Title: Not Alone Now
Rating: PG (for guns and killing and stuff)
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur (pre-slash)
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur,
Summary: The one where Merlin lacks common sense and Arthur saves him from the undead.
Word Count: 828
Prompt: #99 cross’o’ver
Author's Notes: I’m back! And late. Again. This is a crossover with The Walking Dead because I just started watching it and I love zombies. There is no character death in this if you’re wondering. And I know the title is shitty but this is as creative as I can get now.
He’s sitting down, back against the wall, his knees brought up to his chest. There’s too many of them outside, and there is only one bullet left in his gun. He never should have fired that first shot anyway. That shot brought more of them here. He knows he’s going to die, and then he’s going to come back.
They’re outside the closed shutter of the garage, and it’s not going to hold up much longer. There are tears in his eyes, and he’s rocking back and forth. There’s nowhere left to run anymore, and when they get in, they’re going to tear him apart and eat him, turn him into one of them.
The garage door is showing signs of giving, of breaking and letting them in and he’s suddenly reminded that he has one bullet left in his gun.
He wipes his tears, pulls his gun out and puts it in his mouth, one finger on the trigger and eyes closed.
And then there’s a gunshot. For a moment, he thinks that he fired it accidentally, but then there are more shots. He slowly removes the gun from his mouth and gets to his feet, hope sparking in him. He’s breathing hard, scared and hopeful all at once. He shoulders his backpack. There aren’t many moans from outside now, and those he can hear through the door are away from it. So he risks lifts the door just a bit to peek out. All the feet are turned away from the garage. Merlin can see five of them.
He quickly pushes the rest of the door up and shoots the walker closest to him. There’s a man with his gun out from inside a car—a beautiful red thing that Merlin would have stopped to ogle if he wasn’t in mortal danger, and eh runs at it. There’s another gunshot and another walker goes down.
“Come in, come in!” the man is shouting at him. He opens the passenger door and slides in, firmly shutting it behind him. The man tosses him a gun and starts the car. Merlin shoots three of them before the road is cleared and they’re driving out of the town.
Merlin has his head turned to the stranger, and he’s watching him curiously. He has blond, matted hair and shocking blue eyes that stand out even from under the layer of dirt and blood on his face.
“I’m Merlin,” he says finally.
“Were you bit?” the stranger asks, and that’s not the response Merlin was expecting. He’s startled enough that he quickly shakes his head, and then, realizing that the stranger probably can’t see him, says, “No.”
“I’m Arthur,” the stranger says.
“Thank you for saving me,” Merlin says, and the man—Arthur—just nods, not taking his eyes off the road.
“How did you know I was there?” Merlin asks when the silence starts getting awkward.
Arthur doesn’t answer for long enough that Merlin thinks he’s not going to answer.
“I heard your gunshot. Stupid thing to do, making that kind of noise in an infested town. You should have known that would attract those things to you. Be grateful it wasn’t a big city, or you’d have been dead for sure.”
The way Arthur says it makes Merlin clench his teeth.
“Well, I’m sorry but they don’t make guidelines for these kinds of things,” he snaps. Arthur has the nerve to chuckle.
“There’s a thing called common sense.”
Merlin huffs. “Did you save me just so you can insult me?”
Arthur doesn’t answer to that.
When the silence starts getting uneasy again and Merlin’s calmed down enough, he asks, “So where are we going?”
“To the camp.”
“Where is it?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Are there more people at the camp?”
“Yes, Merlin. There are,” Arthur says, letting out a long suffering sigh.
“Why were you in town?”
“Would you stop asking questions?!” Arthur nearly yells, his voice going high pitched. “Christ, I shouldn’t have saved you at all,” but Merlin can tell he doesn’t mean it.
“Just making sure you’re not some crazy serial killer who’s kidnapping me under the disguise of saving me.” He means it as a joke, and he’s smiling when he says it. He’s been alone for too long now, and it feels good to have company, even if the company is surly and glaring out the windshield.
“We can’t afford to be crazy serial killers anymore,” Arthur says, tired, and Merlin shuts up.
It’s another minute before they turn from the main road and take an unmarked dirt path, and about ten more before Merlin sees the camp that’s set up in the small clearing.
He turns his head to look at Arthur again.
Merlin might die today, or tomorrow, or the next week. He doesn’t know, but he’s found more people now. And it feels good to not be alone anymore. He smiles as he steps out of the car.