in a panic, trying to make sure he wouldn't make a noise or do anything to alert the creatures of their existence here.

His arm reached up to cross behind his head on the arm of the sofa and his tired, dreary eyes focused on the ceiling that had been his canvas for the last half an hour or so. He imagined different scenarios, different images forming in his mind and scenes acting out while he stared up into the abyss which was actually the ceiling.

There was so little to do when he had no energy to get up but too much paranoia to settle to sleep.

"Eric?" The whispering of his name caught Eric off guard and his head lifted from the cushion so he could peer over the back of the sofa. (Y/n)'s quiet murmur of "Can't sleep either?" made his lips quirk into a gentle smile as he nodded.

At least he wasn't the only one up in the dead of night, plagued by terror.

It strained his neck to lean up like he was, but he couldn't find the will to tear his eyes away from (Y/n). He watched her, enchanted, as she padded across the carpet until she was level with the arm of the sofa that his feet were dangling over.

The first night they spent in (Y/n)'s apartment, they had both slept in the living room. Too afraid to part from each other's company, too exhausted to try and get changed or get a drink or do anything other than sit together on the sofa and drift into exhaustion.

Last night (Y/n) had tried to sleep in her room, after trying and failing to persuade Eric that he could sleep in the bed too, that she trusted him. But he hadn't been able to sleep and he saw no point lying next to her and disturbing what little sleep (Y/n) managed to get.

But she didn't want to be alone anymore. Staring at the shadows until they resembled the creatures had become too much and (Y/n) instinctively felt that Eric was awake too. She wanted some company, she wanted to forget the chaos they had found themselves in and just try to relax, for a little while. That felt doable if she was with company. If she was with Eric.

Eric moved his arm from behind his head to scratch at his eyes and clear his vision a little more. He noticed the way (Y/n) was fidgeting from foot to foot with one arm bound around her waist and the other scratching the back of her neck in a nervous habit that he recognised as something he did too.

"Can I join you?"

She didn't have to ask. This was her home and if she didn't want to be alone, Eric was never going to refuse her company.

Before Eric had the chance to try and sit up, (Y/n) moved. She took him by surprise when she softly perched down beside his hip on the edge of the sofa and when she stretched out and laid down on the very edge beside him, Eric didn't know what to do.

He suddenly forgot how to breathe, how to focus, how to process his thoughts and keep himself in order. All he could manage to do was shift his wide eyes to stare down at her. His eyes looked so dilated and blown wide that there was barely one small ring of chocolate brown surrounding those black orbs and they watched as (Y/n) shifted around next to him.

She moved carefully, doing her best not to make a sound or cause the sofa to squeak or groan beneath them. Moving slow seemed to be a new reality for them and it was starting to become a reinforced habit.

(Y/n) wasn't quite sure whether to stay lying on her back beside Eric or whether to turn and face him. She settled on turning on her right side with one arm beneath her head and her left hand softly settling on Eric's shoulder.

Those dark eyes could get him anything he wanted, (Y/n) thought, as she stared up at him in the darkness and the new sense of normality which had become silence.

Her fingers danced across his shoulder and gave a light squeeze while she shifted between looking from his eyes down to his sharp jawline that was littered in stubble. Being here with Eric felt better than being in another room, uncertain and alone and almost always terrified.

(Y/n) couldn't stop herself from gliding her hand from Eric's shoulder up his neck towards his face. she kept her movements slow, giving him time to turn his head away if he didn't want the touch, but if anything, Eric seemed to lean closer like he had been yearning for her touch all his life.

Her thumb traced the corner of his jaw and worked along the edge of his cheekbone beneath his tired yet dilated eyes.

"You need some sleep." She murmured softly and with her thumb continuing to trace beneath his eyes, Eric couldn't help but close them.

He tilted his head down, pushing into her touch as a quiet, inaudible sigh escaped his blushing red lips. Again, Eric didn't quite know what to do when (Y/n) inched closer and pressed her face against the top of his chest. She didn't seem to care about the undone buttons on his shirt pressing into her cheek or the racing of his heart or the fact that he hadn't showered in almost three days.

The feeling of his pulse softly lulling beneath his skin was soothing and being this close made (Y/n) feel at ease. It seemed to do the same for Eric because he nudged his arm across until his hand laid on her hip and he angled his head down until his nose brushed against her hair.

The slight smell of smoke and damp didn't manage to mask the smell of (Y/n)'s shampoo, that faint hint of raspberry with a silky edge to her hair that made him feel like he was burrowing down into a pillow.

Eric didn't want to go to sleep. He didn't want to become vulnerable, especially now that (Y/n) was laid here in front of him and he felt the need to keep her safe. But somehow, with her chest merged up against his own and the feeling of her lips and nose pressing against his exposed chest, it was calming. Comforting. And Eric found his mind was already shutting down without his permission for some much needed sleep.

Being cooped up together on the sofa, such a small cramped space, when they weren't supposed to make any noise might not have been such a good idea at times.

Neither of them could turn much in any direction and (Y/n) found that when she tried to turn or twist around, she felt Eric's hand clamp down on her hip, even in his sleep. He was a light sleeper, worsened by the events of the last few days. Any movement or slight noise woke him and when (Y/n) tried to turn, she felt Eric hold her hip and help her turn without making any noise. It was sweet, even in a delerious sleeping state Eric was still worrying and trying to protect them both.

(Y/n) could feel the light seeping through from the open curtains, basking across her face making her feel a warm glow all over.

One hand moved to brush across her face, again slow and tender as not to make a sound and it was suddenly hard not to yawn or stretch or groan as she woke up. Things she had done before without thinking but now they had become things she had to scold herself not to do.

It took (Y/n) a moment longer than it should have for her to work out why she felt rather constrained and uneasy.

Eric.

She had been surprised how quickly he had fallen asleep last night and how easily she herself found it to switch off and calm down for the first time in days. The pair of them had moved around quite a lot despite the small space the sofa provided.

It seemed now that Eric was making the most of their limited space. His head was softly nestled into the crook of (Y/n)'s neck and each breath he took fanned against her throat and she could feel his nose nudging against her skin. He had his right arm slung around her waist like he was ensuring that neither of them moved or made a single sound in their sleep. And his leg was cast over her thigh with his knee safely nestled between her thighs.

Raising her hand, (Y/n) slowly began to card her fingers through Eric's crimped curls that were askew and as wild as if he had been in the jungle. Her cheek nestled against his hair and her fingers rhythmically tugged and scratched at his hair and scalp. The action earned a vibration from Eric's chest that shivered through into her body but he did well to muffle the sound against her throat where he placed a delicate kiss without thinking.

"Morning."

He pressed another kiss against the hollow expanse of her throat as if returning the response in a gesture and he felt the shiver that it ensued running through (Y/n)'s system.

Eric's arm tightened around her waist and he nestled down deeper against her chest, praying he wasn't laid too heavily on her because right now, there was no where else he would rather be. He was as comfy as he'd ever been and he was calm. He was finally calm and settled and not laid in terror for every waking moment.

Somehow, it was a silent agreement between them that they wouldn't be leaving one another anytime soon. Neither of them wanted to face this world alone. The universe had clearly thrown them together for a reason, and they weren't about to oppose fate.

Maybe the world was ending outside these walls. Maybe their futures wouldn't be long or filled with happiness and pleasure. But for now, within these walls, they were in their own sense of serenity together. Just the two of them.

#imagine #a quiet place day one #a quiet place day 1 #a quiet place eric #a quiet place part ii #a quiet place the road ahead #eric x reader #a quiet place imagine #a quiet place eric x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn x reader

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maccreadysbaby · 6 months ago

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there's a little synopsis of a quiet place under the cut for my bentley followers that have no clue what I'm on about!! 9000 words later lmao, the quiet place au is finished!!! ALSO WERE GOING BACK BABY BENTLEY MY PEEPS, HES 10 AGAIN IN HERE 🥹🥹

Project: Killcode Drabbles

tw: violence & gore

wanna read the extended fic? here’s the table of contents!

⚠️ THIS IS NOT PART OF BENTLEY’S MAIN STORYLINE, THIS BENTLEY INSERTED INTO AN AU (ALTERNATE UNIVERSE.)

brief overview of A QUIET PLACE:

A Quiet Place is a sci-fi/horror movie series originally directed by John Krasinski, in which aliens crash into earth via a meteor. They spread quickly, and are extremely strong, agile, and resilient. They’re completely blind, but they can hear as much as an unsteady breath across massive distances and likewise get extremely violent towards anything that makes even the slightest noise. Not many people survived, and the ones who did… may not be the lucky ones.

Bentley Whittaker was 9 when the meteor hit. The monsters were probably twice as tall as him, and no one could have ever stressed enough just how the tiniest of sounds could kill.

photos for your imagination ↴

THE “MONSTERS” - formally called death angels, but Bentley only calls them “aliens” or “monsters”

TEN-YEAR-OLD BENTLEY WHITTAKER WALKED DOWN THE GOTHAM STREETS SLOWLY, ONE STEP AT A TIME, LISTENING.

It was a thirty-six degree overcast afternoon. The city was dead silent apart from the subtle howl of wind that came and went every now and then.

Debris was blowing softly across the street, piled full of crashed cars and decomposed bodies reduced to nothing but clothes and what looked like ashes. The electricity in most places was shot. It had been since the meteors fell, since the monsters got there and started to rip apart and kill every single thing that made the slightest bit of noise.

Most of the buildings lining the streets were mere bones of what they had been, the windows shattered, doors ripped off, and some of the walls entirely collapsed — undoubtedly by the creatures ripping them apart, seeking prey that’d been inside. People.

Bentley stepped cautiously, holding tight to his father’s bloody shotgun that was far, far too big for his little hands. It was nearly his height, and probably his weight, too. An old blue bag sat on his back, the zipper haphazardly cut out and replaced by a myriad of safety pins to eliminate the sound. (It was the biggest backpack ever, his father had said once. Good for the end of the world.)

He was wearing three jackets, all thin and soft instead of puffy and loud, and cargo pants he’d gotten for his birthday a few months ago that almost covered his feet. His shoes, dirty and torn red tennis shoes, were wrapped in thin cloth cut from his old sheets so the soles didn’t make noise against the concrete.

The monsters could hear a pin drop. They could hear an unsteady breath. They could hear everything.

Which was unfortunate, because Bentley was out of food. He’d gone as long as he could without it, attempting to substitute with other things like water and uncooked rice that were left inside the Whittaker Estate, but now he was really hungry, and therefore forced out of hiding and into the city. Where absolutely everything made noise.

It was strange to see Gotham abandoned. He hadn’t been there since before the monsters showed up — once, with his father on business. It was bigger than Drew, and had more places to get supplies, which was why he was there. Not a soul remained in the streets now; the city was a sad, lifeless husk, nothing more than a graveyard. Bentley’d wondered… Why didn’t the monsters eat their kills? Were they just slaughtering humans for fun?

Bentley missed when people were everywhere. The world was so quiet now… he was so lonely. People used to make him nervous, but now, he would probably kill for the chance to be with someone else.

He kept walking, keeping his breathing slow and shallow, exhales rising in front of his face as clouds of vapor. His feet were falling in very precise, very calculated heel-to-toe steps. He’d learned quickly that it was the quietest way he could walk.

There was a corner store coming up at the end of the block that his father had taken him into, the one time they’d been to Gotham together. Not just out of the goodness of his heart, though — it’s because Bentley was sick and his father was pissed off that he’d even think about throwing up in a Maserati. He shoved him into a corner store bathroom, went home, and sent some men to pick him up later.

Bentley was really upset at him, then… but now, he guessed it was an advantage to know where the store was.

Plus, he couldn’t be mad at his father anymore. He glanced down at the shotgun splayed with blood and grimaced, inhaling lightly. No, he couldn’t be mad at him at all.

He continued to walk in silence. A piece of newspaper clipping blew across the street near his feet, and the headline was something about baseball. Bentley had never seen anyone play baseball, nor did he know the premise of the game, but he missed it. He guessed it was normal to miss stuff from before the world started ending, though. Even if he never really saw it.

Suddenly, one of the shutters on a nearby building started blowing in the wind, hitting the the brick with soft clacks every few seconds that made Bentley’s anxiety thrum within his veins, his heart quicken in his chest. Everything was silent except that shutter, clacking above him, seemingly deafening in the dead Gotham street.

He closed his eyes and held his breath, pausing his movement to listen. He counted from zero to ten Mississippi. Nothing moved. Nothing made any noise — no pounding feet, no chittering, no growling… nothing.

So he resumed walking, but at a slightly more brisk pace than before.

Maybe ten minutes of that passed before the corner store finally came into view. The front was blown out, the doorway nothing more than a large hole in the brick, and all the windows were shattered, but… the inside looked intact.

So he moved for the door, keeping his footfalls silent, stepping over debris and parts of cars and bodies that he didn’t dare look at until he made it to the blown out front wall and peered inside.

The entire thing seemed coated with concrete dust and ashes, but there were also supplies left on the shelves.

With a quiet exhale, he glanced down at his shoes, at the ground. There was a pile of ruined brick blocking the doorway (that was really just a massive hole in the wall), too large to step over and definitely something he couldn’t step on without making noise. He took a step back and glanced at one of the nearby windows. There were only two in the whole store, small, and on either side of the door.

He moved for the one on the left. Most of the glass was blown out of it, a few shards lying outside but most scattered on the floor inside.

So Bentley stepped over to it and inhaled.

He took his backpack off and carefully lifted it through the window, laying it gently on the other side. He did the same to his shotgun, carefully laying it atop the bag so it didn’t make any noise against the concrete floor.

He exhaled. Well, his turn.

Ever-so-slowly he lifted his right foot, holding his breath and swinging it over the windowsill at a glacial pace. It was pretty high, so he had to sort of push himself up to sit on it, holding on tight to the edges while he brought his other foot over.

He set his feet on the floor gently, and-

CRUNCH. The shards of glass on the floor cracked under his weight.

He flinched, ducking beneath the windowsill as quickly and silently as he could. With a flare of terrible pain and a little tearing sound he could hear in the silence that Gotham had become, a piece of glass still stuck in the window frame sliced his left hand open from his wrist all the way down between his middle and ring fingers.

He slapped his right hand over his mouth as a pained noise threatened to escape him, his eyes involuntarily brimming with tears. He sank down into the floor of the building silently, tucking his bloody arm close to his chest. His entire hand was throbbing and burning and already drenched in red that made him kind of dizzy to look at.

Something hit the ground with a fleshy thump outside.

There were no words for how hard Bentley’s heart was pounding, threatening to break out of his chest all together. The reflex tears in his eyes quickly became real and started streaming down his face. With a deep, guttural set of clicks, he heard the monster’s feet as it walked, away from the window but toward the door.

He choked down every sob that threatened to force it's way out and stayed eerily still, holding his breath for as long as he could, breathing in and out, then holding it again.

The next time the monster took a step, a loud sound came along with it that he recognized as the bricks at the door, sliding and falling against each other.

Something moved in Bentley’s peripheral, and he closed his hand over his nose and mouth, forcing himself not to breathe.

He saw the monster’s head peer into the building. Its front legs, lanky and insanely long in an unnerving type of way came to rest on either side of the hole in the wall, its long, narrow claws clicking against the brick there. Its head, covered by probably a dozen or more plates of armor, swiveled this way and that, the armor plates opening up like some kind of horrifying flower to reveal the fleshier inside of its head. Bentley knew that when they did that, they were listening.

He stayed dead silent, forcing his body not to move, forcing his lungs to burn for just a little longer, forcing everything to shut down and stop as best he could. Could it hear his heart trying to break out of his body? Could it hear the sobs trying to rip up his throat?

His stomach growled.

The monster whipped its head around to face him directly, no longer chittering but making a deep, ear-splitting hiss.

Bentley didn’t move.

He didn’t move when it came fully inside the building, propelling itself forward by using its long arms to grab walls and shelves, shooting across the distance with speed uncanny to anything else. It knocked over shelves and slashed a few magazine racks across the room as it came directly. Toward. Him.

Bentley curled up a little tighter, and when it was mere feet from him, it-

CLACK! Something hit something else outside. CLACK! And again. It was faint, but Bentley could hear it, and the monster paused with its wide jaws full of serrated teeth a mere foot from his face, turning to the window and opening its plates to listen.

CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!

The shutter. It was the shutter, from down the road.

With a terrifying screech, the monster all but lumbered out the window right over Bentley’s head, its back leg brushing his hair right before it slammed on the road and skidded away like a car drifting on ice.

The sounds of its thundering footsteps faded away, and for a long time, Bentley just sat there, crying silently.

After a while, he reached over and unpinned his bag, shifting things around until he found a small cylinder of unpackaged bandage. He unrolled it and wrapped it around his arm and hand tightly, over and over until he could tuck it in somewhere.

He didn’t get up until the sun was going down, because the temperature had dropped a solid ten degrees and he was starting to go numb.

He forced himself off the floor — freezing up and freaking out wouldn’t serve him well anyways. He couldn’t afford it, not in this world. Not anymore.

Stepping carefully around the glass and debris, he went further into the store. The whole place was run down, and sort of looked like someone had picked out of it before.

The first aisle, the one closest to the door, had household items. Bentley scanned the shelves, stepping lightly, and settled on grabbing a packaged toothbrush, a pair of large metal scissors, and a can opener, should he ever get his hands on any canned goods. There wasn’t any toothpaste, but he’d survive without it.

And then he spotted a package on the top shelf — a set of four plastic jars, probably double the radius of a normal jar, with screw-on tops.

There were so many things he could use those for. The only problem was…

They were about four shelves above his head.

He reached up with one arm, pushing up onto his tippy toes, but was still about two shelves off.

With a muted huff, he glanced around the store. There were some baskets up near the ruined door, thick and red. There was also an office chair behind the counter, but he didn’t think that would be safe — it had wheels, and if it rolled out from under him, he was as good as dead.

So, he tip-toed over to the baskets and picked one up silently, shuffling back over to the shelves. He put it on the floor upside-down, then ever-so-slowly put one foot on it. The plastic dipped dangerously, but it didn’t crack or pop, so he went about putting his other foot on it.

When it didn’t break, he carefully lifted his hands up toward the little package of jars. He could barely skim the cardboard they were sitting on with his fingertips.

He did that a few times, softly nudging the pack until it was almost halfway off the top shelf. The next time he did it, it tipped sideways toward his head, and he was able to carefully slide it off the shelf and into his hands.

He carried it all back over to his bag and tucked the loose things neatly inside. He used his scissors to cut the jars out and prepare to fill them with stuff. All that was in the bottom of his bag currently was a flashlight, a journal and pack of pens, one schoolbook, ammunition for his shotgun, and a fourth jacket, weaved and folded around all the other things so they didn’t make any noise.

One by one, he took to searching the aisles. He came out with a small first aid kit, two bottles of honey, four full water bottles, and seven cans of food that he was rather proud of already locating the can opener for. Three corn, two peas, and two peaches. There were a lot of chips left, but rightfully so — as appetizing as they sounded, the bags and contents were both so loud they were likely to get him killed on the spot. He did manage to find about a dozen slim jim’s and several bags of lifesaver gummies, which he cut open carefully with his newly acquired scissors and emptied into one of the four plastic jars he’d found. The other three jars ended up holding a bunch of energy bars, two bags of beef jerky, and several packs of those weird orange peanut butter crackers. He cut everything carefully out of its packaging and organized them quietly, shoving all the cans and jars into his bag and weaving the jacket between them so they didn’t knock around, going as far as to take off one of his own to use when the other ran out of slack. He had to dig his flashlight out in the middle of packing up, because the sun was setting more and more.

His bag was much heavier when he slung it on, but he didn’t mind — it was all stuff that would keep him alive, right? He grabbed his shotgun out of the floor and rolled his shoulders back, getting used to holding the weight against his injured hand because he had no other choice.

On the way out of the corner store, he stopped at the checkout and grabbed a bundle of candy bars — the only ones left in the small candy rack, careful not to rustle the packaging. There were also a couple small travel books with crosswords and word searches, three lighters left in a small container, and a mini fridge that was empty besides two plastic bottled electrolyte drinks. He grabbed it all.

He shoved the small books, lighters, and candy in his jacket and pants pockets, and the drinks in the side pockets of his backpack, and then stepped out onto the street, where the vague positivity provided by finding supplies died instantly.

It was now pitch dark outside, the only beam of visible light being the one from his own flashlight. A breeze that chilled him to the bone came and went. How was it that much colder after removing one jacket? He was still wearing two, and a sweater!

Nonetheless, he shivered harshly, watching his breath plume up like smoke in the beam of his flashlight. If there was something he was grateful for, it was that the monsters were blind. He’d be far too afraid to venture into a dark city if they weren’t. Actually, he’d be dead if they weren’t.

He walked for a little bit longer. He debated on heading back to the Whittaker Estate, but walking so far at night wouldn’t be easy, plus the heightened risk of making noise because he couldn’t see anything. And he was just kind of sleepy — he had been walking all day, after all.

He glanced at the buildings as he walked, trying to find a suitable one to sleep in. Most of them were all decrepit and torn to bits, and he didn’t think he could really survive being that cold all night.

He’d walked another entire block before something peaked his interest. A sign, big and yellow, planted on the side of an absolutely massive library: FALLOUT SHELTER, it said, with a nuclear warning sign and arrows pointing into the library.

A bomb shelter? It might not be warm, but it could definitely get him out of the wind. And bomb shelters were super strong, so maybe the monsters wouldn’t be able to get inside…

With a nod of satisfaction, carrying his shotgun in one hand and the flashlight in the other, he pushed toward the library.

The outside of the building was dusty and worn, and the doors were blown off, but the frames were still intact. There were a few cracks creeping up the walls but nothing serious. Even the sign was still up above the door, and it was supposed to say WHITEHOUSE LIBRARY, he thought, but the letters T, E, and R were missing and lying on the road next to the front door, so it actually said WHIHOUSE LIBARY.

With a soft exhale, he stepped up the three steps toward the doors. Another gust of freezing wind came, urging him through the doorway and into the building.

He stood in the entry and panned the flashlight around, his eyes following the beam of light as he took in the building around him. The whole thing was dusty and lined with cobwebs. Most of the shelves were upright, but there were a few sets near the doors that had fallen over and sprayed their books everywhere. There were a few dead bodies near the doors, but he promptly chose to ignore them, instead, stepping carefully over books and things on the floor toward the back of the massive room.

He paused for a few minutes and perused some of the aisles, coming across a couple survival tip books and one about cooking. He put them in his bag. Who knows, maybe they’d come in handy one day.

After a few minutes of that, he wandered around until he found the sign for the fallout shelter — with arrows pointing at a basement door that was torn off its hinges and laying uselessly on the floor. There was a walkie talkie duct taped to the wall right above the sign, and the little green light that indicated it was on was glowing.

Bentley found it odd… but the prospect of shelter overshadowed that.

Bentley swallowed quietly, shining his flashlight down the stairs. They were wood, and a few of them had red duct tape stretched across the entire expanse, and in big, black marker, the words DO NOT STEP! were written across it.

Bentley, with an inhale, stepped on the first step gently, applying his weight in very, very slow succession so it didn’t creak. He skipped the steps with red tape, creeping down into the basement. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until he could breathe again at the bottom.

He glanced around, cautiously flicking the flashlight around. It seemed sort of damp, and kind of creepy and spidery down there, but alright. On the far left wall, there was a big metal door with a huge spinning handle like a boat. Next to it was the fallout shelter sign.

With a quiet exhale, he moved forward.

There was more red duct tape splayed across the door, this one had the words: LUBRICATE BEFORE OPENING! on it, as though someone had written it on there to remind themselves. At the base of the door sat a can of WD-40, cut in half with a paint brush handle sticking out of the top.

With the furrow of his brows, Bentley grabbed the brush and coated the hinges and handle of the door before he slowly turned the huge circular handle. He waited for it to squeak terribly, but it never did.

He stepped into the bomb shelter, quietly closed the door behind him, and glanced around with his flashlight. It was oddly… warm, inside.

It was rectangular, and larger than he’d expected, with a barrel ceiling lined with metal beams. There were a bunch of army green cots lined against the walls, probably eight of them. A room divider stood at the back of the rectangle, probably closing off a bathroom space or something, and ahead of it were shelves piled with cans and pouches of government-issued rations… but also different things, like the gas station food that Bentley carried around. There was a small fire stove thing that vented up through the ceiling, too, back on the other end of the room.

All of the beds were devoid of bedding besides two — right next to each other in the back corner of the room. They both had pillows and blankets, but the farthest had a stuffed cow, too. There were a couple of large backpacks sitting between those two beds, and a large, long sniper rifle, laying under the one without the stuffed animal. There was a walkie talkie — probably the partner of the one from upstairs -- taped on the wall right at the pillow of that bed.

Bentley crouched, shining his flashlight to get a closer look at the gun. There was ammunition under the bed, too — tons, probably thousands of rounds.

He stood back up with an exhale, glancing around the room again. There was nobody inside, not a soul, so it should be safe for him to crash there for the night, right? Whoever had been staying there was probably dead, anyhow…

Bentley softly padded to the nearest cot. He shrugged off his bag and sat it carefully on the floor, and then did the same with his shotgun, propping up his flashlight against the wall so it illuminated the room. He sat down on the cot gingerly and, pleased when it didn’t creak or squeak, pushed himself up on it and reached down to unpin his bag.

He fished out a few of the things he’d gotten from the corner store — the jar of beef jerky and some water, the first aid kit, and the journal and pen he’d brought from his home.

The first order of business he went about was opening the first aid kit and checking what was inside. Not much; just the basics, really — bandage, antibiotic ointment, butterfly stitches, gauze, alcohol wipes, cotton balls, that sort of thing.

With a breath, he began to unwrap his arm. The bandage was already soaking through with blood and sort of sticking to the wound, drawing a soft, pained inhale out of him that he put his injured hand over his mouth to silence. After a few moments of picking the fabric out of the gash, he grimaced and dropped the bloody bandage on the floor.

Silently as he could, he drew the scissors from his bag and cut open the products he needed, wiping his arm down with an alcohol wipe, synching it together with butterfly stitches (which really hurt, by the way.) putting some ointment on it and then wrapping it again, circling his arm and hand in several layers like a mummy. He wasn’t quite sure if that was the right way to do it, because he’d once heard about letting wounds breathe or something like that, a long time ago, but he didn’t care. He’d rather it suffocate and be clean than breathe and get dirty.

Once he finished that, he took some motrin for the pain and packed all of his first aid stuff back up. He settled in the center of the cot with his beef jerky and the journal. It was a calendar journal that his father had started filling out on the new year to keep up with the dates, since no one really did anymore -- each day had a little square he had to check off, and a space for him to write comments. It was a five-year-journal, but, luckily, only the first two months were filled so far. There were also a few dozen pages of simple lined paper at the back of it that he doodled on sometimes.

With an exhale, he turned to February, checking off Friday, the thirteenth, munching on some jerky. He remembered the rumors of fear that used to surround that day, but now, fear surrounded every day, ruled every moment, counted every second. He missed when Friday the thirteenth was supposed to be scarier than the rest of the days.

His hand hovered blankly over the comments section, swirling his pen around before he started to write. Just the basics.

Third day out of the estate. Colder than before. Made it to central Gotham. Stomach growled and a monster almost killed me in the corner store. Now i’m sitting in an abandoned bomb shelter, and it looks like a nice-

A light on the other end of the shelter flicked on suddenly, and Bentley very nearly fell off the cot.

There was a person over there -- had they come from behind the room dividers? -- holding a bright lantern in their hand. They were tall, and lanky. A man.

Part of Bentley wanted to cry at the sudden discovery of another human being (he hadn’t seen one in so long! The first besides his father in the last seven months!) The other part of him, the sad, rational part, realized that this person was probably going to kill him.

Bentley wasted no time leaning over the bed and swiping his shotgun off the floor, aiming it at them warningly. He’d never pull the trigger. Gunshots were loud. The man probably knew he wouldn’t kill him, too, but it was nice to pretend he had the upper hand.

The man set the lantern down on the floor, lifting his empty hands up near his head to show Bentley he had nothing in them, and was harmless. He looked young, maybe twenties? With this pitch black hair and these crystalline blue eyes that were almost kind of enchanting. Deep, with a glisten of something Bentley couldn’t place swirling in them. He was wearing black sweatpants and a big blue hoodie, covered with two jackets much like Bentley had. He even had on tennis shoes, too. Blue, but not wrapped in cloth like Bentley’s.

Bentley continued to aim his shotgun directly at his face as he drew slightly closer, keeping his hands up and visible. He slowly knelt down to be more Bentley’s height, his eyes flicking to the book Bentley had been writing in.

He moved one of his hands in a subtle writing motion, pointing at the journal for a moment, then at himself. Bentley had no idea what he meant, and was so focused on not killing this guy but looking like he would that it took a few moments for it to click.

He wanted to write to him, instead of talk.

With his shotgun propped on his leg and still poised for a trigger pull, Bentley turned to one of the lined pages in the back of the journal and held it out to him, along with the pen. The guy took it gently, his eyes scouring Bentley’s face as he began to scribble on it.

Bentley didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t what he got.

Get out. You’re not welcome here.

He glanced at the page, then at the man, who showed little to no emotion regarding shoving an injured ten year old outside in twenty degree weather to die via superhearing aliens. A stab of something like fear, like dread settled in his chest, and he scribbled, handing the book back over a few moments later.

I didn’t know you were here. I just need somewhere to sleep. It’s really cold tonight and there's monsters in the area.

The guy looked at it for a second, before writing back.

No. We’re safer alone. Leave. Now.

Bentley read it and a stubborn burn surfaced behind his eyes. With a faint inhale, he scribbled.

Please. I won’t bother you, and I’m really quiet.

When he got the book back, the message on the page was: No. I’m not a babysitter. You have ten minutes to eat and pack up.

Please, I’m lonely and tired. I won’t bother you. I can give you supplies! was the message he handed back.

No. Leave. Was what he got in return.

Bentley began to scribble the word please again, but the man reached out and touched his hand (much to his horror), stopping the writing in its tracks and closing the book so he couldn’t write anymore. Bentley looked up at him, and he shook his head, a stone cold expression on his face. He pointed roughly at the door and mouthed the words: Get out.

Bentley inhaled lightly, glancing down at his fingers. The first human he’d seen besides his father, the best shelter he’d come across the entire apocalypse, and he was being forced out of it by some guy who very obviously had no soul.

He was lonely. And he was tired. And he was so, so scared. He didn’t want to go back outside… to find somewhere to sleep in the dark and the cold where, if he survived the monsters, he might die in the freezing temperatures instead.

Bentley drew in a shuddery breath, glancing up at the man with tears in his eyes that he couldn’t force away. He mouthed the word: Please.

The man shook his head, pointed at the door, and then walked off, toward the cots on the other end of the room.

Shit.

With a few silent, hopeless sobs, Bentley shoved more jerky in his mouth and packed everything up again. The man just sort of sat on the bed that had the sniper rifle under it and watched him, not a hint of regret crossing his features even at the child’s tears.

Once Bentley was all packed up, shotgun and flashlight in hand, he dried his tears and took one last glance at the man, who concluded their short-lived interaction by pointing again at the door.

Bentley wiped his face and turned, heading back to the door and turning the handle, pushing it open. He took one last weary glance at the perfect shelter, and then closed the door, pushed himself back up the stairs silently, and stepped into the library.

It was much colder up there. Like, a solid thirty degrees colder, and Bentley began to shiver vigorously as soon as he made it to the top of the stairs. It was pitch black outside, and silent.

He moved slowly to the back of the library, where he’d spotted a makeshift reading area earlier. It was a conglomerate of old couches and chairs, but he didn’t dare sit on them. Instead, he put his stuff down and settled on the ugly green carpet, curling up to defend against the cold.

And that’s where he laid for the next eleven hours. Freezing his absolute ass off, drifting in and out of light sleep interrupted by unsettling dreams and the terrible cold. By the time the night was over, he could hardly feel his extremities anymore.

But alas, the sun rose, and the temperature went up just enough to give him a little will to live.

He ate some jerky, drank some water, wrote: some guy kicked me out of the bomb shelter to finish off his calendar day from last night, and set off again.

He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he wanted to hunker down somewhere not too far from central Gotham. It had a lot of good stores and places to get supplies. Maybe there was another bomb shelter… not too far from here? How far apart did the government build them?

With a silent exhale, Bentley padded down the three stairs of the library and into the street. He should check out the next street over, see what shops were on it. His bag was really heavy, but he could probably swing carrying a few more supplies.

Bentley stepped down the road slowly, keeping his footfalls quiet, turning into the alleyway next to the library and heading to the next street over. He had to round a big yellow fire hydrant on the way. The street looked much like the other — the library had entrances there, too, but the shops were different. He spun to get a look at them, glimpsing a pharmacy and a clothing store that might be handy, as well as a hardware store that could have some useful items inside.

So Bentley went to work, silently, starting at the hardware store, where he took more pens and loads of batteries for his flashlight. The building was mostly intact, so he didn’t have to worry about stepping on glass or stuff like that — the only thing wrong with it was that the door was blown off, nowhere in sight. He managed to find some matches, too, and two extra flashlights.

Next, he went to the clothing store, where he found two more soft but thick jackets that he put on, and one blanket that he was able to roll and strap to his backpack via scissor holes and two belts that had also been in the store. This building had the front wall blown out, too. He thought about grabbing another outfit, but it seemed unnecessary to carry if he was going to settle somewhere nearby. He’d get it later.

And last but not least, the pharmacy.

He stepped quietly up to the front stoop. There was one step up to the entry, and the front door and windows had been reduced to mere holes in the walls, the brick on the front buckling and separating in a way that looked like the whole thing might fall soon.

He crept through the front door, careful to keep his feet away from debris. A pharmacy was basically a gold mine for staying alive. He wished he could just take everything inside with him — because what if he needed it?

Slowly, he crept down the aisles. He ended up grabbing a few more over the counter medicines — liquid only, pills were too loud — for generic colds and flus and stomach bugs. He grabbed a couple things of melatonin gummies, too, and he found a myriad of bandages, which he took a lot of because they were light and relatively small. And some bandaids!

He left feeling good about his haul, heading back out onto the silent street, and-

Crack.

Bentley glanced backwards at the pharmacy building, hoping and praying he’d just imagined that noise…

But he hadn’t.

Suddenly, after being disturbed for apparently its final time, the entire front wall of the pharmacy came down with a deafening crash, sending plumes of dust into the air and all over Bentley, bricks crashing across the road and near his feet.

And he just stood there.

A mangled screech came from somewhere down the road… and then another, a response, and loud hiss from somewhere else, and Bentley…

He ran.

He tried to do so as quietly as he could, but his footfalls were still audible as he shot down the road and back into the alley next to the library. The sound of the monsters thumping down from above and galloping on the road like horses reached his ears and made his heart slam around in his chest. They’d heard him running. They had to have.

He pushed himself against the brick wall of the alley and put one hand over his mouth, muffling his panicked breathing, holding tightly to his gun with the other. The loud, fast footsteps of the monsters were drawing nearer.

Three of them ran by the alley and were to him nothing more than black splotches in his vision, there one second and gone the next.

But one paused.

He stayed pressed tight against the wall when the monster turned and took a few steps into the alley, hissing lowly. It walked further, and the plates on its head opened up to listen, probably three feet from Bentley’s face, and he was freaking out too much and breathing too loud, and his heart was absolutely pounding, and-

With a terrible screech, the thing lunged for him, and Bentley lifted the shotgun and pulled the trigger.

BANG! went his gun in the middle of the silent city.

The monster’s body fell limp into him, and he couldn’t help but stumble over due to the weight. Suddenly, his left leg exploded into a terrible, searing pain, the worst he’d ever felt in his life, and he…

Screamed.

He clapped a hand over his mouth as soon as he realized. The body of the alien he’d shot — blown half of its head off, actually — was looming just above him, it's blood pouring out in droves that coated his clothes and skin. A whole handful of it's claws, it's gigantic, horror story worthy, long, scary claws, had sank into Bentley’s left thigh when it fell on him. He tried to push himself out from under it, but the thing was so heavy, and his leg was hurting so bad, and he couldn’t see because he was crying and he tried to be quiet but he choked out agonized sobs anyways that sounded so deafening in the silent city-

Another one of the monsters blitzed into the mouth of the alley at breakneck speeds, his head wide open to listen for his sounds, and Bentley grabbed onto the fire hydrant at the end of the alley, trying to pull himself out from under the alien, but it wasn’t working, and-

BANG!

The alien's head exploded into a mist of red from a shot he hadn’t taken, and it fell.

Bentley lifted his shotgun up toward his face, turning it to the side and aiming it the best he could at the fire hydrant valve-

BANG!

Gallons and gallons of water started spraying from side of the hydrant with a vengeance, creating a roar of white noise loud enough to cover all of the minute sounds Bentley could make, like crying, which he was definitely currently doing. It was perhaps the hardest he’d let himself cry since this all started, since he had the cover of the water to silence it.

Suddenly, two arms grabbed him under the armpits and yanked him out from under the monster’s body, and its claws that had been buried in his leg dragged, tearing open more skin as they went before he finally pulled free. Bentley screamed again at the agony, but one of the hands left his armpit and came to slap over his mouth. A hand that wasn’t his. The other arm left his armpit, too, and looped around his torso, and he was slowly dragged out of the alley and right behind the fire hydrant. Close to the loud noise.

Bentley reached up in an attempt to pull the arms away, but a voice came, a whisper that wouldn’t be audible over the raging water: “Don’t fight me.”

Suddenly, four monsters all skidded out of the alley, screeching and hissing at each other, stumbling like a stampede and climbing over one another to get to the fire hydrant.

Bentley watched in horror, the mysterious hands still around him, pinning him in place and keeping his mouth closed as the monsters clicked gutturally at each other. The plates on their heads opened up and they skittered around, listening intently, circling the fire hydrant as though they were deciding what it was. They were so close to them… four feet at absolute max. And there were four of them. And they were so close…

Whoever was sitting behind Bentley slowly released his mouth, and he kept his breaths quiet, forced himself not to cry audibly. The person's hand slipped under his knees and slowly lifted him off the ground, bridal style, causing a flare of terrible pain to explode up his leg. He bit his tongue until a metallic taste blossomed in his mouth so he didn’t make any noise.

He turned his head away from the monsters, toward the person who was holding him. The sniper rifle sling and shiny blue eyes told him it was the same man from earlier — from the storm shelter.

The guy began to slowly back away, carrying Bentley as he went. He ventured around the back of the library, his footsteps drowned out by the rushing water. He moved slowly, smoothly until he was able to go through the library door and down into the basement, skipping the red stairs and heading into the fallout shelter, closing them in, all in a practiced, silent precision.

The guy carried Bentley over to the same cot he’d sat on earlier and put him down on top of it, removing his bag from his shoulders and shotgun from his hands, putting them on the floor near the bed. Then he immediately walked away to the other end of the room, digging softly in one of his own packs.

Bentley layed back on the cot and put his hands over his mouth. The pain in his leg was absolutely incapacitating, and kind of made him wish the whole thing would’ve just been chopped off. His left pant leg was solid red, and he sucked in deep, quick, panicked breaths instead of scream-crying like a toddler throwing a tantrum, which is what he actually wanted to do. He could feel the hot tears streaming down either side of his face quicker than he could even think about wiping them off, but he kept his hands dutifully clamped over his mouth like his life depended on it. Because it did.

The guy came back over with a few things gathered in his arms that he laid out carefully on the floor at the foot of the bed. He stood up and made sure he was in Bentley’s field of vision, holding up a glass bottle of vodka.

Shit.

Bentley shook his head lightly, internally begging him not to pour it on the wound, but the guy was already moving. He rolled up what looked like a washcloth into a thin cylinder and held it up toward Bentley’s face. To put in his mouth. To bite on.

When Bentley didn’t move, the guy manually put it between his teeth, and then knelt down and cut Bentley’s pant leg clean off halfway up his thigh with a knife.

Agony.

Bentley writhed when he poured the alcohol into the wound. He kept from screaming by biting down on the washcloth so hard he probably cracked a few teeth, his entire body thrashing so hard he nearly kicked the guy in the face with his other leg. The only noise that managed to escape him was a soft whine mixed strangely with a few sobs that sounded kind of like he was choking on blood.

The guy’s hand came to rest on his other leg, maybe trying to comfort him, or maybe warning him to shut up. Bentley wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter. After a few minutes of blazing agony, he spotted the small sewing kit the guy had placed on the bed, and passed flat out.

—

When Bentley woke up, he was really warm.

He peeled his eyes open, blinking a few times until the slightly illuminated metal ceiling of the bomb shelter faded into his vision. It was dead silent, apart from a quiet, extremely soft crackling sound that was coming from across the room.

He blinked a few times, pushing himself up until he was upright. There was a blanket over him — the blanket he’d gotten from the store.

His leg, instead of feeling like it was going to fall off, was throbbing with a pulsing ache that was ten times better than it had been earlier. He lifted the blanket to glance at it. Nearly his entire pant leg was cut off, and the giant gnash from the top of his thigh to just above his knee had been covered with bandages that looked like they’d been wrapped with a practiced precision. He was really glad he couldn’t see the stitches, because he’d probably just pass out again if he could.

With a grimace, Bentley glanced over the edge of the cot at his bag. It was still pinned closed, and his shotgun was laying just where they’d left it, so he safely assumed it hadn’t been tampered with.

He finally glanced across the room at the other two cots. The little fireplace was on now, but the fire was barely lit, to be quiet, he guessed. There was a bucket of water directly beside it that he guessed was to put it out quickly. The guy was sitting on his cot, the one without the stuffed animal, and his gaze seemed to land on Bentley at the exact same time Bentley’s landed on him.

The guy immediately rose and strode across the room toward him. Bentley found himself shrinking away, absentmindedly reaching for his shotgun.

The man knelt down and held up his hands, just like he had earlier, doing the same writing motion as before. He looked less… cold, than last time? Like, nicer, maybe?

Keeping one eye on him, Bentley fished the calendar journal out of his bag and turned to the pages they’d written on before, quickly scribbling and handing it over

Thanks for saving me. I’ll leave now.

With a brief glance up at the child, the guy wrote and handed it back quickly.

No. Stay. I was wrong before.

Wrong? Bentley wrote. About what?

We’re safer together. Was the man’s reply. I saved you with the sniper shot. You saved both of us with the fire hydrant. Safer together. You can stay with me.

Bentley looked down at the page for a few quiet moments, the sudden urge to cry returning, but he pushed it away and wrote.

My name is Bentley Whittaker.

The guy read over it carefully, tracing it with his eyes a few times before writing and handing it back.

Hi Bentley. I’m Dick Grayson.

Bentley nodded to himself, glancing back up at him, connecting the name to the face. Dick Grayson. He looked like a Dick Grayson.

A second later, Dick Grayson took the book back and wrote:

Alone, or lost?

Alone. My father died protecting me eleven days ago. Bentley wrote. Are you? Alone?

Dick stared at the question for a moment, before writing what seemed like a long reply.

My family tried to fight against the invasion. Only me and my youngest brother survived the first month. He got sick about a week ago and I went to the pharmacy to get some meds, I didn’t know he followed me. He sneezed on the street. I wasn’t close enough. Now it’s just me. He wrote. Sorry about your dad.

Bentley read through it carefully, pity streaking through his chest as he glanced up at the other cot, the one with the stuffed cow laying on it.

I’m sorry about your brother. And the rest of your family, Bentley wrote back. How old was he?

11, Dick replied. I’m 26. What about you?

Bentley wrote back: 10.

A moment of quiet passed, and Dick twirled the pen in his hands before glancing at a watch that was sitting on his right wrist. You were out for probably 6 hours. I’d recommend pain meds if you have them. I’m out, he wrote.

Bentley nodded lightly, pulling his bag up on the bed and digging out one of the motrin bottles he’d taken from the pharmacy. In silence, he dosed himself out as much as he needed based on the weights provided on the bottle, then a little more, and took it all in one gulp.

Once he put it all back away, he wrote on the page again. Why change your mind? I thought you wanted me gone?

Dick looked at Bentley, then studied the page for a moment too long, his eyes growing very vaguely misty for a few odd moments. Then he wrote, slowly, and handed it back.

I couldn’t save anyone in my family. But I could save you.

Bentley blinked at the words, that sudden urge to cry rising in him again. Instead, he exhaled in a calculated way, writing: How did you know I was still here?

I didn’t know it was you, Dick wrote, but I heard this morning’s chaos on my walkie. He pointed at the walkie talkie taped on the wall above his bed. I figured you were smart enough not to move in the dark…

Bentley nodded, tapping the pen on the paper as he tried to come up with more to say. He glanced at his bag for a few moments.

I got crosswords and stuff from the store if you’re bored, he wrote. I need to do my school from yesterday and today. I forgot yesterday because I was walking.

Dick furrowed his brow, writing again: School? You just, like, almost died?

Bentley nodded, shuffling in his bag before he pulled out the single schoolbook he’d brought from home. It was a cheap one, because his father hadn’t cared very much about it, a sort of all-four-subjects-in-one textbook that gave him a daily dose of math, english, history, and science. He put it on the cot near to Dick so he could see it, and wrote in the journal: I don’t want to end up stupid.

He could’ve swore Dick smirked at that, his eyes shining like he was reliving a fond memory. You’re very smart already. Wrapping your shoes, cutting the zipper out of your bag, shooting the fire hydrant. It's impressive. Doing school while the world is ending -- You remind me of my brother Tim.

Bentley read through it and smiled faintly. He wondered how many siblings Dick Grayson had, but he was too afraid to ask in case it upset him.

You can stay over here if you want, but it's just boring old school, Bentley wrote. He pulled out the crosswords and other pens, too. Everythings kinda boring if you can’t make any noise. But I promise not to bother you.

Dick never wrote back.

For a while, they just sat in the quiet. Bentley went through his hour-a-day school lesson, and Dick Grayson moved to the cot next to him, doing some of the little puzzles in the book he’d found.

It was a while later when Dick finally rose. Bentley tried not to stare at him, but he did see him shuffle around in one of the two bags for a moment. He looked away, finishing up the last of his math problems.

Dick stopped ahead of him a few moments later, holding out a bundle of clothes in his direction.

Bentley promptly realized they’d have to be his brother’s clothes if they were going to fit.

Glancing down at himself, he realized he didn’t have much of a choice but to wear them. He didn't have any more clothes of his own, and his current pants were missing a leg, and his shirt was absolutely drenched in monster blood.

He took them from his hands slowly, giving him a opportunity to snatch them back, but he never did.

Dick pointed back at the area with the room dividers, and Bentley went about forcing himself over there. His leg throbbed with a pain so harsh he nearly fell over when he first put his weight on it, and Dick hovered close by for support, but eventually he managed -- even if it did take almost ten minutes for him to walk the mere distance from one end of the shelter to the other.

He changed quickly, right next to the toilet. It was a strange combination of soft sweatpants and a button up shirt, and he briefly wondered why until he realized it was probably quieter to slide a shirt on that way than over their heads. The only issue was that… his left hand was wrapped, and he couldn’t actually do the buttons.

He managed to get the bottom three done and called that good enough, making his way back out into the larger part of the room. The clothes were a little big for him, but he’d manage, since the sweatpants had elastic at the waistline.

Dick turned to him when he came out, scanning his outfit with a sad, nostalgic look in his eyes. Bentley wondered if he regretted giving him his brother’s clothes. Once Dick spotted the undone buttons, he approached Bentley slowly and knelt down ahead of him, finishing them off from the middle of the shirt up to his neckline.

When Bentley glanced up from the article of clothing, Dick had tears running down his face.

It caught Bentley off guard, and he immediately felt terrible, almost offering to change back into his old stuff, but he didn’t have the time.

Because Dick Grayson hugged him.

It was strange. Bentley couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged, if he ever had. His father wasn’t exactly the hugging type… he was kind of… the opposite of hugging type.

It was… really warm. And comfy. And kind of great.

He brought his arms up and around Dick’s neck in return, and much to the relief of Bentley’s leg, he stood, picking him up off the floor as he did so. For a while, Dick carried him around and paced the shelter, in a bid to calm himself down, maybe, Bentley didn’t know. What he did know was that he was getting pretty sleepy because of it.

He felt sort of bad, because he just woke up, but also not really, because he’d just fought for his life and felt at peace for, like, the first time in ten years.

So he put his head on Dick Grayson’s shoulder, and he tightened his arms around his neck, and he fell asleep feeling kind of safe for the first time in a long, long time.

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#batfamily #batman #oc; bentley #oc; bentley whittaker #batboys #dick grayson #nightwing #a quiet place #john krasinski #a quiet place part ii #a quiet place day 1 #mb; silent city au

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