Work Text:
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to you.
Candles on a cake.
His birthday.
Chocolate protein rations, turned into a cake.
His brother pinched him.
There were no candles.
But there was frosting.
Not vanilla.
That was all he remembered.
All he wanted to remember of before.
Before--
Before--
Before….
~~
Then it changed.
Reavers. Death. Darkness.
Stories told to children. To frighten. To warn.
Horror that can truly never be described.
They came suddenly.
Jagged Metal.
Scraps of hulls cobbled together.
Like decayed carcasses of corpses, pieced together and brought back to life.
That's what they were.
They came without mercy.
Without love.
Born? Created? Coming to kill.
Everyone tried to fight. Every Crewman, every family.
None went willing to their deaths.
None went quietly.
It was all screaming.
Blood.
Darkness.
Flickering lights.
Pavel!
Pavel!
PAVEL!
A voice called out to him.
His mother.
He didn’t go to her.
He screamed.
He fought.
He hide.
PAVEL--
He watched.
They ripped her apart.
And him.
And him. And her.
They slashed with knives.
Blood dripped down their chins.
They peeled skin back.
Bodies hung from metal decking.
Blood runs in trickles down blackened metals.
Reavers.
His sister.
His brother.
His mother.
His Father.
DEAD.
Hold tight.
His hands wrapped around his knees.
Quiet.
Quiet now.
He rocked himself slowly.
Back and forth.
Quietly, quietly.
It’s silent except for screams.
Silent except for his breathing.
Silent except for death around him.
Reavers sniffed , noses turned up like a wild animal.
Searching for him.
Mustn’t find him.
He crawled forward.
A hand reached out grabbing his arm.
Clawed broken fingernails, rip into his skin.
A face filled his vision.
Pieces of rotten meat hung from its mouth.
Not human.
Not human.
REAVER.
He screamed.
Blackened rotted teeth sink into his arm.
A chunk ripped out.
He pulled free.
Run.
Don’t let them catch you.
Don’t let them kill you.
He was already dead.
He climbed into an airshaft.
Right.
Left.
Two lefts.
He was dizzy.
Blood trickled down his arm.
~~
They found him.
~~
No!
NO!
He screamed.
They laughed.
A deep inhuman sound.
They growled.
They howled.
He was too numb to cry.
Knives flashed.
Kill me quickly.
Please.
He begged.
Did they even understand him?
A blade sliced into his face.
Next his arm was in agony as metal bite into flesh.
His leg. His face again. His arm.
He lost track.
Blood was everywhere.
He couldn't breath.
Blood from his face ran into his eyes.
He couldn’t see.
Please.
Please.
Let me die….
He screamed.
Someone reached into his mouth.
He tried to bite them.
His tongue was grabbed.
Plea--
Words choked off, and a final pain seared him. His mouth filled with blood.
He managed to blink his eyes open one last time
A clawed ,dirty, bloody hand holding a piece of flesh.
His tongue.
He was drowning in his own blood.
Crimson spilled from his mouth.
His severed tongue dangled in his face before being devoured.
A reaver grinned showing bloody teeth.
Chekov choked.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Blood spattered decking.
In a steady rhythm.
He was drowning.
Chekov turned on his side.
He watched as blood poured from his mouth onto metal grating below.
Still drowning.
His bitten arm burned.
His head was dizzy.
This was his death.
Drowning.
Dying.
Finally.
His eyes closed.
~~
Waking up.
A ship of dead.
Dead.
Dying.
Crazed.
Hurt.
Kill.
Others roamed.
Reavers were gone.
It was hard to think.
He pulled himself up.
Cheek stuck to metal.
A moan escaped his lips.
Dried blood everywhere.
Not dead.
Not alive.
Undead roam.
Crewmembers that hadn’t been eaten had been turned.
They hunted him.
They were animals in human form.
Fingernails scratching his face.
Hands grabbing for him.
He could think.
He could move.
Painful.
So painful.
Bite.
Hurt.
Can’t speak, can’t scream.
Can’t hide.
Run or Be killed.
Chekov lived amid corpses.
Amidst those Reaver’s had killed.
Amongst those Chekov himself had killed.
He ate rations.
He ate produce from hydroponics.
He ate dirt.
He starved.
Starved..starved...hungry.
So hungry.
~~
He ate flesh.
His teeth ripped at flesh.
Dead flesh.
Only corpses.
He cried.
He screamed a silent scream.
All dead.
He wasn’t dead.
Time passed.
More timed passed.
Dead.
Air thinning.
Bodies rotting everywhere.
No longer alive.
Power failures.
No light.
Heat failing.
Cold.
No food.
So hungry.
All dead.
Why not him?
~~
Voices?
Footsteps.
Run.
Hide.
Run.
Caught.
Light.
Hands reaching.
Fight.
Fight.
Fight.
~~
They came.
Voices too loud.
Light blinding his eyes.
Not again.
They smelled too clean.
There faces were foreign.
Can’t think.
Run.
Fight. Fight. Fight.
Screaming silently .
Let me go!
A sharp piece of decking in his hand.
Don’t come near.
He would be their death.
Weapons drawn.
Kill me.
Kill me.
KILL ME!
Screaming.
Not his own.
Noise hurts.
Light hurts.
Breathing hurts.
Pain.
Anger.
Death.
Why didn’t he turn?
Put that down.
What is he?
He’s a Reaver?
He’s going to attack.
He’s infected.
Voices swirled around him.
Sweat dripped into his eyes.
He couldn’t concentrate.
His skin crawled.
He stepped toward them, weapon raised.
They shouted.
He couldn’t follow what they said.
More screaming.
They’re going to kill him.
Kill or be killed.
Kill or be killed.
Don’t die.
Footsteps thunder, coming closer..
A new person runs into view.
Kirk, get out way.
Fuck, move it kid!
He’s infected.
You don’t know what you’re talking about.
Hard to focus.
A man?
Boy.
Not much older than him.
He’s yelling.
Everyone is yelling.
Chekov howls.
It’s a screamed ripped from his ruined throat.
Words no longer come.
Everyone falls silent.
They look at him.
They fear him.
Except Kirk .
That name is clear.
Name.
Chekov can’t remember his own name.
Kirk, turns to him, and drops his hands.
Chekov should slash his throat.
Make him bleed.
Drink his blood.
Eat his flesh.
He doesn’t.
-- Name?
Chekov misses what Kirk said first.
He doesn’t know how to answer.
His hand rises against his will.
A finger points to his passenger tag.
Pavel Andreievich Chekov.
His name.
Pavel.
Kirk says his name.
Chekov shakes.
He’s not that person.
Pavel.
Chekov screams.
His yells echo, in a ship filled with dead.
His hand falls.
His weapon drops.
Kirk repeats softer.
Pavel.
He takes a step forward and Chekov follows him.
Out of darkness into light.