On the side bar, the chapter title is supposed to be 'One Goddamn ing Hug,' but I think AsianFanfics is saying 'Chapter Seven' instead because of the language.  So just be aware that the title in the side bar is different.

The museum was cleaner than anyplace they’d seen in a while, and Mason rushed to close doors and secure hallways around the reception room.  Jackson grinned and locked the front door with a plank of rotting wood.

Nearly a year after their parents’ death and they were as close to okay as they were gonna get.  The oldest was dealing with it by taking care of the youngest, who was dealing with it by focusing on everything else.  They were good, which was good, because the rest of the world didn’t seem to be, and they needed somewhat of an equalizer.

Jackson strung a long string around the most outward pillars, cans and rattling things attached to it, just in case.  Just in case a dolly, as Mason called them, managed to get past the barred doors and doorways.

But there was no way that was going to happen.

He sat back to back with his brother and watched shadows from their fire jump across priceless paint.  The air was crisp but the building retained enough heat to keep out the chilling autumn bite, and they were warm besides the flames.

“Wanna play ‘post-apocalypse?’” Mason asked, and his hyung nodded.  Jackson leant his head against the back of his brother’s as he cleared his throat and thought of a question.  “Ready Jack?”

“Mmmm…  Hmmm…  Where do you want to live when it’s over?”  Mason’s hand tapped the floor in concentration and the sound echoed.

“Somewhere in Florida, in a beach house, with you.  You?”

“Wherever you are.”

“Cool.  What kind of girl are you gonna scout out on that beach?”  Jackson chuckled.

“Any girl who won’t get in the water.”

“You guys will be perfect for each other.”

“Yah; we can lay on the beach and let other people wade into the water like idiots.  Even after it’s over, it’ll take at least a couple years to clean out the oceans, and I’m not really interested in swimming anymore.  It’ll take even longer for them to make the land safe enough to leave your door unlocked.”

“It’ll take forever to convince people to do that; I don’t think we’ll ever do that, right?”

“No; a padlock on every door and a gun in every room, until we die.”

“We're not going to...  It’s your turn to ask a question.”

“Oh yah…”  Jackson hoisted his rifle higher on his lap and grinned wider.  “What’s the first thing you want to do?”

“You ask that every time; my answer isn’t gonna change.”

“I know; I just want to hear you say it again.”

“Okay…”  Mason cleared his throat, stretching his arms out before tucking his hand under his to keep them warm.  “When salvation comes and we’re saved, after things cool down and governments are rebuilt, during the period where everyone is rejoicing and enjoying their second chance, I’m gonna buy whatever ice cream I can and every kid’s movie I find, and I’m gonna watch them all in my old room while stuffing my face with every flavor of ice cream every made.  And I’m gonna sleep in my bed, and wake up in my bed, and eat a proper breakfast with you.  That’s what I’m gonna do.”

The wind outside howled and chipped at the silence following his words, but did nothing to hide the soft sniffles of them both as they contemplated life beyond the terrible ache that the apocalypse had created.

Jackson wiped his cheeks dry and reached behind him to squeeze Mason’s elbow as reassuringly as he could.  “I look forward to that day, Mase.”  His brother sniffled and nodded, and his and his brother’s hair shoveled together until neither would’ve been able to tell whose was who.

“And.”  Sniffle.  “And you?”

“My answer hasn’t changed either.”  He ran a gentle thumb down his own face, swiping away the last of the tears.  “First thing I’m doing is going back to school, right off the bat.  I’m going to get a degree in engineering and then I’ll be able to help clean up the world and keep you safe all the while.  I can’t believe I actually want to go back to school.”  They both chuckled a little, still teary-eyed, as they always were during these conversations.

“We’re gonna get there Jack, don’t worry.  We’ve lasted this long, what else could happen?”

The museum was colder at night and the boys were huddled together, legs intertwined and jackets piled over both thin bodies.  The leaves outside crunched under the weight of passing dollies, but none were getting in.  The room was safe from the outside.

Then the Coca-Cola bottles clashed against Crush cans.

And teeth clicked.

And neither of the boys woke up.

Not until Mason was grabbed and he screamed and thrashed and Jackson was kicked backwards, startled and scrambling for his rifle.  He found the barrel with the tips of his fingers but felt it being shoved away by his brother’s skittering foot.

“JACKSON!”  He reached for the gun, his ribs throbbing with the impact of a kick, and flicked off the safety.  He cocked it and aimed, trying to level himself with the two so as to not hit Mason.  He focused best he could with his brother’s sobbing wails, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He tried again and nothing happened.

And the dolly’s mouth clamped down on Mason’s stomach, just in time to make contact before Jackson tackled it to the ground.  Its brains were smashed into oblivion with the of the rifle, and blood drifted across the floor as tears dripped off his nose and chin.

“Mason,” he whimpered, turning around and crawling off the rotting body to crawl into his brother’s lap, leaning over him.  He could barely see the other’s face, and he doubted the other could see his, so he made up for it by bringing both hands to cup Mason’s cheeks tenderly.  “Mase.”

“Jack…”  It was a whisper.  “Ja…ckson…”  It was too quiet.

“Wh-what can I do?  What-what-”

“It’s okay,” the dying boy breathed, his face now smeared with the red-brown blood from his hyung’s hands.  “Okay…”

“No it’s not; you-you can’t-oh my god…”

“It’s okay…”  He took a deep breath and Jackson’s tears broke against his teeth.  “You’ll be okay…  Make sure, to go, to college…”

“No, no, no, not wi-without-”

“You’re gonna, be, fine…”

“Mason,” Jackson cried, and his brother let out a teary sob too.

“I wanted to…”  He swallowed.  “…never mind…  You, do all of it… for me…”

Then the light in Mason’s eyes pinched out and his brother fell silent, too purely shaken and stunned and appalled to cry anymore.  The world, which had previously been chipped, smudged, and constricting around him, was shattered and splattered and loose in the air above his head.  He didn’t have anything to cry for anymore, nothing to look forward to and nothing to protect.  His little solar system had become a single galaxy amidst a universe and he felt so small and useless and pathetic that he didn’t cry, because the only one he had left to cry for was himself, and he realized that he wasn’t worth the tears.  Not anymore.

Amidst it all, he couldn’t help but think that the museum didn’t look as clean as it did earlier.

Mark burst into consciousness as something in his dream crashed upon him.  He steadied himself, only realizing how close he was to falling off when his right hand curled around the edge of the roof.  He looked down and blew out a deep breath, before turning back to look at Jackson.

Or where Jackson should’ve been.

He scrambled over, straining in the darkness to locate his friend, but there was nothing but an expanse of scratchy metal to see.  Mark stood and jogged to the far end, where he hung over and peered into the trailer.  For the second time in their companionship, he found nothing telling him where Jackson was.  And for the second time, he decided he knew where he needed to go, because the thing that had pinned him to the ground in his dream was Mason, and Mark knew that Jackson couldn’t leave his brother chained up in a room, rotting away for the rest of his life.

He knew he’d gone to the museum to say goodbye and maybe even end it for real.  And he knew that no one deserved to be alone after that.

So this time he threw on a shirt before stalking into the night, pistol in hand and ears alert.  He had all three backpacks with him, one on his shoulder and the other two hanging from his left arm.  They were heavy, but he wasn’t planning on going back, and didn’t think his companion was either.

After whatever was going to happen, they were gonna need to hit the road; it was almost dawn anyways.

The grass looked black, and even the trees before the museum, which Mark knew were smeared with blood, only looked like they were splattered with pitch.  The doors were slabs of nothing, a bottomless hole.  His hands were clothed in the thinnest of the darkest gloves.

Mark stopped at the entrance, almost knocking before realizing that’d ruin the peace.  So he slipped into the museum quietly and without notice, and treaded lightly towards the mystery room, just to check if he was there.  Then he’d go, then he’d let Jackson deal with his brother in privacy.

Mark just needed to be sure he was in fact even there.

Jackson’s voice hit him after the stench and Mark stood holding his nose, trying to imagine how the other was possibly still conscious, when his words split the atmosphere in two.

“I promise I’ll go to college; I promise.  I’ll buy all the ice cream I can get my hands on and I’ll watch as many kids’ movies as I can before I fall asleep.  I’ll sleep in your old room and I’ll eat a good breakfast when I wake up, I promise.”  Mark didn’t understand, but he understood enough to creep away and leave his friend to himself.

The air was warm outside the museum and the steps were worn enough for sitting on them to be comfortable.  He could see for a good while to the left and right of him, and it was silent enough for him to rely mostly on his ears.

His mind, however, wasn’t focused on his surroundings in the least.  His thoughts were in that room, next to Jackson.  Next to his companion, his friend.  For near an hour he sat and waited, thinking about what he should say when the other exited.  For an hour he had nothing to do but think, and at the end of the hour he stood up, worried and curious.

He dropped the bags on the front porch.  The sun was rising as he slipped back into the museum, closing the door softly behind him.  He was anxious and a bit too sentimental, already feeling tears prick his eyes from when he’d briefly thought of how he would’ve handled having to do this for Madelyn.

Mark turned around and gasped as he saw Jackson, wiping his face and nose, looking vulnerable and surprised to see him.  The two of them stared at each other for a moment before the taller of the two looked away, once again feeling guilty for being somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.

Neither spoke, and eventually Mark met his eyes again.  He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels nervously and racking his head for what to say, before recognizing something in the face of his friend.  Something he knew from the many times he had gazed into a puddle or broken window.  Something he saw in his own face every time he felt alone and scared and willing to do anything to see Madelyn again.

Jackson looked like he wanted a hug.

He looked like he needed just one goddamnm ing hug.

“Are you sure you wanna leave now?”  He wiped his nose again, and Mark could see a smudge of brown blood on his hand.  “I heard you drop the bags outside.  I thought the plan was to head out in the morning.”  The reception room was dark, but lighter than outside because of a dim glow coming from the dreaded room.

“I didn’t think you’d want to stay after this,” Mark whispered, and Jackson paused a moment before responding.

“This?  You mean,” and he pointed without looking towards where Mason now probably lay dead; for real this time.  “You mean my brother.”

“Yes, your brother,” Mark said, afraid that he’d insulted him.  The other was quiet again, though, and for one last time wiped his face.  “We can go back if you want; I just thought-”

“You thought right; I want to leave.”  He stepped forward towards the door but his knees shook enough for him to stop and take another deep breath.  Mark inched forward, feeling wronged in a way, like he wanted Jackson to ask for help, because he wanted to help.  “I really want to leave…”

The cleanest shirt either owned (they shared what little clothes they had) was splattered with blood and dripping brown sludge down Jackson’s thigh, and he looked like he wanted to say more.  He couldn’t continue, however, because he’d begun to cry again, and it occurred to Mark how weak Jackson really was, how sensitive a person he was, merely hidden behind a mask created by the death of his brother.  Maybe with this emotional conclusion he could be something again, he could be someone again, but at that moment, Mark knew there was just one thing he really needed to be.

He needed to be hugged, and Mark closed the space between them to wrap his arms around his friend.  Jackson didn’t respond at first, but when Mark pulled him even closer, pulled him tighter into their embrace, pulled him as taught to his heart as he could muster, he melted.

The two stood near the door, one sobbing and the other sniffling, one heaving grand breaths of relief and the other hardly breathing at all, breathless with being embraced for the first time in five years and with crushing arms around him.

One who knew he had someone to love again, and to protect again, and to live for again, and the other who knew he was going to need to man up and earn the trust that was being placed unto him.

The two stood near the door, closer to each other and happier than they’d ever been before.

OMG so sad, so happy.  I haven't written anything here (author's note) in a while, probably because I don't really know what to say anymore.  This story is draining and is taking much more time than I wanted it to, but will be so much more worth it than a lot of things I've written.  I hope you're all enjoying it, and that I'm not too terribly screwing up the characters.  :)