Sing Me To Sleep (Apocalypse Beatles AU)

1

     It was an early morning in September when the world really and truly changed forever. Before then, it may have still yet been salvageable - at least, in the minds of many frantic people whose eyes seemed to glaze over as they saw the flickered channels on the television speak of and unrest across every single town, city, state, and country. It doesn't speak to the naivety of the human psyche - no, rather, it makes a larger comment on the ability of the mind to reach and grasp and cope with each new change as it comes.

     As mothers tucked their children in during wartime and soothed them with stories of comic superheroes saving the day - because villains do not win, and good will always prevail - mothers now were pulling the blankets up over their children and telling them no - no, this is not the end of the world. This cannot be the end of the world, because the world does not end. And in a way, both flocks of wearied mothers were giving the same kind of reassurance to their children, in that form of steadfast hope.

     We are born scattered out across the world. Our soulmate may live miles away from us, across oceans and harsh, unfeeling terrains we might never cross in our lifetime. We may never meet again the spirits that may have been our closest friends in lives that have passed us by. Some are luckier. By some twist of fate, we may wind up meeting them some other way.

     The previous year had been the beginning of it all, properly. It had been either early or late September when the reports started to come out. There was some kind of illness going around. No one truly understood it then, and no one truly could have foreseen what would come mid-October.

     By then, the headlines were horrific. The epidemic had dug its fingers into each and every spark of civilization, and struck a match of fear beneath the seats of every world leader and common man alike.

     People went to sleep and awoke to frightening new stories, ones they couldn't even understand. What on earth could be causing people to be driven to such fits of rage, and violence, such instances where they forgot their own humanity altogether?

     The world became loud, crazed, as people began to scream out for someone, anyone, to hear them. And it hadn't even spread fully yet - no, no, that had been November. In the end of October, the last sparks of normalcy had been halted. People began to feel the heat of an ending's call breathing down their necks, watching death reach out to them from behind the doors of houses they had once called homes. Neighborhoods that had been blossoming with the eager laughs of children and the creaks of toy wagons and training wheels were replaced by barren streets where windows became boarded up.

     And then came riots. That had been the first, second, and third of November, when it all settled in, the reality of it all. The world was not going back to normal. There was no cure found, and no scientist was left who had faith in his work enough to claim one could be found. And riots weren't really any better, were they? They drew people out, made them susceptible to the disease that they were afraid of in the first place. Yes, that had been November's beginning, and the sense of society's end - when the world was forced to wake up from the dreamy fog that tricked them into believing they might wake up to find the world was back to normal.

     And that led to more deaths.

     Those who pressed on and survived woke up in November to brave the new world, the brisk morning chill and the drifts of winter's first breaths, and carried on. Because what else was there to do but survive? It called up images of those mothers who held their children tight before bed, soothing them with simple melodies and filling their heads with the one thing that in all of human history, no evil, no war, no heartache, no loss has been able to take away.

     Hope.

     Brian Epstein was in America on a holiday, had been caught up in the whirlwinds of panic and fear and found himself unable to return to England. He felt a little annoyed about it at first, and at once thought that he should have gone to Spain instead - if he were going to be stuck somewhere aside from home, maybe it would have been preferable to be in Spain, with beautiful sights, and the wisps of beautiful language and tradition. Far from these Americans, who were so prone to aggression and striking back against that which they couldn't fix - but, well, his shoulders sank to realize that's simply how most people reacted to situations like that. He did his best to lay low. Besides.. America was beautiful in its own way, despite the chaos, and despite the panic.

     It still seemed to hold that kind of special, entrancing enchantment, as though, even through the end of the world itself, someone really could find a little magic if they were only looking in the right place.

     All was quiet in the early morning in the little town of Veronica. There were the same stop signs with their poles leaning just a little off-center from windy storms in years gone by, and the same houses and apartments that looked both modern and having existed for at least a hundred years, and of course, the broken down cars and mysterious stains and human forms that would begin to dampen the soul with misery the longer one chose to stare and understand. The chill of winter was truly settling in, whispering theories that spring might not come at all - and who could stop such an idea from becoming truth, even if they wanted to? It was clear that Mother Nature was striding forwards, heels crushing the delicate will of man as she powered on. Who could honestly do a thing about it, if she decided to throw time and seasons into disarray?

     No one, anyway. No one could.

     The world was not so changed, really. To say it was truly obstructed would be to claim that the whole sum of the world is made up only of humanity and human civilization. It is to suggest that the forests, the oceans, the fields and the animals, are nothing - or at least, of little concern or value. But this is not so. If it was a truth, then how and why would wildflowers in shades of pinks and purples pull themselves up towards the sun up and down the sidewalks as the earth buckles and shatters the pavement? The world is strong. Mankind made the mistake of thinking itself stronger.

     Brian preferred vastly to travel in daylight, and hole up somewhere for the night; this gave some semblance of safety, and he was able to avoid most dangers this way, too. One would think a heavily populated state would be nearly overrun with the undead, or survivors; but that's not so. There were days of chaos, yes. But afterward people either stayed and fought or picked up and left - and more left than chose to stay. 

     The appearance of a corner store, apparently untouched, caught his attention, and he glanced around, adjusting the bag on his shoulders before inching closer to it, peering through the window. Everything looked.. orderly. Chaos was outside, but evidently hadn't leaked beneath the door. 

     He lifted his hand, settling it on the door handle hesitantly and then tugging.

     But it didn't budge.

     He heard a shuffling sound that drove a shiver down his back and he turned his head the slightest bit, catching sight of a figure shambling down the sidewalk. 

     Oh... marvelous.

     He took a deep breath and turned to the door again, his movements slow, and gave another tug on the door handle. And then a push. Surely.. Surely it had to -

     The shambling grew louder, and Brian glanced over again, noting that two others had opted to join the first - and they seemed only just barely aware of him. He couldn't stay there out in the open. This shop had supplies, for one, it seemed, and it was a better place to be than anywhere he'd been in the past few days, and running would catch their attention for certain, and.. and.. He wasn't just going to sit there and die. 

     He slowly knelt to the ground, picking up a crumbling piece of brick, and stepped back slightly, throwing it at the door with a quick and what he hoped to be forceful gesture, hearing the sound of glass shattering as he turned his head. 

     Well.. That certainly caught their attention, then. Frantic, he reached into the space where the glass had been, unlocking the door and stumbling inside, shutting it behind him and glancing around, trying to find something he could use to defend himself.

     "Um.. Can I help you?"

     Brian turned to lock eyes with a figure who looked equally exhilarated and - understandably - confused.

     "Yeah, hi, I'm talking to you," she said with a twinge of annoyance and impatience, and she immediately grasped Brian's sleeve, yanking him towards the back of the store.

     "I - Me - There's - There's three or four outside, I -"

     "Yeah, and you didn't lock the door after yourself, did you?" 

     "I.. No."

     "Congratulations. Guess I'm your dying partner. Any last words?"