Oneshots and Other Things

Fire ~ Part 1

It's a very unimaginative title but if we ignore that we can focus on the fact that I have finally written something in which the angst applies to more people than just Stephen :p

Also it's in present tense for some reason - I would say it was a deliberate artistic choice but that would be a lie XD

(*~*)

Dec comes to with a disturbing clarity and an eerie sense of calm. Almost as if he's dreaming, an event that should have been absurd, almost impossible, has somehow slotted into the timeline without note.

It isn't an everyday occurrence when the dress rehearsal gets interrupted by what his addled brain can only guess was some sort of explosion. In fact, it isn't an any day occurrence. Not any day except this one, it seems.

The last he remembers, they were just running through the motions of the show the next day, blocking things out. The crew were getting to grips with prop changes and moving equipment to its designated position. Then everything kind of, literally exploded.

Dec doesn't know what it feels like to be in an explosion. He can't remember that bit. His brain has filled in the gap with some mashed up scene containing offcuts from several movies; the traditional fade to white, the narrowing of all sound until the roaring boom is coming straight at you down a tunnel.

What he is currently committing to memory is what it feels like to have been in an explosion. His ears are ringing, keeping his attention focused inwardly. On the burning pain and the tingling at the end of every limb that doesn't feel quite like his own. He doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know where anyone else is either, which should worry him more than it does. He's fairly sure he's lost the ability to worry along with the ability to move.

Eventually, he feels a rumble in his chest, fairly sure that means he's making a sound. In pain? Maybe. He's certainly not trying to form real words right now, although if he could he'd probably be calling two particular names. He can remember them being nearby, if nothing else.

It's darker than it ever is in the studio. He's used to bright studio lights that tend to give him a headache if he hasn't had enough water. Unfortunately, he's still got the headache even with the gloom, but he's fairly sure there's a different reason for that this time.

He rocks his head to either side again once his vision has cleared, blinking away the spots to reveal another body a few metres away. They're curled in on themselves, back to Dec, but he knows it's Ant. He tries to muster some volume to rouse the other man but a tentative call across the gap between them is unsuccessful.

His next instinct is to look around again, knowing Stephen was with them before all of this. He wonders if he got out with the rest of the crew because none of them are anywhere to be seen. He worries that they all evacuated, maybe assuming that there was no hope of saving anyone on the stage. He doesn't know how to tell anyone that they were wrong, if he can't even call out to Ant.

A clatter of metal on the other side of the studio startles him and he throws his head in that direction, his vision blurry when he tries to focus more than a few metres in front of his own face. There are some bright flashes, relatively far in the distance, and grey smudges looping through his vision that he can convince himself must be wires hanging down from the ceiling.

Locating Stephen seems like an impossible task for the time being, so he turns back to Ant. His voice is stronger when he tries this time, but there is still no response from the hunched figure beside him. He brushes his hand in that direction, his fingertips stretching over the stage and ending merely centimetres from Ant's back. He reaches out further, still tauntingly close, and then pushes himself to shut the gap.