Note: this is for the ask "what was Scully's childhood like?" And I decided to write this, pls enjoy. Sorry if it isn't all that great, I tried.
Fire can be quite relaxing, sitting in front of a roaring flame with your family or friend. Fire can be good, however, the inferno surrounding Scully was anything but "relaxing". Paris was in absolute shambles. Of course, he was used to it now, but from time to time, he'd try and imagine what it looked like before everything went to shit.
When the hordes numbers dwindled, Scully found himself poking and prodding around wasted shops. He examined an old bottle of scotch that was -surprisingly enough- perfectly good. He hummed in excitement at the prospect of getting a well-deserved drink. He began to search for a glass.
Of course, he was too hopeful. All glasses were shattered, he stared at the pile of shimmery pieces, the light making them more prominent as if to tease him.
He decided it wasn't worth getting upset over, and just twisted open the bottle, it gave off a hearty 'pop!' Which made Scully wince. "Shit... That was loud."
He stood still for a while, listening for any unwelcome company. Nothing.
He finally exhaled, and his shoulders sunk down. He tugged down his balaclava slightly and took a swig, he shuddered at the intensity but recovered quickly, it was not bad, not great either.
He began to think. Something he rarely did. Not that he was stupid, it was just that he'd rather not think about certain things. He hated the quiet, and this was one of the reasons why.
His mind wandered through the past, remembering his parents, and how much he loved them but, also how he treated them before he left.
"Markus, I don't understand, all we are doing is trying to give you a better life! It's what we've always tried to give you! And you want to throw it away?"
His mother snapped after he told her he was going to leave, to pursue a music career. Even though he had expressed his disinterest in the career path his parents envisioned for him, they just thought he'd change his mind eventually. But he didn't.
He snapped back. "You knew I wasn't interested! I've told you and dad many times! Were the things I've said nothing to you?" He held his arms out in exasperation and partial defeat. He didn't want to argue, he loved her, and seeing his mother upset at him shattered his heart.
She huffed and began to cry, his arms fell to his sides, he wanted to hug her, but he knew it would be pointless.
He packed his bag quietly, hesitating before opening the front door, he wanted to say 'goodbye', or 'I love you, mom.' But he didn't have the courage to. He opened the door and shuffled down the steps as soon as he felt the tears coming.
As the hours went by, he pulled his ringing phone out of his pocket. Mom. His thumb hovered over the decline button before he ultimately decided to not answer.
He found himself in a motel, one small room, plenty of space. A tv with only five channels, one of them being an adult film channel, which he watched for a short while, but it just ended up being a nuisance.
He wished he had a plan, something anything, but his departure was a bit of a spur of the moment, so he was -for the most part- shit outta luck.
He shook his head and blinked, staring at the bottle in his hand. Nearly empty.
"Fuck..." He slurred, he drank pretty much the whole bottle in one sitting, which was not good, as a drunk zed killer was as good as dead.
He sat the bottle down and pushed the balaclava back up. He stood up, legs feeling tingly, which made him groan in discomfort. Stretching, he walked out of the bar.
Tonight was gonna be pretty rough...
