Dead by Dawn (Part 18)
Azriel x Cassian x Reader
Summary:Β Zombie!AU: Itβs been a while since the end of the world.
Warnings:Β Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death
Word Count: 4328
(Part 1)Β (Part 2)Β (Part 3)Β (Part 4)Β (Part 5)Β (Part 6)Β (Part 7)Β (Part 8)Β (Part 9)Β (Part 10)Β (Part 11)Β (Part 12)Β (Part 13)Β (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17)
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Day 195 Part 4
β β’β β°βββ½ΰΌβΎβββ±β β’β
When youβve successfully managed to empty the contents of your stomach, the first thing you notice is that your ears are ringing.
Everything slowly begins to creep back into focus. The warm hand on your back, running a soothing pattern up and down your spine. The soft voice murmuring at your side. The vomit pooling on the floor before you. And of course, the thing thatβs causing your ears to ring in the first place: the screaming.
You donβt remember falling to your knees, but youβre here, and you sit back on your haunches slowly because your stomach is still roiling. You try to focus on the massacre happening around you.
Nestaβs screaming in the doorway. She looks like sheβs actually going to kill you, which is probably why Eris is holding her back with an arm wrapped firmly around her waist. She has a crazed look on her face, silver eyes alight with a fear so deep that it reads like the rage of a thousand wars.
βSheβs been bit!β Nesta screeches, clawing at Eris in a desperate attempt to reach for anyone she can get her hands on. His soft, consoling words in her ear are doing nothing to break past the white-hot rage burning across her features. βWhat did he do to her?β
βHe didnβt do a damn thing but fall for your sister,β Cassian bites back, voice louder than necessary. You all know what happens when you love something in a world like this. It always gets ripped away, which is why you havenβt allowed yourself to think anything more about the two men youβve been occupying your time with. βWe donβt have time to waste, they need us out there searching for them.β
Azrielβs murmuring into the walkie-talkie, trying to discern where the hell Rhysand and Feyre might be, but after a few broken responses from your friends, they stop responding.
He turns to the rest of you with a solemn look. βTheir walkie died.β
Fuck. This is worse than bad.
βWe need to move,β Cassian says, tone pitched with a worry heβs failing to mask. He needs Rhysand alive like he needs Azriel alive, because without either of them, he wouldnβt want to be living in this godsforsaken planer either. βWhere are our weapons? Weβll find them and bring them back.β
βThatβs my sister. Iβm going,β Nesta growls, and your heart pinches at the sight of the turmoil in Erisβ amber eyes because you feel the exact same as him.
βThen Iβm going, too,β he murmurs, caressing Nestaβs cheek. Sheβs stopped fighting now, and you think you catch him brushing a tear from her face. Youβre not sure how she hasnβt entirely broken down yet, knowing that both of her sisters have been bitten.
The pair share an embrace so tender you have to look away.
When they return their attention to your party, Nestaβs voice is firm, any traces of her anguish long forgotten, except in the way that her fingers are white knuckled around Erisβ. βOne of you stays here.β
βWhat? Why?β Cassian asks in disbelief.
βSo we know this isnβt an ambush,β Eris provides, already double-checking the weapons attached to his hips. Itβs a move so similar to Azriel that it stuns you until her words hit home.
βAn ambush?β You blurt your confusion. Rage boils the blood in your veins. You refuse to lose another friend out there, not after how horrible the last time any of you split up is turning out to be. βThis isnβt a fucking ambush, itβs your fucking sister!β
Your anger doesnβt land. Nestaβs glare punctures a hole in your chest and itβs suddenly difficult to breathe. βExactly. Itβs my sister. I will go and see to her. Your presence isnβt needed. Youβve already done enough.β
You want to crumple beneath the weight of her words. They hang thickly in the air, the only sound filling the suddenly eerie dining room is the soft crackling from the walkie-talkie. Rhysand and Feyre are waiting for reinforcements, thereβs no time to wither into the ground and cry until the house is flooded.
βEvery second we waste here is another second Feyre suffers,β Azriel spits, his hand clenching yours. Cassianβs body is warm at your front from where heβs stepped slightly in front of you at Nestaβs implied threat. βWe need to go.β
But Nesta is even more hard-headed than her sister. βShe stays.β
You donβt like the look on Azrielβs face when he turns to you. Youβre already shaking your head when he tries to speak, but youβre quick to cut him off, your hysterics taking over your words.
βNo,β your voice breaks, tears spilling down your cheeks. βNo, Azriel. Please, I need to be there.β This might very well be the last time you see Feyre, and you need to be there for her.
βWe need you to stay,β Azriel pleads. His hand is firm where your shoulder meets your neck and his hazel eyes are stern, but it isnβt difficult to read how terrified he is. Youβre not sure youβve ever seen him so scared, not even when youβd first found each other and Cassian was on the brink of bleeding out. Maybe you hadnβt known him all that well at that point, but now, you know that his heart is much larger than you ever gave him credit for.
βNo,β you protest, shaking your head, but you can tell that thereβs no room for arguing this. Heβs already running through ideas of how to save your friends in his head. βTheyβre my friends, too!β
βWe need you safe.β We need you to survive.
You shake your head, fingers fisting into his shirt. Azriel ducks down and captures you in a kiss so desperate, filled with so much love and pleading and finality that you canβt raise your head when he pulls away from you and Cassian takes his place.
βPleaseβ¦β Itβs all you can do to beg, falling into Cassianβs strong arms, but at this point you know itβs futile. Theyβll be going without you, and youβre to stay here so that Nesta and Eris know they wonβt try anything. Itβs smart, protecting themselves, but it doesnβt make you like them.
βIβm sorry,β Cassian whispers, cradling you in his arms and pressing light kisses to your hair while Eris doles out weapons to Azriel. Nesta watches with a menacing look on her face and arms crossed over her chest like sheβd rather let the two men youβre falling for on a recon mission in the woods without any protection.
In this world, being bitten means you have hours. If Feyre isnβt already showing signs of the infection taking hold, she will be soon. Realization strikes you down like a fucking semi-truck, tightening your throat and prickling your eyes. Your best friend, the one that youβve stuck with for the better part of the last year has been bitten, and youβre all arguing about playing savior.
Fuck. As much as you want to be out there finding your friend, one of you needs to stay. Because Azriel and Cassian want you safe, because Nesta and Eris are scared out of their minds, because if something goes wrong, there is nothing worth fighting for anymore, but if everything goes right, this place could be your haven.
You saw the way Cassianβs eyes lit at the mention of the underground bunkers, at the sight of the healthy greens on your plates. Heβs been dreaming of a place like this, a place to take root and utilize the seeds heβd so carefully traveled with all this time. This place could be his playground, and you want nothing more than for him to have something positive to latch onto in a world of the undead.
And Azriel. Somewhere hiding behind the walls heβs so carefully constructed, he cares. He cares about finding someplace safe for everyone he loves to set up camp for a prolonged period. Heβs tired of running, tired of searching for something that heβs given up hope on a long time ago. Everyone he cares about now is here, or almost here, and he doesnβt need the weight on his shoulders of searching for safety.
βGo,β you choke, clutching Cassianβs forearms so tightly your nails dig into his skin. His eyes flicker between yours, searching for any sliver of indignation. If you truly donβt want him to go, he wonβt. Thereβs no predicting what will happen out there, and youβre just as important to him as the rest of his friends. βGo,β you urge again, softly. βFind them and bring them back.β
βYes maβam,β he agrees, before smashing his mouth against yours. Itβs desperate, a promise of so much more, and then heβs pulling away and taking the knife Azrielβs handing him, and then theyβre all out the door and youβre standing in the doorway of a silent home, with only the distant coughs coming from a bitten girl upstairs to keep you company while the men youβve fallen completely in love with leave to save her bitten sister.
βWeβre coming back to you,β he calls over his shoulder, determined.
It's all you can do to keep yourself together until theyβre out of your line of sight.
β β’β β°βββ½ΰΌβΎβββ±β β’β
Minutes pass. Then hours, and thereβs no sign of your companions.
You try not to worry, but itβs inevitable. Cleaning up the abandoned dinner does nothing to ease your nerves. Snooping through cabinets and the pantry and the rest of the main floor does nothing to stop the haunting scenarios of everything that could go wrong from playing in your head. You eye the staircase leading upstairs, but knowing whatβs up there, whoβs up there, you refrain.
For now.
There is no peace in knowing that their group of four is searching for your lost friends. None of you hardly know Nesta and Eris, and as good as Azriel is at tracking, they have no clue where the hell Rhysand and Feyre are. They must be closer than you think, because they were in range of the walkie-talkies, but that could span for miles, and the sun is shining brightly through the large, front windows of the house. They have hours before night falls completely.
It's Lucien who finds you in the front room. Youβve barely moved from one of the large chairs you pulled in front of the window because you canβt find it in yourself to leave.
He takes the free one across the room, and it looks like heβs sat there many times, pondering Elainβs health.
He hasnβt been taking very good care of himself, either, from what you can tell. It looks like he hasnβt been far from her bedside in ages, his auburn hair is a tangled mess, and you know youβre no longer filling out your clothes the way you used to, but with the food you now know they have around here, you know he hasnβt been eating well.
βYouβre the one that helped Cassian, right?β He asks, and your head snaps in his direction. How could he have known that? Cassianβs hardly limping these days at all, but itβs the desperation in Lucienβs eyes that keeps you from shifting further into your seat. He blushes at your surprise, a sheepish look overtaking his handsome features. βI noticed the wound on his leg. I was hoping that you would be the one to have fixed it.β
βWhy would you hope that I was the one to fix it?β You all but whisper. Your heart is jackhammering in your chest, but Lucien doesnβt look like heβs going to attack. The only crazed thing about him is the circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and the despair weighing his shoulders down.
βBecause I want you to take a look at Elain.β
His words make the earth shift.
βSheβs bitten,β you breathe. βThereβs nothing I can do about that.β
βPlease,β he begs, βI justβI canβt give up on her yet.β
The utter rawness in his tone, the way heβs looking at you like youβre the one who could save the woman he lovesβ¦itβs too much to say no. You know that if it were Azriel or Cassian, or when Feyre arrives, youβd be doing anything that you can to help.
You nod, and Lucienβs shoulders drop so hard that you think he might faint. You refrain from telling him that what youβd done to Cassian was done in haste, that you really donβt know all that much about treating wounds or diagnosing zombie bites, only things that youβd picked up from your mother after her long shifts at the hospital when sheβd come home exhausted and grumbling about her work.
She had been one of the first to go, hoping to help people get through the infection.
Itβs the least you can do.
You follow Lucien up the carpeted staircase. It has an intricate design, crimson leaves and brunt oranges tangled together. It matches the color of the walls, the creamy trim lining the top and bottom. This would have been a mighty fine house to grow up in, you think as you follow him across the hall, past photographs of several young boys, all with the same-colored hair. There are several frames missing from the sunspots on the wallpaper.
You hesitate at the door Lucien slowly opens, suddenly nervous. You hadnβt caught much of a glimpse of the middle Archeron sister, from what you had seen, she hadnβt looked good.
βCome, please,β Lucien says, opening the door wider and gestures you inside.
Azriel and Cassian would be furious with you if they knew you were about to put yourself within inches of someone whoβs potentially infected, but theyβre the ones who left you here, so you follow Lucien inside.
The room is warm and damp, dusty, like the curtains havenβt been pulled back in ages. Itβs dark, but you can still make out the lump in the middle of the large bed, the indent on the sheets from where Lucien must lie beside her, holding her through this pain.
You move closer to the bed, blinking the light from your eyes when Lucien lights a battery-powered lamp on the table beside the bed.
Your breath catches in your throat.
She looks worse in the dark than she had in the dining room downstairs, but maybe itβs because you stand closer now. With the lamplight shadowing her face, her cheeks and eyes look even more sunken, what you imagine were once pink, plump lips are chapped and dry to the bone.
βHas she been eating? Drinking?β You blurt, already concerned for the girl. Normally, youβre weary of strangers, and you donβt know if itβs because sheβs Feyreβs sister or she looks like sheβs fighting through hell to stay alive from this bite, but the urge to help her in any way that you can is great.
βShe eats bites, at most,β Lucien offers sadly. Thereβs a plate on the bedside table with a can youβre all too familiar eating from. βSoft things sheβs able to get down. And I have to drip water in her mouth while sheβs sleeping because thatβs what she does most.β You can hear the sadness in his voice, the thickness of his throat when he speaks. He stares at Elain with so much devastation in his eyes that itβs difficult to look at.
You focus on the girl in the bed instead. Her breath is a brittle rattle in her chest, but Elain looks at peace. At least, while sheβs sleeping.
βHow long has she been like this?β You ask, silently asking if you can touch her. Lucien nods wearily, allowing you to get to work. You gently move the damp compress from her head to press the back of your hand to her forehead. Sheβs warm, cheeks a ruddy red that is the only sign of life against her pale skin.
Elainβs lashes flutter when you touch her, mumbling something uncoherent under her breath, but doesnβt wake.
βWeeks now,β Lucien admits, worried. βIβd say nearly four.β
Four weeks ago. Your stomach curdles, even though itβs empty. Sheβs been like this for four weeks.
βWhere is the bite?β
Lucien doesnβt look like he wants to show it to you. Reluctantly, he carefully removes Elainβs arm from beneath the thick blankets and pulls up the sleeve to the loose-fitting shirt sheβs resting in.
When he removes the wrap around the wound, you canβt help but gasp, stepping closer out of a horrific curiosity. Sure, youβve seen zombie bites before, but youβve never seen something quite like this.
Β The bite is near her elbow. Itβs red and raw, and the wounds havenβt seemed to heal all that much in four weeks, but itβs notβ¦decaying either. Her veins are blackened where the infection has leeched into her blood. They crawl halfway up her arm, and almost to her fingertips, where they disappear.
βWe tied a tourniquet around her arm when she was first bitten,β Lucien explains, swallowing thickly. His fingers caress her arm, careful to avoid the plague-looking bite. βThey say that the infection takes hold within hours, and when the electricity was still running, it was said that the longest surviving bitten person lasted twelveβ¦β He trails off, and you canβt help but notice the soft glint to his eyes, the upturned corners of his mouth as he stares down at the woman he loves. When his gaze finds yours again, thereβs a strength to his tone. βElain hasnβt showed any progressing signs, and itβs been weeks.β
βJust because itβs been weeks doesnβt mean that it wonβt happen,β you say, and you hate that you have to. Her case is convincing, but not all infections progress as rapidly or as violently within each person. Itβs a case-by-case basis, though most tend not to last more than a few hours. You must admit, Elain is doing well.
Lucien doesnβt say anything in response, and you know heβs choosing not to believe it. You donβt want to believe it either, especially for Feyreβs sake, but you need to be realistic right now, things donβt last forever.
βWe should clean the wound,β you continue. You want to help Lucien and Elain, you truly do, so youβll do what you can. βItβs looking a littleβ¦β
βFestered?β Lucien offers with a soft smile.
You can hardly manage one back. βYeah.β
βThereβs a bag of supplies on the bathroom counter,β Lucien nods toward the ensuite. βThereβs disinfectant, though I donβt know how well it will work because itβs been expired for months. You can look through the rest, see if thereβs anything else that might be of help.β
You nod, removing yourself from their sight. You take another flashlight that Lucien hands you, and when the door closes behind you, you release a harsh breath that you didnβt know you were holding.
Elain doesnβt look like sheβs in good shape, but the wound doesnβt seem to be spreading, and if she had a fever, itβs broken since then. You remind yourself to ask Lucien about it when you return to the bedside, but for now you take the time to scour the bag of medical supplies theyβve seemed to haphazardly throw together.
In it you find fresh bandages and the peroxide Lucien mentioned was in there. Thereβs about a half bottle left, and you donβt like the looks of that, but you can use it sparingly. You find painkillers, though you donβt expect Elain to wake for long enough to swallow them down.
βHas she been coughing a lot?β You ask when you return. Lucien sits on the bed beside Elain, gently stroking her hair. Her injured arm is propped in his lap, and he watches you carefully as you take the empty spot on the sheets, setting your supplies down.
βNot as much as when it began,β he answers.
βAnd has there been any mucus?β
βYeah.β
βWhat color?β
He grimaces, and your muscles tense, awaiting his response. βBlack, to begin. Now itβs cleared up. Almost clear.β
Thatβs a good sign, you think.
The peroxide bubbles softly, cleaning the wound. For the most part, it seems to be fine, and as much as youβd like to poke and prod at it, you donβt want to disturb what seems to be a peaceful sleep for Elain.
Which is perfect, because the door to the house crashes open downstairs and shouting ensues.
You and Lucien startle, both jumping from the bed. Heβs already reaching for the knife at his hip, but when a shout drifts up the stairs, he relaxes slightly.
βLucien?β
He looks at you. βI think they found your friend.β
Your heart rate skyrockets, and itβs all you can do to give him final instruction before youβre bolting from the room. βDab this on the wound before you wrap it with fresh gauze.β
Youβre not all that sure you want to see the condition Feyre is in, but your legs donβt stop moving. You skip the steps down the stairs and go crashing into the dining room where Rhys is gently laying your best friend down on the table.
Everything seems to come to a screeching halt.
Eris is by the front door, locking it shut. Heβs looking in your direction frantically, probably wondering why his brother hasnβt called back to him. You barely notice him brushing past you as he makes his way upstairs.
Your eyes are locked on her.
Nesta and Cassian are shouting at one another while Azriel helps hold Feyre to the table. Rhys looks like a mess, tears streaming down his cheeks, and the sight breaks your heart. It gets your feet moving, and you almost slam into him as you make it to Feyreβs side.
The bite is deep and raw, new. You canβt help but compare it to Elainβs, and unfortunately, Feyreβs looks much worse. Elainβs was a clean bite, like as soon as the zombie broke flesh, its jaw had unhinged. Feyreβs looks like the undead bit into her and latched on like a feral beast, almost ripping an entire chunk out of the back of her forearm.
Rhys shouts your name and you jump, turning to him. His cheeks are stained with tears, his voice is a ragged mess from the crying a pleading. βPlease, you have to help her,β he says frantically, βYou have to save her.β
And fuck, if that isnβt a heavy weight to put on your shoulders.
You spring into action. As soon as Eris reenters the room, youβre screaming for him to get all the supplies that he can find that might help. He follows your direction, sprinting back up the stairs. Next, you shout the same thing to Cassian, telling him to fetch your bag from downstairs.
Feyreβs a moaning mess. Sheβs sweating profusely, hair matter to her head as she writhes on the table. Her fingers claw into the wood as she moans in pain and your heart breaks for her.
βItβs okay, Fey,β you say, brushing some of the sweat from her head. Fuck, her skin is on fire. Her frantic eyes meet yours and sheβs groaning your name, pupils consuming the blue of her eyes. βIβm going to help you.β
Cassian makes it back first and you ask him to dig out the painkillers. βYou have to swallow these,β you tell Feyre, whoβs quickly fading into unconsciousness. You wonder how long sheβs been awake.
Rhys takes over as Cassian pins her injured arm down, trying to coax her into swallowing the painkillers. From across the table, Azriel watches on, but his face shows nothing. Heβs watching you, you realize, watching you do what he knows you do best. Nesta stands beside him, ready to assist in any way that she can now that sheβs not bickering with Cassian.
βHow long ago was she bitten?β You ask Rhys, whoβs petting Feyreβs hair gently. Heβs murmuring to her softly, something about keeping her eyes on him, but he lifts his gaze to meet yours when he answers.
βA few hours ago. Maybe three.β
How did you not realize how long itβs been since theyβve been gone? The sun has fully set and darkness pours in through the windows. You donβt have the time to wonder if any zombies have followed them back.
βOkay,β you breathe, taking in the state of the wound. Itβs bleeding, oozing black blood thatβs beginning to creep up her arm in the same way as her sisters. Thereβs a poorly made tourniquet fastened around her bicep, and thatβs the first thing you fix.
Eris arrives with the bottle of peroxide you used upstairs and his arms chock full of supplies. This place is a haven, alright, and youβre more than thankful you might have the supplies you need to help your friend.
You uncap the bottle and douse it onto Feyreβs arm. She moans as the liquid works its magic, trying to clean the wound. You repeat this step until the bubbles that fizzle off the wound are no longer muddy with black.
Thereβs not much that you can do, youβre afraid. From what youβve seen, the infection needs to run its course. Sheβll be in pain for now, but thereβs nothing you can truly do for your friend.
Which is probably why Rhysand begins freaking out when you pull out the gauze to wrap her wound in.
βThatβs it?β He shouts, rounding the table. Fury is written on his face like a tattoo. Feyreβs slipped into a less than peaceful unconsciousness, whimpering and twitching. βThatβs all youβre going to do for her?β
Cassian leaves his post at Feyreβs arm to stop his friend.
βThereβs nothing I can do, Rhys,β you reply just as sadly. You hold your breath, unsure if you should speak whatβs really on your mind, but with the way Rhysand is struggling against Cassian, you blurt, βI think the cure is in their blood,β and the room plunges into silence.
β β’β β°βββ½ΰΌβΎβββ±β β’β
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