Omg! Hey guys. Its been waaaaaaaay too long and I send my sincerest apologizes for the long wait. It took me two tries just to get the start, and lately I find myself experiencing a lack of inspiration. I've been working on this sparingly the past few months broken by spells of vigorous motivation to finish, and finally I have sat myself down a day in peace and silence, and forced myself to continue accompanied by random songs on Pandora. Now I am truly sorry for the wait, and I can't tell you how long the next will be but I hope I can find the motivation to write another very soon.

Now, all mistakes are my own. And feel free to point any out. Also constructive criticism is always welcome.

Disclaimers: I do not own Falling Skies, nor any of the characters in it except for ones I've made myself. I also don't own the song at the start which is Carry On by Fun.

Warning: A bit gruesome at parts, but the show is kind of gruesome too, so it shouldn't be too bad. Also a good deal of swearing, beware!

The Darkest Skies

A Life For A Life

May your past be the sound,

Of you feet across the ground

Carry On

I remember a time when weeks flew by; heck, years zoomed by like a movie stuck on fast-forward. It had felt like nothing; time, that is. Four weeks. One month. Such small, trivial numbers in the bigger picture of decades and centuries. I use to wake to the morning sun seeping through my blinds, and the tempered beat of my alarm, and before I knew a thing, I'd be slipping beneath the covers within the darkness of night, oft times slipping out through my window to do things my parents wouldn't be proud to learn of. Or, parent, that is. As in one.

Now, though, each second is a gun shot, the backlash of my gun against my shoulder, an impending bullet ricocheting inches from my head, one shot blowing dust into my eye, one more chance at life. Each minute is a dash to my lifeline, a series of heaving breaths as legs pump like a well-oiled machine across concrete, a multitude of jarring steps to cover, a hand reaching towards mine, pulling me up, covering my back. Each sixth of an hour is ten minutes of racing away, of a triumph, of heavier bags and gratitude. Each half an hour is a win, a conquest, filled with sore bones and band-aids, and often much more serious medical items. And each hour is another bitter shot drained down, burning liquid easing aching bones by the glass, stomachs filled with grub and souls full of delusional, alcohol induces hope.

Each day, though. Each day is another gift. For every sunrise, and sunset seen is a message of victory that cannot be ignored. A sign to the infiltrators that this race is one that fights, and one that never backs down.

Time has different meaning now, and as such, has a different passing. The sun's position is how I tell time, the moons shape is how I tell dates. No longer do Mondays, Fridays or Sundays matter. There is no need for March, August or April. Summer, Fall, Spring and Winter have no meaning, except for how much clothes we need to wear and how much food we need to stock. TIme is survival, and each second is another success.

These four weeks, however, spent in Pope's company, have felt like years.

FSFSFSFSFSFS

3 Weeks Later

"Pope! Incoming; five Cooties on our backs." Pope heeds the call, and turns to see a dust encrusted teenager steadily pulling back the trigger on a double-barrel shotgun as Skitters fall from building sides and the tops of cars as they lunge. The man swiftly turns back to his own targets, taking down three Cooties at once in three smooth shots. Its useless, though, because for every spider like alien that falls to the dirt at his feet, where these mother fucking creatures belong, another three take its place.

Hal seems to be catching on to the same prevalence, and edges back to their car loaded with food and other necessities without even faltering in shooting at the aliens after them. Its a pattern he's accustomed to, a system only a year or two ago that would have been snorted at in ignorance. But lacrosse and its techniques, which once he could rhyme off in his sleep have been replaced with the knowledge of how to empty and reload a clip, and how to properly clean your gun, and what food gives you energy to fight, and what will get you killed.

Pope rubs at the sweat dripping into his eyes, and drags the stubborn strands of hair from sticking to his forehead. "You ready to rock, kid?" He shouts through heaves of breath and doesn't wait for an answer before knocking down five more Cooties and diving for the drivers side of the Chevy truck. He jerks the car out of park to peel back, nearly hitting the brunette teen in his haste. He watches through the rear-view mirror, and waits for Hal to jump the rims of the truck bed before slamming the gas.

Hal slams against the back hitch, his shoulder burning from the impact as wind whips his clothes so violently he can hear them crackling. He can feel Pope building speed, taking a corner so sharply the tail edge drags against a shop wall and tears the right-side's break-lights off. He peaks over the lip of the truck bed, and braces his legs to push back so he has room to slip his gun barrel over the edge. He lines his eye up with the focus and takes out the nearest skitter. Two more follow the first, and the rest are steadily disappearing as they gain ground.

The boy lies down against the thick wool blanket spread along the bed, and watches the sky pass with a toothy grin strewn across his pale face. A bruise darkens against a hazel eye, and the jagged cut still seeping blood above his eyebrow aches something fierce but the fact that they're alive, and they hit gold before the aliens showed up proves a pretty good distraction from the pain. He drags over an overflowing bag, and pulls out a can of Arizona and bites into a creamy chocolate bar that's sell by date hasn't yet passed. It tastes like heaven, probably because it's the only thing left in this world that can even come close.

Laughter bubbles against his throat, and Pope rolls down his window to shout out something that sounds a lot like 'toss me a beer' but his words are stolen by the wind snapping past, so Hal throws him two through the small back window, and spread out on his back again to grin at the pastel blue sky.

Life ain't so bad on the run with a temperamental ex-convict. At least guys like that know how to have fun.

FSFSFSFSFSFS

It came as a bit of a surprise to Pope, the first time he saw the kid; like, really saw him. He almost forgot the kid had been held captive by the Cooties and the slimy halfwits they christened 'leader'. He had met all kinds of people in his line of work. His world was filled with broken people, both physically and mentally, strewn together with a similar mindset born from lives of kind struggle.

His people lived glorious, and ghastly lives. They reveled, they died, and in mist the shattered pieces of their life, they were reborn. Often not the same as before, maybe only half of a real person, but that was okay because they relied on each other to make up for the missing pieces.

It took a while for Pope to realize, but once he did it was blatantly obvious. Hal was one of them. Although Pope isn't exactly sure what killed the kid, he sure as hell knows what brought him back to life.

Each scar tells it own story, and Pope almost thinks he might not want to listen to this tale.

FSFSFSFSFSFS

Two Days Later

They're soaked to the bone and no amount of jackets will ease their erratic shivering. Hal shrugs out of his large winter coat, his shoulder aching something awful and he has Pope to blame. It was the scavengers fault for raising up a commotion and drawing the enemies to them. They were forced to slip beneath the icy cover of a nearby lake, retreating within its veil of darkness.

Nala was causing a thunderous ruckus with her uncoordinated doggy paddling and Hal was forced to restrain her and swim them both to the opposite side of the lake while Pope lugged their waterlogged bags through the marshy water. It took a long stretch of stumbling, toe stubbing and discreetly huddling a titch closer for warmth before they reached a safe cavern in a rocky cliff to haul in for the night.

Pope's already changed into dry, warm clothes while Hal fetched some wood for kindle, and Hal is raging in jealousy. The man in fairness did go about lighting the fire, which took two tries as Nala doused the first spitfire flames with a good old shake of the fur sending water-speckles flying.

The air is heavy with the dense of wet dog fur, and Hal peals off his soaked shirt, revealing pale skin and too much bone with not nearly enough fat or muscle. Pope can't help but watch as inch by inch more pale porcelain skin is revealed. He doesn't have the hots for the kid; in no way would he ever, but with every expanse of skin, is the varies thick and thin lines marring it. It's simply a curiosity thing.

The fire's light makes it more oppressive and dark. The shadows flickering across his chest make for a hideous picture. Some are long and thin, others deep and jagged. Most of them leave raised skin or rough chunks of missing flesh, and a few are still red as if only just healed. There's a particularly nasty bump over his appendix that looks recent, and painful.

Sometimes Pope feels the questions burning in the back of his throat like an uncomfortable lump, but most nights he can push them back down. Tonight is not one of those nights.

"Where'd you get all those scars, kid?" Pope queries, fisting an old shirt and tossing it at the kid to dry off a bit.

Hal barely sends him a second glance, struggling out of his clingy jeans that burn and itch as they rub down and off his legs. Pope adverts his eyes when the boxers come off, giving the kid a semblance of privacy seeing as they've been basically living out of each others shoes the past couple weeks.

He's about to give up on the chance of an answer when the boy's soft voice comes out rough and strained, and weary. "Where do you think?" There was a certain amount of snark to that which Pope chose to ignore on the basis that it was pretty obvious.

"You're what? Eighteen? Where's the harness?"

Hal falls back on his ass and curl towards the fire, Nala coming to cuddle close."Didn't get one, and I'm seventeen now, I think."

Pope smirks and he sets his gaze upon the line of trees surrounding them for any danger. "What makes you so special." A single eyebrow arches. He drops the comment like an offhanded remark, but honestly he's remarkably intrigued.

"Special," Hal spits, and laughs. The way the kid hurls it out makes Pope turn, and all he sees is venom and hate sprung up tight like a rattlesnake waiting to pounce. "If you call being tortured like you're a worthless piece of trash with no one looking for them 'special', than yea, I'm fucking special. The most rare and exotic of them all."

The kid has finally opened his mouth to sing, and Pope isn't missing a word he says.

"When I made the deal, I had expected a harness. I didn't care what came of me." Over the sweltering flames, Pope stares hard into the kids dark eyes. Many kids now-a-days are all about dark shit like cutting and depression, which were rare in his era as a child, and he finds it astonishingly foolish. They spout words of detached nature like they drink soda, but it's all bull when it comes down to it and then they're shitting their pants. It's different this time.

War has hardened Hal, like no child should be. And Pope knows Hal is a child, no matter what his daddy or peers think. When the words leave Hals mouth, they sound like a motto, but more-so, they sound like the words of reassurance the kid has been convincing himself this entire time to help heal raw wounds. "You should. You can only ever depend on yourself." Because the kid is being so honest with him, Pope gives out his own motto, that he doesn't follow as well as he'd like.

"You had an older brother, right? Well I am the oldest, and you can never understand how it feels like to see the younger sibling you have protected through thick and thin experience such pain. I beat up the bullies who tormented my brother, I defended him when he did something wrong, and often took the blame for him. Sure, because we're so close in age we fought a lot, but mom had told me it was my job to protect him and I did! I failed with her. She was my mother. I saw the blood seep from her body as the Skitter sliced through her windpipe, and I wouldn't fail my brother. I couldn't!" Tears of frustration well up in his dark orbs, and the flames catch causing them to reflect yellow and orange. His voice is strained, but the emotion that's in it cause a roughness that strikes Pope to the core. He can almost feel the others pain conveyed through it.

"So I gave myself up, like I know my mother would have been proud of. Ben's spikes were extracted, and I was now their prisoner. They giving me a harness would have been mercy. Months I suffered, chained in that horrid cell. The only times I escaped those repressing walls, was when they would drag me out by the chain around my neck, and tie me down on a metal slab, where they would poke me and stab me, and cut me open. Sometimes I would fall to the brink of death, and those sons of bitches would bring me back. I would have rather died."The Kid needs a moment to gather himself, and Pope can only sit there in stunned silence from what he's now learned. He had suspected on some level a form of abuse, but downright torture. Experimenting; it's just inhumane, even for foreign kinds.

It's apparent Hal's not done though, for he wraps his thin arms around Nala's chest, and tugs her close before continuing on in a soft, cautious voice. "They, they put things in me." Hal speaks in utter disgust, and Pope tenses at the words. A possible tracking device? Are they being watched.

Does he need to kill the kid?

"Some of the stuff was weird, like liquids. Sometimes they'd cut me open and document my anatomy. One of the things was like a chip you'd but in a dog, the other two bugs. Sometimes the pain would be so intense, I'd die before they got around to reviving me. I think they were testing what the human body could take."

The only thing Pope can get out is, "You have chips in you? Right now?" Maybe it's shallow, but he doesn't give a shit.

"No." Hal breathes, harsh. "One week after escaping, I took a blade to my side, under my ribs where I know they put it. I had to stick my hand in the slit I made, and navigate through blood and muscle until I found it. From what I could feel, my muscle had begun to attach around it, and grow off it… some of the meat on it was hard, and almost like metal. I think it was growing in my body. I tore it out. Nearly died from blood lose, then infection. I sure as hell wouldn't have cared then, either."

"How'd you survive." The stories like an addiction, and Pope doesn't want to miss a single hit.

"A guy found me. He was a medical student before the invasion, and he saved my life. More than once, and in more than one way. I was broken. Didn't care about living. He wouldn't let me go out on my own, followed me around until I finally accepted him. Two weeks later, after a violent nightmare woke me, I went after one of the bugs. They dug deeper the closer I got, and it wasn't easy digging for it when it was located on my shoulder-blade. He found me half-way through, and when I swore I'd kill myself if it didn't come out, he grabbed a pair of tweezers and finally found it. A week later, we found a hospital where he gave me an x-ray because it had a back-up generator and found the last one, and he preformed a safer surgery to get it out."

"How do you know there are no more?" Pope questions, honestly curious.

Hal glances up, nervous, as if he expects Pope might take a gun to his head. "The X-ray. He found nothing else. Well, at least no more bugs."

An uneasy feeling rises in the pit of Pope's stomach. He doesn't want to know, he really doesn't but he has to ask. "What did you find, if they weren't chips or bugs?"

Hal shivers, and curls up on himself even more as if that will protect him from what happened in the past. "Those monsters took out some of my organs, one set of ribs, and the odd bone, and replaced them with alien technology and metals. They connected them up to my arteries, and veins, and other bones so that they worked as the actual organs should. Even in one of my eyes, they added some kind of technology. I no longer see in color in that eye, but my eyesight is far better, and sometimes I see odd things. I wanted them out, all of it, but doing so would kill me even if we had the correct donors. But theres some kind of timer on them all, and the only reason I can think of for one-" Hal cuts himself off, too disgusted and horrified.

Pope feels queasy, and wouldn't be surprised if he upchucks the little he's eaten. "The only reason for a timer, is to set off the bomb for when if finally expires."

"Not only that, but the one person who can diffuse it is the one who set it up, and I killed her escaping. I shoved a scalpel under her chin, and through her brain... I killed Karin."

FSFSFSFSFSFS

Hal pants, chest heaving as he drags his little brother through the woods. Roots catch around his ankles and send him nearly sprawling to the forest floor in the darkness that encases them. It's a struggle the entire way with the weight of his younger brother who really needs to cut back on the carbs, but it's a necessary trip.

The duo enter the clearing, one aware the other not, and the moon finally sheds some light on their surroundings. Tall trees surround them on most sides, except for the edge that is a steep, rocky cliff. Vines hang loose from the tree branches, and leaves scatter the ground.

Across from the two brothers is a large metal monster, whose blinding headlight brightens Hal the second it lands on him before it shifts away. A skitter clicks to itself quietly, rubbing its claws together and dancing around like a kid with ADD. And finally, a girl with long blond hair and glowing spikes along her back with eyes so dead, Hal can barely remember the time he once found cherished light in them.

"Karen!" He calls, drawing closer. "I'm here as promised. I hope you have held your end of the deal, because I see nothing which would indicate so."

The girl smiles, and Hal shudders at the thought that what is now harsh and cruel he once found loving. "Hal, my darling." She croons. "You are not as bright as I thought. It seems your father was right when he spoke of Ben as the sharpest of you two. I am slightly disappointed by your naivety." She draws closer in a confident stride, as if Hal is no threat, and her to goons follow. "I was only being smart that I took into account you can never trust the enemy, and because I had no proof that you would show, I brought nothing to hold up my end of the deal."

"But I did show, and I expect for our agreement to be followed through with." Hal growls, setting his brother down against a tree, which the boy sinks against like a rag doll.

"You did indeed!" She claps, as if he were a child who has done a simple dance. "But you have overestimated the honesty of your adversary. Why should I follow our bargain, if I can simply take both ends of the deal without dropping a sweat. You are outnumbered, honey, and I can have both you and Ben now. You''ll see, it's for the best."

Hal smirks, having expected this. "Im not as stupid as you think, bitch." Karin flinches at the insult, but the harness has dulled her passion as she merely shrugs it off. This is why he came, so his brother doesn't also become like she, nor will he be changed into a Skitter by his old harness. "I came here well before dawn this morning, and rigged up a little trap. Look above you." She does so, barely an upset frown gracing her lips, and her lack of complete emotion annoys Hal. The boy grabs the vine hanging by his hand, and grins. "I purposely stayed by the edge of the clearing because I knew you'd draw closer. Once I pull this ever so slightly, the Zippo lighter will light and set off the sticks of dynamite, which will then fall once I pull a tiny bit harder, and land at your feet. Now, I know it sounds like a long process, but it only takes 1.5 seconds for this all to be executed. You can shoot if you want, but I know you want me alive and the sound of the explosion will only set off the Second Mass. as well as kill you."

"You little cheater!" Karin snarls, upset things have turned on her. "You dirty little sneak!" But then she smiles, a whirlwind of emotion. "This is why they like you Hal. The Overlords see how brilliant you are, just as I do. You can work with them, and they will fulfill your every dream! Forget your family, forget Ben!"

Hal frowns, angry. "My family are everything I need, and they're my only dream. Now you get this thing off him, and you do it now!"

"You idiot! Do you actually think we can get it off. It's impossible! It's hopeless. I can't believe you fell for such a fib." She laughs mockingly, but Hal can see the lie in her words. She's too rushed to try and cover up for her mistakes.

Hal steps back, glaring viciously. "You're lying. You have ten seconds to tell me you'll do it, or I'll blow you up." He tightens his hand threateningly around the vine before beginning to count down. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three," He begins to emphasize the numbers, slowing down slightly. "Two, O-"

"Alright!" Karin squawks. She smooths down her skirt. "Alright, Hal-darling. You win. We'll take those nasty spikes off your brother, but I hope you know you're ruining his life. He could have been something great! But now that we've settled on this, you must keep your end. You're coming with us."

"That's fine, but I'm not budging until those things are off him, and I bring him to the outskirts of out camp where one of the night guards will stumble upon him."

"Yes. Yes. Whatever." Karin turns to the Skitter, and they seem to communicate in some way for the Skitter crawls closer. Hal tenses, but it merely goes to his brother.

"If it hurts him in any way, I'll blow you up!" Hal threatens, on edge because he understands nothing of the aliens and they could be poisoning his brother or worse for all he knows.

Karin smiles at him placidly. "We must first send a Bug creature under his skin to take out the remaining spikes before they'll come out. It will be painful, but there is no other way and at the very least it is a quick process."

The Bug, which looks like a metal spider, digs under the skin by his brothers shoulder. Ben groans, and slumps forward and Hal can see the creeper moving under his brothers skin, a raised bump that grossly moves in a way nothing should in the human body. The skitter pulls up the shirt, and Hal can't decided whether it's a good or bad thing. It starts at the bottom, and Ben lets out a small groan-scream noise. The spike seems loose, and the skitter reaches down and yanks it out, leaving a small seeping circle of blood. It continues on, and at each spike his screams get louder and louder until he's screeching in agony.

Hal can't stand it; wants his brothers pain to end but he knows that it'll all get better once this is over. Karin didn't lie, it barely reaches two minutes before it's all over. Then Hal is dragging his brother through the woods, but in the future all he'll remember is wet blood staining his palm, the slimy substance making his brother slip from his wavering grip, racing through the woods for Karin told him he had ten minutes before they took him away indefinitely, and a single tear slipping down his cheek as he runs a bloody hand down his brothers cheek and bidding him a short goodbye not far from the approaching footsteps of a guard, then sinking into the darkness, and in the arms of the enemy where he unknowingly will suffer a pain he never dreamed.

FSFSFSFSFSFS

Well guys, hope this was a good chapter and lived up to your expectations. If you liked, feel free to leave a comment; it'll be much appreciated. By the way, this is the final chapter before we meet the rest of the Second Mass.