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apollobar · 8 months ago

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Everything That Is Left

Summary: Lucy Chen and her friends join what was meant to be a dream vacation across the Pacific Ocean, aboard a small cruise ship. But when a devastating storm strikes, turning their journey into a fight for survival, Lucy finds herself stranded on a deserted island with her companions. As they struggle to endure and await rescue, tensions rise and bonds are tested. Amidst the challenges, a budding romance has begun to unravel between Lucy and Tim, her old mentor turned fellow survivor, casting a fragile ray of hope amidst the uncertainty. Yet, as they all navigate the challenges of island life, dark secrets emerge, threatening to unravel the fragile bonds holding them together. With each passing day, the survivors must confront not only the mysteries of the island but also the depths of their own resilience and the intricacies of their relationships. Will they find a way to overcome the odds and make it out alive, or will the island's mysteries consume them all?

Chapter 1 of ?

CHAPTER 1: Travellers from Beyond the Shore

Unable to face the screams, Lucy Chen looks out at the ocean. It’s hypnotic, the way the water laps upon the shore. Swallowing up the beach and then spitting it back out, leaving behind sand dollars and bits of rock to litter the ground. Every cry or shout of her name is muffled as she stands there. The sand pulls mindlessly against her feet like thousands of tiny magnets, whispering for her to be engulfed along with them. But the temptation is briefly silenced when a sudden spark of green catches her attention. An object splashing amongst the recent waves, tumbling across the beach until finally resting against her bare foot. The search for her left shoe lost and momentarily forgotten.

All jagged edges and rough cuts have been erased from the fragment along with any sign of what it once was. Now replaced with rounded curves and polished sides that Lucy imagines must be smooth to the touch. She remembers learning of sea glass long ago, reading about it in an elementary science class. Her textbook had explained about the effects of weathering and erosion; how shards of broken bottles, plates, or jars are worn down overtime. The tides push and pull while carrying it miles away. A journey, Lucy vaguely recalls, takes years for glass to become as opaque as the pebble that now lays at her feet. She lifts her head and looks beyond the bank, beyond the smoothed glass and the chorus of waves crashing against each other.

Her eyes fall on the horizon, where the sky touches the expanding sea and she scans the line searching for a clue to the sea glass’ origins. How long has it been away from home? She wonders. She waits for a response but a silent ocean taunts her, holding tightly to its secrets. The deceptive peace and the absence of everything that she and the glass have been through pulls at her insides, twisting and tearing until she can no longer hold herself up. Lucy drops to her hands and knees, and she can feel the contents of her stomach threatening to spill out. Sand digs into her skin as she grips it. Needing something to hold onto and give her balance while she fights to keep what little she has left inside. But as she claws the beach, her lifeline escapes through her fingers. Flowing back to the shore and with nothing left to keep her steady, the remaining contents of her stomach eventually follow.

When there is nothing left to give up, she rolls onto her side, unable to bring herself to stand.

At least not right now.

The warm sand, baked from the afternoon sun, is inviting enough to convince her to lay down for a few moments longer. The emerald shard of glass now sits a few inches from her face and without thinking she reaches out and takes it. Lucy squeezes her hand shut, all the danger of broken glass long since worn away and with the pad of her thumb she outlines the bumps and divots of the stone over and over again as if running her fingers along a piece of die.

The voice beyond is beginning to get louder now, he will find her any minute now but she’s not ready to face it. Just give me a few moments more, she pleads to herself. Her eyes fix back onto the task in front of her. Fingers, sticky with sand, occasionally grind against the stone as she moves it around in her palm. An action that emits a crunching sound similar to that of stepping onto gravel. The noise is quiet but distraction enough to pull her focus back in.

Lucy can’t help but feel a connection to the poor glass. Both of them in an indescribable distance away from home, forever changed by a journey they never asked for, but swept into nonetheless. She clenches her fist, pulling it protectively against her chest. Memories of home call upon an ache that has settled itself within her heart, and Lucy is unsure of how long it has been there. The pain conjuring up thoughts of how long it will be until she can go back home-if she can at all? Or will she become more like the traveler in her palm, destined never to return? The hot sand, the advancing desperate shouts, and smell of saline begin to overwhelm her. In an attempt to push out the world, she squeezes her eyes shut. However, the pulse of the beach is no longer loud enough to drown out her environment and a familiar voice has finally reached her.

“Chen! Where have you been? My god, what happened?”

There is a sternness and sincerity to his tone that only he can bring and she doesn’t need to open her eyes to recognize who it is. So when his hands tentatively touch her shoulders, warm and solid, she doesn’t flinch. She knows it’s Tim. Her teacher, her friend, and now fellow survivor.

She opens her eyes as she lets him pull her up into a sitting position, his own scanning her for signs of new injuries. It’s only when he finds none does his concern fall to annoyance.

“We have been calling your name for ten minutes, boot. You know better than to just go off on your own and start ignoring everyone. After everything that has happened..” His voice falters and he fights to get it back under control of it, taking in a short breath and twisting chapped lips. Tim’s habit and pathological need to remain in control is so soaked in normalcy that Lucy can’t help but laugh at it. At the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

“This isn’t funny.” He tells her, taken aback at the absurdity of her reaction.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out while lifting her head towards the sky in disbelief, “You’re right, I know. It’s not funny. None of this is funny.” The insincere fit of laughter trickles away with her last few words and flows seamlessly into tears. After the intensity of the last few days, the nights adrift at sea and the morning’s fleeting relief of finding land, Lucy had not let herself grieve. Not allowed the reality of their situation sink in.

Tim is quick to pull her into his arms, sheltering her from the wind and bringing a comfort only an old friend could provide, his initial annoyance now dissipated. The intimacy of the touch is uncommon and foreign between them, but Lucy allows herself to welcome the reassurance it unexpectedly brings. She tucks her head under his chin while hot streams glide down her cheeks. Lucy knows this situation has taken so much from them both, from them all, and will continue to ask more of them as the days go on, but she is grateful for his patience at this moment. A moment that is needed. A moment that has been earned.

When her breathing falls back to even strides, she attempts to peel herself away, afraid of overstaying her welcome. But Tim’s arms tighten without a word and Lucy suspects that he needs a moment as well. So she gives it to him, instead taking the time to really look at his appearance for the first time.

Much like Lucy, Tim’s clothes are dirty and torn with fresh purple bruises staining his exposed arms. Red blotches have soaked into his shirt, and those thick pieces of cloth that stick to his torso like glue have now transferred onto her own shirt. She lingers for a moment on the rubber, yellow band around his wrist at her side. The same one they all eagerly put on a few days ago, now smudged with dirt and blood. Evidence of a vacation gone wrong.

She braves a look at his face and his eyes catch hers, exhaustion and worry hidden within the lines tucked around his mouth and the creases between his brows. With their experience of being police officers, and Tim’s added time in the military, they’ve both been through traumatic events before, trained to handle the most stressful of situations. However, the LAPD doesn’t hold many courses on shipwrecks, and Lucy can’t recall ever receiving a Tim Test on what to do in the case of being stranded on a deserted island. They are in unfamiliar territory, and no amount of training fully prepared them for a situation like this. Rookies again.

Finally, as a silence begins to nestle between them, Tim pulls away and Lucy watches him debate on what he should say next. He shifts around a bit, growing uncomfortable in the quiet and from the kneeling position he had taken earlier. She imagines what he could be thinking, knowing “Are you okay?” must feel like too lame of a question and“Get up, let’s get moving” while more in line with Tim's usual rough demeanor, perhaps too harsh even for him in this present moment. He is the first one to break eye contact as he finally stands, stretching his legs. The silent debate in his mind seemingly over and won.

��What are you doing out here?” He asks finally, his question soft and low. For a second, she’s taken aback by the unusual gentleness he continues to show her. But when she feels some of the heaviness in her shoulders release, slightly, but as if lifted up by a balloon, she is thankful for his tenderness. Lucy looks down at her feet. A single brown boot on one foot, and she wriggles the uncovered toes of the other drawing his attention.

“My shoe.” She responds, and Tim raises an eyebrow. “I just wanted to find my shoe.”

“After the rescue boat shows up, I’ll take you to buy a new pair, hell about twenty?” He proposes and it’s his turn to smile. It's small but there, and Lucy can’t help but feel the infectious pull of it.

“You are going to take me?” She teases and Tim scoffs.

“Why is that so shocking? I’m probably not as good as Angela, but I know my way around a shoe store.” He jokes and it is enough to bring a genuine grin out of her.

Seizing the moment, Tim stretches out an arm and Lucy takes it, accepting his offer to help her to her feet. As she rises, the island beneath her sways and the clouds spin causing her to stumble. Tim is quick, as he often is, and steadies her by grabbing her elbow. Keeping her upright as he waits for her world to stop spinning.

“Thank you.” She tells him, after a breath, and they both know that her words are meant for more than just this moment.

There’s a pause before Tim says, “Rescue is going to come.” His voice is sure and absent of any doubt and Lucy notices the hand still cradling her elbow.

“I know,” she whispers. And she does. Lucy has always been clever, and the logical part of her knows that Tim Bradford is right. With the advancement of modern technology, the likelihood of rescue boats arriving any minute now is high and there is no need for panic. So when Tim suggests they go back to the group and wait for help, she doesn’t argue. However, as he guides her back to their friends and fellow survivors, to their humble beginnings of a campsite not meant to last, the ache in her chest tightens. And the weight of the seaglass, still secure in the palm of her hand, grows heavier than ever.

Thank you for reading! You can also find this story via my AO3 account @apollobar.

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 6 months ago

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Stranded Chapter 1

Summary: Tossed overboard and lost at sea, Bucky washes up on an uninhabited island. Injured, lost and scared, with little to no wilderness training, he fights to survive. But is he really alone?

Warnings: bodily injury, mentions of sexual harassment/assault, eventual smut

Next chapter

The waves tossed him like he weighed nothing. Bucky struggled to keep himself above water as the ocean storm threatened to engulf him entirely. He saw the underside of the boat bobbing a few hundred yards away from him. No one else came up and he screamed before another wave crashed over him. The storm had come on so suddenly that he and the others on the small yacht with him weren’t prepared. It was supposed to be a fun summer day out at sea on a rented party yacht, they weren’t expert sailors, so none of them knew what to do when the waves became choppy and the skies darkened quickly. The captain, the only one with experience, had been quickly overwhelmed by the unforgiving battering of waves. Bucky had tumbled off the side of the boat from a particularly rough swell and then never saw his friends again.

It felt like hours before he was able to grab onto something and keep himself above the water and breath. He was holding onto what looked like a large piece of the siding of the boat. He hefted himself with the last bit of strength he had onto it as the waves took him farther away. The splashing water doused him periodically as he drifted. He was alone, lost, no one else could have made it out of that. His exhaustion made the edges of his vision start to blacken and he passed out.

Bucky woke up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. He realized he was no longer rocking back and forth and opened his eyes slowly. The piece of siding he laid on was now wedged into sand, the tide lapping at his feet then receding back. He pulled himself up and looked around. It was an island with a long sandy beach that led to a treeline of palm trees. The water and skies were clear again. If he hadn’t almost died he would have thought it looked like a beautiful tropical vacation spot.

He took inventory of his situation, assessing his body for injuries as he stumbled off the piece of siding and walked closer to the treeline. Overall he was surprisingly unharmed except for a gash along his chest that was slightly throbbing, the bleeding having long stopped. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten it. He walked up to the treeline and slowly entered, his head swiveling as he looked for possible fresh water to drink or something to eat. Bucky tried to make it so he wouldn’t get lost, keeping an eye out for the shore behind him as he moved. He heard running water and followed it to a small creek along the ground a little further inland. He dropped to his knees and cupped some of the water into his hand, gingerly tasting the water to see if it was salty, then drinking it when it wasn’t. He took a few long sips until his throat didn’t feel so parched and then sat back.

The emotional toll of the last however many hours started to creep into his consciousness and he pulled his knees to his chest. He cried, deep heavy sobs wracking his body as he realized how alone he was. There was no way any of the people on the boat with him had survived as it overturned so quickly in the storm. His friends were gone, he was lost, and now stranded on an island.

After he let himself have a cry he stood and started looking for food and figuring out how to create a shelter. Maybe he could make a fire big enough to get the attention of passing boats or ships, or get some rocks big enough to spell out “SOS” or “HELP” on the beach. He was able to find some fruit he didn’t recognize hanging from the trees above him and ate what he could find and grabbed large tree branches with wide leaves that he tried to stack together to make some kind of shelter. Once he’d built a scrappy lean-to he went back out to the shoreline. He scanned the beach and the water, desperately searching for a sign of anything from the boat he’d been on or people or ships.

Nightfall came too quickly and he started looking for ways to make a fire. Being close to the ocean meant the wind was colder as it licked across the island, the pleasant breeze quickly becoming a chill. He was able to find a few sharp rocks and dry brush that he cleared a spot for next to his lean-to and tried to remember his scout training from when he was a teenager. He was able to get a spark and coax a small fire out of the brush. He laid down in his shelter and periodically fed the fire more dry brush around him. The noises in the little jungle surrounding him were making him paranoid, but he knew he would have to try to sleep. He made sure the fire wasn’t going to spread before letting himself start to succumb to sleep.

The warmth of the sun streaming through the trees made his eyes flutter open. As he sat up his chest stung, making him hiss. He looked down at it and saw the gash was now inflamed, his skin red and hot to the touch. Just great, he thought. The ocean couldn’t kill me so now I’m going to die from infection. He hobbled over to the creek not too far from him and cupped some water to drink, then carefully tried to clean the gash with his fingertips. He sighed as the cold water helped it feel not so hot, but he knew it was bad. With no medicine or knowledge of ways to help it heal with what was around him he cried again, frustration and annoyance mixing with his desire to survive making angry tears fall from the sides of his eyes as he looked up towards the trees again.

He stood to try and find more fruit to eat, trudging deeper into the island and then heard…a song? It sounded like someone singing. Bucky’s heart leapt as he walked faster toward the sound. He didn’t know how big the island was. Could there be other people here? The song got louder as he heard the sound of water splashing. He slowed when he got close to it and peered through the bushes that had gotten thicker as he came closer inland. The foliage opened up to some rocks that encircled a small waterfall and a pool it was falling into. Under the waterfall was a woman, washing her hair and body. Bucky’s eyes bulged, not just because she was naked but also because…another person was here. He slowly walked through the brush until he stood in the clearing of the rocky area.

The woman continued singing, having not seen him yet or heard him under the waterfall. He looked away from her and cleared his throat. “Hello!” he called. She screamed and whipped around to look at him. “I’m sorry!” he said, still looking down at the ground, holding his hands up to convey he meant no harm. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just…” he glanced at her. She was swimming over to the side of the pool and grabbing some clothes. He turned away and waited. He didn’t hear her coming at him over the rushing water and was suddenly pushed down, groaning when he hit the ground.

The woman was clothed and now crouched, looking like a cat ready to pounce on him. Bucky stared at her with wide eyes as she glared at him. He backed away from her slowly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m stranded here…I didn’t think anyone else was here–”

She growled at him. A literal growl. She bared her teeth at him and he gasped as he backed away again but was stopped by a tree. They stared at each other for a long moment. She slowly crawled closer to him, watching his every move. Bucky didn’t dare move a muscle as she came closer to his face. She looked him over, her eyebrows furrowing when she saw the gash on his chest, then snapped back up to his face. When she was mere inches away she sniffed him, then raised a hand slowly to his face. Before she touched him she paused, her fingers slightly shaking, then brushed her fingertips along his cheek. Bucky’s eyes fluttered a bit at the soft touch, exhaling a sharp breath as her thumb slid across his lips and down his chin. It was like she was making sure he was real, her eyes curious and flitting across his face.

Bucky gulped when her hand slipped down to his throat, her pointer finger grazing his Adam's apple and down to his chest where she inspected the gash. She leaned away from him and sat back on her butt, her legs criss-crossing as she watched him. He looked her over. Her hair was long, already drying from the waterfall bath, her skin sun kissed or burnt in certain spots, and dressed in an old, ripped, oversized tank top and shorts. Pretty…and familiar, he thought offhandedly. She cleared her throat before holding her hand out. “My name is Y/N,” she said simply.

Bucky gawked at her and slowly shook her hand. “Bucky,” he said.

“I’m sorry I pushed you,” Y/N apologized, her eyes never leaving his face. “You scared me.”

“I did…I’m sorry,” Bucky said, sitting himself up straight. “I heard you singing and thought my mind was playing tricks on me.”

Y/N smiled softly. Her eyes looked concerned as she glanced at the gash on his chest again. “You’re hurt,” she said. She then stood and held her hand out to him. He took it and she helped pull him up. “Come with me,” she said and started walking away further into the trees.

Bucky hesitated for a moment before quickly following her. After a few minutes the trees opened up to another clearing and he saw the front of a small airplane. He gaped at it, looking around and seeing a fire in the center of the clearing, some clothes hanging on a long branch propped up by two other standing branches off to the side, a log next to the fire for someone to sit on, and random things like a knife, sharpened rocks, fruit in a basket woven from palm fronds, and water in a plastic bucket. He followed Y/N to the airplane where she pulled back the door and entered. When he walked in he realized it was a type of luxury private plane, with large seats and near the back of the plane an open door leading to a private room with a bed. Y/N walked over to a seat that had a first aid kit sitting in it and opened it, rummaging through it until she pulled out a few items.

“Sit,” she said, gesturing to an open seat across the aisle. Bucky sat in the chair and unbuttoned more of the top portion of his shirt so she could access the gash easily. She approached him holding a bottle and some bandages. “This is going to hurt,” she said, giving him a grimace. Bucky nodded and gripped the armrests of the chair. Y/N leaned down and held one of the bandages under the gash to catch the liquid, then she slowly poured some of the liquid onto the wound. Bucky hissed, his jaw clenching dangerously as his head wrenched back and hit the chair. His knuckles turned white as he tried not to move or push her away. “I’m sorry,” Y/N sounded sad as she wiped at the gash quickly. “It’s hydrogen peroxide, not the greatest for wounds but I don’t have soap, and it looks like it’s infected,” she explained as she grabbed a water bottle off to the side and poured it over the gash to clear out the solution. She unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and had him sit up to apply the bandages, her hands weaving around his back and shoulders so the bandage would stay put. Once his chest was wrapped she pulled away and helped button his shirt back up. Bucky was panting, the shock of the chemical making him shiver a bit.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

“You’re welcome,” Y/N said, looking him over. She held the back of her hand up to his forehead. “Shit…you have a fever. Probably from the infection,” she held her hand out to him and helped him stand, pulling him to the back of the plane towards the bed. She had him lay down before leaving to grab something. Bucky was surprised at the fact that there was an actual bed to lay on and relished in the feeling of a mattress underneath him. As he got comfortable Y/N returned with a refilled water bottle and some cut fruit. “You’ll need to rest. Hopefully cleaning that cut will help the fever go away, but we’ll have to see,” Y/N sat next to him on the bed. Bucky was about to sit up but she lifted a piece of fruit to his lips. He opened his mouth and she dropped it in. Once he was done chewing she helped hold his head up a bit to drink some more water.

“I can get up, it’s okay,” Bucky said, feeling strange about her feeding him.

“It’s alright, I don’t mind,” Y/N said quietly, looking down at the bed then out the window off to the side.

Bucky watched her for a moment before a flash of realization hit him. “I thought you looked familiar,” he said. Y/N looked back at him. “You’re Y/N Y/L/N, the singer that went missing years ago,” he said, his eyes widening.

Y/N snorted, a small smile brightening her face. “Yep, that’s me,” she said as she lifted another piece of fruit to his mouth. He took it and chewed quickly.

“That was…four years ago?” Bucky ventured a guess.

“Sounds about right,” Y/N said quietly.

“You’ve been here, alone, for four years?” Bucky whispered, a sad undertone to his voice.

“I wasn’t alone at first,” Y/N sighed. “My manager, Quentin, lived through the crash, but he was hurt…hit his head real bad,” she looked away and out the window again. “We buried everybody else, and just considered ourselves lucky we were alive. He was off, at first, and then he was mean,” her voice cracked and she quickly cleared her throat. “He um…tried to hurt me.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed as he listened to her. “Tried to hurt you?”

“He wasn’t right in the head,” Y/N explained. “He never acted that way towards me before, but whatever that hit did, it rattled his brain, and he…came on to me, a lot. Then tried to…” she shut her mouth tightly and closed her eyes, shaking her head. “I uh…hid for a while. By the time I tried coming back to the plane he was dead. Looked like he’d hung himself.”

Bucky grimaced. He reached a hand out and gripped her wrist gently. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Y/N sighed again and helped him take another drink. “So how did you get here?” she asked.

Bucky then sighed, looking up at the cabin roof. “Storm. The boat overturned. No one…” he swallowed back a lump in his throat and closed his eyes. Y/N put down the water bottle in her lap and reached her hand out, caressing his face and wiping away a tear.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her hand moving to grip his shoulder lightly.

Bucky gave her an appreciative smile. He could feel the fever setting in and making him tired and his eyes slowly closed. Y/N softly tickled his arm, humming a song as he drifted off to sleep.

#marvel #smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #deserted island #uninhabited island #stranded #chapter 1 #lost

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