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25 January 2009 @ 01:06 pm
Survivors: The Lost Multiverse Jumping Off Point  
The Story Index, includes the 'rules' and such.

General warnings for mentions of people being dead and there being bodies. Main Characters are injured. There's swearing.

Ryan's eyes snapped open, and for a moment he stared blearily up at the tree branches overhead, wondering what he was doing outside and why it was so completely silent. Just as the thought entered his mind, it was as though someone had turned the volume up full blast and he heard the screams. Struggling to his feet, Ryan ignored the pain in his back as he ran towards the screams, stumbling out of the jungle onto a beach, and freezing at the scene of carnage before him.

Half of a plane rested half in the water, half in the sand, and bodies littered the beach. Between them, people ran around, screaming to each other, for each other, and just plain screaming. He saw a child screaming wildly for his mama, and a girl stood clutching her face as blood poured down between her fingers. A man was struggling to pull himself out of the wreckage, begging everyone around for help and getting none.

After a moment, Ryan ran into the chaos, heading for the trapped man and leveraging up the debris, only to drop it again in horror as the man's face seemed to drain of blood and he lost consciousness now that the blood was able to flow freely, straight out of the stumps where the man's legs had been, the plane having kept him alive by keeping pressure on the wounds. Ryan stumbled back from him, collapsing to one knee as he fought the urge to vomit.

His gaze swept the beach, seeing a woman run to the crying little boy and scoop him up, both of them clinging to each other as thought their lives depended on it, and felt a tinge of relief that at least someone was okay. The girl clutching her face had subsided into sobs, her body shaking as she collapsed to the sand.

"Are you okay?" a voice asked as someone crouched down in front of him.

"He's dead," Ryan said, looking back at the formerly trapped man.

The man in front of him looked, grimacing, then turned back. "Come on, we've gotta get people away from the wreckage, it's not stable," he said, hauling Ryan to his feet and pulling him away from the plane.

As they passed the girl with the injured face, Ryan stopped to pull her to her feet, guiding her away, and the other man released him to find someone else in need of help. "It's okay, you'll be okay," he told her.

"Oh god..." the girl sobbed.

"Come one, we just gotta get away from the wreck," Ryan insisted.

"My face..." the girl continued.

Ryan glanced back, figuring they were far enough away, then turned to the girl, forcing her hands away and searching her face for the wound, wiping away the thick blood. Finally, he found it, a long gash across her temple, running from just inside her hairline down to near her earlobe. "It's not that bad," he told her. "You'll be okay," he promised.

"But... the blood..."

"Head wounds, they bleed like a bitch," the man who'd gotten Ryan moving said as he came over with the mother and son.

"Haley?" the girl asked.

"Brooke, are you okay?" the mother asked, pulling her close so the little boy was sandwiched between them.

"I guess so," Brooke replied, holding on tight to both of them. "How about you and Jamie?"

"We're okay," Haley replied. "But I can't find Nathan."

"I'm sure he's fine," the other guy said. "But you look like shit," he added to Ryan.

"Woke up in the jungle, my back hurts like hell," he said.

"Sit down before you keel over," the man said. "My name's John Sheppard."

"Ryan Saunders," Ryan replied, not even thinking as the lie slid past his lips.

"Haley and James Scott," the mother said.

"Brooke Davis," the girl with the cut on her face said.

"Anyone know what the hell happened?" Ryan asked.

"The plane crashed," Jamie said.

"We've got that much, buddy," Sheppard said with a smile.

"It tore in half," Ryan said. "Right behind my seat... it just... split..."

"Just sit, rest," Sheppard said. "I'm gonna go see if I can find anyone who knows anything about medicine. We've got people who need help.


It was a couple hours later before a guy a little older than Ryan came over, carrying a first aid kit and a bunch of shirts that had been torn into strips. Haley had taken Brooke over to where the guy had been treating injuries, and Ryan had watched from a distance as she had been sewn up, thread replacing the usual stitches.

"Ryan, right?" the guy said. "Sheppard said you were in pain?"

"Yeah, but it's not so bad anymore," Ryan replied, trying to sit up straighter and wincing as his back twitched. "Or maybe it is."

"Lean forward, I'll take a look."

"You a doctor?"

"Home health nurse," the guy replied. "But I'm all we've got, so..."

"Better than nothing," Ryan said.

"I'm Peter Petrelli," the nurse said. "Looks like you're sliced up pretty bad," he added.

"Fuck," Ryan grunted.

"I can patch you up, but... it's not gonna be comfortable."

"I'll survive," Ryan said, shifting to pull his shirt the rest of the way off and give Peter room to work. "I hope, anyway."

Peter sighed. "You're better off than some, worse than others," he said. "But yeah, you'll live."

"Good," Ryan said.

"This is gonna sting," Peter warned.

Ryan hissed painfully as Peter poured one of the tiny bottles of vodka over the gash. "Fuck," he muttered.

"I know," Peter agreed. "Just hold on a little longer. After I stitch, you can have a couple of these, knock yourself out for the night."

"Now that sounds like a plan," Ryan agreed.

They were quite for the next several moments, except for Ryan's occasional pained groans and Peter's reassurances that he was almost done. Finally, there was a last tug on the skin, and Peter sat back. "There, done," he said.

"You said something about letting me get plastered?" Ryan said, carefully pulling his shirt back on.

"How about we get you over to the main camp first," Peter suggested. "It'll probably get chilly now that the sun's going down."

Ryan nodded, pushing himself up and leaning against a tree to get his balance. "Shit," he muttered.


"Little bit," Ryan said, forcing himself completely upright and shaking his head to clear it. "I'll be fine," he added, starting for the lights of the fires while Peter watched, concerned.


The next morning, Peter was making his rounds of the injured, and after finding Brooke's cut had already started to heal, he went in search of Ryan, who he found on the far side of the fuselage, gaze sweeping from water, to beach, to jungle and back again. "I wanna check your back," Peter said.

"I'm fine," Ryan said, walking away from Peter and heading over to where Sheppard and another man were talking in hushed voices. After a moment, Peter hurried after him.

"I still need to check your stitches. Even with the vodka, the area was hardly saterilized, you could be getting a deadly infection as we speak.

"I'm fine," Ryan repeated. "Hey, Sheppard, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sheppard replied.

"I noticed something, wondering if you did, too. Notice anything missing from the wreckage?"

"No cockpit," the other man said. "We were just talking about that."

"My guess is it's under about 30 feet of water out there," Sheppard said, nodding towards the water.

"Transmitter might still work," Ryan said. "They're built pretty study."

"Yeah, if we can get it," the new man said.

"I can," Ryan said. "I'm good at diving."

"Do I need to remind you that I stitched your back closed last night?" Peter asked.

"Hey, we get a transmitter, I get a hospital," Ryan replied, starting over towards the fusealage, the others following.

"It can wait a couple days..." Sheppard began.

"Not really," Ryan said. "Every second the transmitter's exposed to the ocean, the less chance it'll work at all. Besides, I'm a strong swimmer."

"When you don't have a hole in your back!" Peter said.

"I'm a grown man, if I wanna risk my life diving down there, I can," Ryan said, aware that he sounded like an annoyed child.

"Be careful, there are probably sharks around," the other guy said.

"Right," Ryan agreed, peeling off his shirt and getting rid of his boots.

"What's your name, anyway?"


"I'm Dean," the guy said. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Ryan replied before starting into the water.

The water was warm at first, but once he got hip deep in it he could feel slight chill seeping into him. A little further, and he took a deep breath before dropping into the water and started to swim. Every 10 feet or so, he dove down a few feet, looking, until finally he spotted the cockpit below him. He went back up to the surface, bobbing there for a moment as he took a few deep breaths, then dove, kicking as hard as he could to get down to the wreckage. He pulled himself along the side, kicking when he needed a little extra push, until he found the torn open door and pulled himself inside, swimming back up towards the cockpit. At first, the door flat out refused to open, and Ryan began to worry if he'd have time to get back up to the surface before he passed out, then suddenly it popped open.

With a strong kick, Ryan swam inside, and his head broke the surface of an air bubble. He kept his eyes closed, taking deep, ragged, gasps of breath for a moment before opening them and feeling sick at the sight of a very dead pilot hanging halfway out of the seat. The co-pilot was slumped the other way, head smashed in, most likely by the edge of a console judging by the blood smears. After tkaing another deep, even, breath, Ryan started looking around, pulling himself around the small space looking for what they needed. Finally, he resigned himself and reached to check around the pilot's body, trying to pretend he wasn't pressing against a dead body as he stretched.

After a few more moment sof searching, and well aware that the air was getting stale as well as pungent, his fingers grazed the edge of something, and he tightened his grip, pulling out the transmitter, which miraculously was dry. He spotted a plastic baggie, probably once used to hold the co-pilot's lunch, and grabbed it, sealign the transmitter inside and clutching the plastic between his teeth before tkaing another deep breath and heading back into the body of the plane and towards the hatch. As he pushed it open again, the plane seemed to shift, air bubbles shooting past him, and the world suddenly seemed to shift, loosing his grip ont eh ahndle as he was tossed across the plane.


"Fuck," Dean said as they watched what looked like an explosion out in the direction Ryan had gone.

"It lost an air pocket," Sheppard said.

"Where is he?" Peter commented.

"Fuck," Dena repeated, stripping out of his jacket and boots in record time and running into the water.


It was pitch black now, and dirt and grit were filling the water, making it harder to see. Ryan's lungs began to burn, but he couldn't find the door again with his searching hands. He propelled himself back tot he cockpit, hoping there was at least a tiny air pocket left, and found it, a shallow bubble just big enough for him to angle his head back and get his face above the surface, gasping in the thin air. When his lungs had began to recover, he dove under again, trying to find the exit, but failing once more. He slammed his fists against the side he thought the door was on, then propelled himself back to the tiny air pocket, gasping for air and swallowing salt water.

"Oh god," he sobbed. "I don't wanna die like this..." He felt something brush his ankle, then grasp it, and kicked slightly. A moment later, the water rippled and Ryan heard the sound of someone else's ragged breaths.

"Some vacation, huh?" Dean said, sounding like he did this everyday.

"I can't find the fucking door," Ryan said.

Dean grabbed one of Ryan's wrists and tugged it to his belt, making sure the fingers were wrapped tight before he released them. "Hold on until we get out, I know a way," he said. "Deep breath," he added, taking one himself, then diving udner the water and out of the cockpit, pulling himself along via the backs of seats.


A small crowd had gathered, watching for any sign of the two men after the explosion of air.

"It's been too long," Peter said.

"Don't panic yet," Sheppard replied.

Sure enough, a moment later, someone called out and they followed the pointed hand to where Ryan and Dean were stumbling in hip deep water.

As the two got to shore, collapsing in the sand, Ryan held the transmitter, still safe in it's bag, to Sheppard. "Got it," he said, followed bya coughing fit and collapsing back into the sand.

"You're both lunatics," Peter said, checking first Ryan's pulse, then Dean's.

"I would have been fine," Ryan began. "But the whole thing shifted and I got thrown around. I couldn't find the door and... and it's kind of amazing I even found my way back to the air pocket."

"Maybe now that it's more settled, we can go back, get baggage and stuff, so we have enough clothes to make into bandages," Dean suggested, nodding to Peter, who was poking at Ryan's back again.

"You tore three stitches," Peter said.

"Worth it," Ryan replied, watchign as Sheppard fiddled with the radio. "How's it look?"

"We'll need to get higher to get a signal," Sheppard replied, shaking his head.

Ryan glanced around, making sure the crowd had disappated. "We've got something else to worry about. Or at least wonder about," he said.

"What?" Sheppard asked.

Ryan glanced over at Dean. "When you were pulling yourself through the plan, you notice anything missing?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. No bodies."

"What?" Peter asked. "That's... impossible. Someone had to to have been..."

"They weren't," Ryan said. Not as far as I saw. I mean, yeah, I was in a hurry because I was running out of air, but... there weren't any bodies."

"I didn't find any either, and I pulled myself along from the hole in the back of the plane, then we went out the same way. My hands never touched any bodies," Dean said.

"We'll check that out later, when we go back for the bags," Sheppard said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We need to figure out what to do next, though."

"Food and fresh water are a priority," Ryan said. "Even if we get rescued tomorrow, we need something to keep us going today."

"All this jungle, there's gotta be streams somewhere inland," Sheppard agreed. "And maybe fruits, probably some wild animals."

"We need shelter," Dean said. "Those clouds out there don't look good, so we need something to keep us dry."

"The plane?" Peter suggested.

"It could roll right into the water," a girl with long blonde hair, streaked with purple, said as she came up. "Especially with a storm brewing. We need something further up the beach, maybe right at the treeline."

"She's right," Sheppard said. "If we can't find anything else to build shelter before the storm hits, we'll have to take our chances with the plane, but... we need to find something else."

"What's your name?" Dean asked.

"Alex Kelly," she said.

"Dean Winchester, John Sheppard, Peter Petrelli, Ryan Saunders," Dean said, gesturing first to himself and then the others.

"Petrelli? Like the New York senator?" Alex asked.

"My brother," Peter said. "He was in first class."

They all fell into silence, realizing that Peter's brother had been in the front section of the plane. The Empty section of the plane.

The End

Okay, there's the opening, setting things up. Ryan has a gash on his back, but is trying to stay strong and tough and do what needs to be done. Brooke has a cut on her face and freaked out but. Haley and Jamie are both okay, but Haley's husband and Jamie's father, Nathan, is missing. Sheppard is taking charge for the moment. Peter is struggling to take care of everyone without any help and worried about his brother. Dean is being reckless while helping people. Alex is stepping up to join them in leading things.

I have a pretty good idea of my main thread for this, although I might totally go into sideways tangents, too.

But, I want to see where you guys go. You can pick up from here, or you can go anywhere you like with the basics I've laid out. Hell, if you want to change something slightly and run with it (Nathan's with Jamie and Haley's missing, Ryan doesn't lie about his name, Nathan Petrelli's body is on the beach, switch out some of the 'core group' of leaders, whatever). I do suggest that since we have 2 Nathan's in the fandoms I've set up, maybe we can call Nathan Scott 'Nate' and Nathan Petrelli 'Nathan'.

As I said in the initial post, you can always add other fandoms to your take on the universe or leave out characters you don't want to use. Any and all pairings (het or slash) are welcome, as are no pairings. Stories of all ratings from G to NC-17 are fine. The point is to take the premise and run with it. Don't feel like once you've got one path written, you can't go and write a different one (like I may write a path where Ryan and Alex get together, but then write a different path where it's Ryan and Brooke who hook up), explore all the different angles and directions you can take it in. There's really no rules except to please provide a link to the 'Index Post' on my journal (Preferably with a comment to the index that you've added a story to the Multiverse), and if you're spinning your story off from someone else's story (like picking up right where it left off, or taking a major event from their story), then
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