Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Oh fuck, shit, fuck, pussy, ass, shit," repeatedly cursed Tommy as he rushed down the sudden alleyway he's found himself in. He named every curse word he could think of, his brain on autopilot (it never took much thinking for him to come up with new swear words) and ignored the burning lungs inside of his chest as he ran. Oh, God, how he ran.

He was what they would call "Fucked." 

Those disease ridden, rotting corpses wouldn't let up on him; they weren't like the movies, zombies. They didn't sluggish pull their decomposing bodies towards you, making incomprehensible noises - well, the incomprehensible noises bit is true. These things didn't crawl or meander along. 

They ran in for the kill, jaws unhinged and eyes spewing blood and ribs exposed and oh God the smell-

Tommy's battered sneakers slapped against wet pavement, mind whirling like a bunch of birds were swarming inside of his brain, pecking at his skull. He sharply turned down the alley, vines crawling up the sides of the broken down buildings and busted windows. Careful to not step on any rubbish or glass, he skidded to a halt. 

Of course a fucking dead end. 

He looked over his shoulder, heart nearly stopping as he noticed the hoard closing in, hungry for blood. Eyes rotting, teeth decaying, bodies so rotted they look melted and deformed, skin so pale and rotted it turned into a sickly blue-green. If this was three years ago, he'd be swallowing his own bile at the sight. 

But it's not three years ago and Tommy Danger Innit won't die to some wrong'un zombies. 

"You're fuckin' ugly!" He shouted, before being the resourceful person he is and scaling the building. The brick dug harshly into his calloused hands, his feet kicking at the wall as he heaved himself upwards to any brick he could grab onto. His heart pounded and his blood raced, adrenaline numbing him to any outside sensations as he focused on building up. After what felt like hours of exertion, he grabbed onto a window-sill and bashed his elbow as hard as he could through the glass and shattered it. 

It stung like hell.

Ignoring the pain, Tommy threw himself through the building and thumped painfully on carpeted flooring. With a pained groan, he closed his eyes for a second to gather his bearings. A few seconds passed before his racing heart eased and he opened his eyes once more, staring up at the broken ceiling fan above. He took a deep breath, lungs burning, before scrambling to his feet and throwing his fist in the air with a victorious hoot. 

Tommy scurried to the window and looked down at the zombies pawing at the wall, climbing atop of each other uselessly to reach him, as they didn't hold the intelligence to piggy back atop of each other. He stuck his hands out, flipping them off before hollering, "take that zombie fucking dicks! Suck my cock, yeah?" Before letting out another victorious holler. 

As the effects of his win wore off and the euphoria of yet another escape of TommyInnit, he allowed his head in the clouds to reach back to earth and plant his feet firmly on the ground. He ran for what felt like miles and now had no idea where he was. "I shouldn't have went down that alleyway," he sighed, running a hand through his matted hair and gave his surroundings a quick analysis. 

He was what looked like an office hallway, the floors that rough carpet usually implemented in schools. File cabinets were thrown on the ground, files strewn across the floor and faint stains covering the peeling wallpaper. Despite experiencing this. . . apocalypse . . . for years, he still wasn't accustomed to the chills that crawled up his spine at a normally occupied building abandoned. Ignoring the sting of his elbow from the glass shattering, he grabbed tightly at his nail-covered bat and trekked on. 

Minecraft zombies were nothing compared to these creatures. Tommy used to fantasize about being a strong, muscular guy defending a damsel in distress from a slow zombie hoard, shooting their grotesque faces into bits. That couldn't be farther from the truth. He had no pack, he had no girlfriend to save, he wasn't big and muscular - well, he did develop some muscle from the daily exertion, but due to the lack of proper nutrition he was never able to be like The Rock. 

It's a lie that he never had a pack. He's met some people here and there, but they never stuck. They died or betrayed him, as it goes. He can't find it in himself to be too hurt from the betrayals; it's how it goes in this dog eat dog world. Survival of the fittest and all of that. 

Tommy will never forgive himself for letting his past comrades die, even though his earliest experience was as an eleven year old kid. Now, it's hard to track time, but he figures he's around fourteen or fifteen years old. He tracked the days the first year, and then they began to blur together. All he has is his intuition and the sun. 

Knocked from his thoughts, Tommy arrived at a break room. There was one of those old water dispensers and a white fridge, small white cups lining the cabinets. Despite knowing the food was probably expired or gone, he gave an attempt to rummage through the cabinets. 

Cabinet One: Nothing

Cabinet Two: A napkin (Tommy stuffed it in his cargo pants pocket. . . just in case).

Cabinet Three: More cups. 

Cabinet Four: Nothing

Tommy kicked the counter in frustration. He knew there'd be nothing, but he hoped there'd be something, anything. It was probably ransacked a long time ago, due to how empty everything is. With a huff, he ignored the growling of his stomach - when was the last time he ate? - continued on his lonesome trek. He bounded down some stairs, traveled down another hallway, before he came to the front entrance.

The glass was broken on the front doors and the computers were smashed to bits, as well as bullet holes decorating the walls. Tommy's blood went to ice. He's seen guns before, of course, and has even held one (he's such a big man) but he had never actually shot one and the sound still spikes his heart rate. Even if its usually to shoot bad guys.

Usually.

Wiping his sweaty hands on his pockets, he carefully looked outside of the office building and scanned the front parking lot. There was nothing. . . which is good for once. He mustered up his courage, wiping his sweaty hands once more, and left the office building. 

The broken street lamps that flickered pathetically, the torn up roads, the broken buildings, surprisingly the state of this city was nothing compared to the first night.

He will never, ever forget the first night of this. . . apocalypse.

That's another time to ponder on, however. Tommy ran his hand through his hair - a nervous habit of his - and tightened his grip on his bat. He'll never forget the kind man that introduced him to the fatal concoction of a weapon. His name was Sam and he was one of the best men Tommy ever met. 

Tommy hopes he's well, even if he inadvertently betrayed him.

Tommy lightly wrapped his knuckles against the side of his head. There's no point in focusing on the past. Focus on the Present, Innit! he was constantly caught up in his head and almost always nearly missed important events in front of his very eyes. Lazily, he dragged the bat against the battered pavement for God knows how long. The sun was nearing the horizon, the orange hue slowly rising.

Time to find shelter.

It was time to get moving, increase his gait, and get to the nearest building that was reasonably safe. He gazed along the suburban city he found himself in, scarce buildings save for a few fast-food restaurants and gas stations. Glancing around, he scurried over to the nearest gas station and stared inside. It wasn't completely ransacked. It was near empty, but he could see certain products line the shelves. He squinted, trying to see if there was any undead, but found none.

Quickly, he darted inside the dim building.

It was rather large for a gas station, the aisles longer than most he's seen. Tommy took it as a small blessing and quickly looked around, checking for any sort of danger. The cash register was open, empty save for a few coins.

Tommy scoffed. Money won't help right now.

He hurdled over the front-counter, noticing the back room's door was creaked open ever-so-slightly. Curiosity piqued, he slowly opened it, wincing at the loud creak it let out. He gulped, before slowly entering the room. His instinct told him to grab at the light switch, realizing there was no electricity, and then felt a flush of embarrassment even though nobody was around. He let his eyes adjust to the even dimmer room before his gaze focused on the small bundle of lit candles in the corner of the room. A few inches from the candles laid a sleeping bag, patched together with flannel fabric and a messily put together duffel bag. Next to it, a small box of ammunition lay.

Tommy's blood turned to ice as a wave of realization came over him. 

Somebody was here very recently. . . or somebody is here at this-

Click.

"Slowly turn around and drop your bat. Put your hands where I can see them," a deep, british sounding voice interrupted his frantic train of thought.

Tommy's gut flipped over and he was sure glad he hadn't ate in the past few days or else he'd be chucking up his lunch. His eyes nearly bulged out of his skull, blood soaring through his veins as the man's voice reverberated throughout his mind. The moisture was suctioned out of Tommy's mouth and he swallowed dryly as he dropped the bat to the ground and slowly turned around, hands held in the air. 

A gun was pointed right between his eyes - it was an old as fuck model and if Tommy was in any other situation he'd cackle at how old it was - and it was cocked and loaded. Tommy stared it down. 

"Y'know this isn't really a polite way to greet strangers," rattled off Tommy.

"Shut the fuck up," said the man lowly, adjusting the guitar case on his back.

"Sorry," muttered Tommy, hands still limply in the air. 

The man analyzed him, looking him up and down, eyes narrowed. Whilst Tommy was being scrutinized, he looked the man in front of him over: he was young as well, but perhaps around ten years or so older than him, he had brown, curly hair that was cut absolutely atrociously, and a long brown trench coat that hung at his knees. If it weren't for the soot and grime covering his face, he'd perhaps even be handsome. Grey hairs peppered his hair which made Tommy think he might've been older than his facial appearance. 30s, perhaps? To top it all off, he wore a guitar case on his back. 

"Turn around," the man said.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "I am a child, you know, you shouldn't be checking me out."

The man slightly waved the gun around, staring down at him unamused from behind cracked lenses. "Turn. Around."

Tommy turned around.

He stood awkwardly, the man looking him over. A beat. Hands began patting his side and Tommy let out an (un)manly yelp. Hands still raised, he stammered, "H-hello? Personal space, bud!"

The man didn't say anything as he felt at Tommy's pockets, gun still pointing lazily at him.

Tommy could totally take this guy and assert his manly dominance. His arm twitched, ready to-

 "Don't even think about it."

Tommy stayed still.

Slowly, his backpack was slid off his shoulders as the man roughly through it to the ground and rummaged through it with one hand. The gun stayed trained on him. Tommy was almost bored, if he was being honest. He could be getting some shut eye, but instead some lunatic was rummaging through his shit with a gun pointed at him and was tossing his shit around! 

"I had that organized, y'know," he snarked.

The man glared knives at him. "Do you ever shut up? Do you even realize your situation?"

"I don't know bud, you're the one who started going through a child's shit."

Seeming to have realized Tommy was unable to be reasoned with, he continued throwing Tommy's spare clothes to the side, emergency medical kit, a random empty coke bottle, and a bag of dog food. The man looked at him curiously as he held up the dog food.

Tommy shrugged. "I was hungry."

"Perfect for a mutt," the man remarked and Tommy resisted the urge to start barking and growling at him. Just as he was about to open his mouth, the man began throwing his shit back into his bag and kicked it away and slowly lowered his gun. "All you have is shit."

Shaking the gun slightly, the man continued: "how old are you?"

Tommy paused. "I- I'm not entirely sure, big man, but this whole-" he waved his hand "- shit-fest began when I was eleven. I was three weeks from my twelfth birthday."

The man's resolve seemed to have crumbled slightly, eyes widening as his hand trembled. "You're- You're fourteen?"

"I know, I know, I look much older because I am a big, strong man-"

The other man lowered the gun and Tommy let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He feels dizzy. "I can't kill a kid," the man sighed. He kicked the bag towards Tommy. "You don't even have anything on you." Letting out an almost pained sigh, the man slowly lowered to the ground before plopping down on his ass and slid off his guitar case.

Tommy stared awkwardly at him. "You know how long this shit's been going on?" he asked after a couple of beats. 

"We're on day 1036," he told Tommy. 

"God you must have no life if you're sitting here counting days all day and shit."

Exasperation decorated the man's handsome features. "None of us have lives anymore."

". . . How old are you?"

"Twenty-four," answered the man simply.

Tommy's eyes widened. "But you got all the grey hairs and shit!"

"Respect your elders, you gremlin fuck," the man snapped. "It's all the stress- you don't exactly look fourteen either."

That left Tommy silent. He was fourteen. He had no idea how old he was - he had a feeling but he didn't know exactly - and he didn't realize exactly how robbed he was of his childhood until now. He swallowed dryly before sitting criss cross stiffly across from the other man. "I don't?"

The man's eyes flashed with sympathy before the stern look came back. "Yeah." He left it at that, playing with the skin of his thumb before hastily asking, "what's your name?"

"Tommy. . . what's your name?"

"Wilbur." Wilbur nodded at him. "Tommy suits you."

Tommy fired back, "I think dirty ass old man suits you more."

Wilbur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How you've survived this far is a wonder to me. You're insulting the man who held a gun to your face two minutes ago." He gestured wildly with the gun in his hand. "I could do it any minute now, you know."

"But you won't," said Tommy softly.

"You met me a few minutes ago," retorted Wilbur. "I could be crazy."

Tommy chuckled. "I don't doubt that," he admitted.

"Exactly."

". . . But I've met people. You just-" Tommy shrugged. "-Don't got wrong'un vibes."

Wilbur stared at Tommy in absolute bewilderment, silently adjusting his cracked frames before shaking his head almost fondly. He placed the gun on the tiled floor before cracking a small smile at Tommy, revealing yellowed, chipped teeth. "You're alright."

"I'm more than alright, you bitch, I'm Tommy Danger Innit! I survived all by myself, I bet you cried for your Mum every five seconds you pussy ass bitch!" Tommy fired back. 

The gas station was now barely lit, dark and only a small sliver of moonlight flitted through the windows. It highlighted Wilbur's face and it was the only thing Tommy could see was in the darkness of the gas station. Occasionally, the lights above flickered weakly and allowed Tommy a quick gift of light. He leaned back against the wall with a small sigh. He closed his eyes, but he could sense Wilbur's gaze boring holes into his face. 

A pause. 

Wilbur was still staring.

One second.

Two seconds. 

Three seconds. 

Tommy popped open an eye, "the fuck you looking at?"

"You," Wilbur stated matter-of-factly. "Have you been alone this whole time?"

Tommy rolled his eyes. "What? You doubting me? I could've beat your ass earlier with that whole gun scandal, I was just feeling merciful," he rambled. "You know, back in '96 I killed four men with just a toilet paper roll and-"

"-not anybody?" Wilbur interrupted. 

Tommy thought to the numerous people that have died. "No. You?"

Wilbur didn't answer, and Tommy decided he didn't care enough to push. 

Abruptly, Wilbur rose to his feet and brushed his hands against his dark pants. He adjusted his long coat, stained with God-knows-what and patched with messy handwork, and stared down at Tommy with his dark eyes. "Stay put," he said and spun on his heel to march to the other side of the store. Tommy fought the urge to argue with the older man, and instead sat still. He was tired, and quite frankly didn't have the energy to argue. He allowed his head to loll to the side as he stared at the near full moon out the window. 

Wilbur's footsteps echoed throughout the gas station. The sound settled throughout the building before they'd echo once more, seemingly pacing back and forth before he heard the sound of a box being dragged. Tommy slowly craned his neck, looking over to see Wilbur pushing a cardboard box towards Tommy. He gestured for him to rise and he obeyed. "Go in my room," he instructed. 

Tommy wasn't completely naïve, but he wasn't untrusting; it's how he got bit in the ass. Despite it all, he found himself scrounging for any scrap of good he can find in a person. He wasn't a yes man, that wasn't it, he can fight back and kick and scream. Tommy Danger Innit didn't submit, but he fell into the habit of following. Always following. He followed Sam. He followed his other groups. He hasn't regretted it once, but he plays with the idea of a Tommy that doesn't listen to anybody, The lone wolf. The alpha. But his body doesn't obey him. He's drawn to people. He trusts. He feels so many things he can't even name.

Tommy watched Wilbur drag the rather large cardboard box into the room, shutting the door behind him with his hip. Face casted with a soft, orange glow from the flames of the candles, Wilbur gestured to the box as an invitation for Tommy to look. He peered inside, jaw nearly dropping. "Why the fuck are you robbing children when you got all this shit?" he exclaimed, sifting through the shit in the box. 

It was mostly spare changes of clothes, but there was also a pair of scissors, some spare granola bars, and extra ammunition. Tommy looked up at Wilbur in bewilderment. "How'd you get this?"

Expertly avoiding the question, Wilbur began digging through the items. "These are clothes that don't fit me, but they'll probably fit you. I'm leaving tomorrow and I can't carry all this shit around, so I might as well give it to you." He threw some clothes out onto the floor - Tommy snatched them up so they wouldn't dirty further - and threw a rolled up sleeping bag onto the ground. It rolled until it hit the wall with a soft thud as Tommy scrambled to grab it. He stared at Wilbur. "You're leaving?"

Wilbur stared at him long and hard. "Uh, yeah." He rolled his eyes. "You know yourself you can't ever stop moving."

There at that moment, Tommy felt his age. A child grasping onto an adult. A baby crying for its mother. A student following the teacher. Tommy licked at his bloody, chapped lips. "Yeah." He nodded stiffly. "I know. I'm a big man. I can be alone."

Doublechecking the door was locked, Wilbur lumbered over to his sleeping bag and threw himself on the floor, leaning against the wall with a creak of his knees. Tommy resisted the urge to call him an old man and instead rolled out his own sleeping bag. 

He had an idea how Wilbur got ahold of all of this, so he didn't push it further as he slowly sat down on the makeshift bed. He couldn't stop himself as he trained his gaze on Wilbur, who was staring blankly ahead. He furrowed his brows. He doesn't want to be alone again. 

"Wilbur?"

A beat of silence. "Yeah?"

"Can I- I mean- Can. . Can we stick together? For a bit?" Tommy winced at the awkward words bumbling out of his mouth, landing flatly and sounding unnatural from his vocal chords. Wilbur continued staring at the wall. "Wilbur?"

They sat in that silence, letting Tommy's words hang in the air. Wilbur's hand twitched at his side, the candle flame flickering across his face. He had taken off his glasses, displaying heavy-set eyes and a furrowed brow. Tommy pulled his gaze away to his own scarred and beat up hands. They were still raw and red from climbing the brick wall earlier and his arm still ached. Tomorrow he'd handle it; tomorrow. 

"Go to sleep," finally said Wilbur.

Exhaustion encased Tommy, beckoning him to the sleeping bag and slowly lowering him down. Sleep slowly closed his eyes, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, as he attempted to snuggle into the sleeping bag, as the candles feigned human body warmth. He allowed the dizzying darkness to accompany him as he fell asleep after a few seconds of resistance. 

Wilbur stayed awake.

Birds used to chirp and tweet in the mornings, a sweet melodic greeting whenever Tommy awoke; he'd have his alarm from his phone play the Wii Shop theme as the sun began shining on his face, which was honestly more affective than the alarm clock. He'd groan for five more minutes, kicking his blankets off and staring at the ceiling because oh how he hated school and begrudgingly got ready.

He missed that simplicity. He missed the birds. His mother nagging. Laughing so hard milk snorted from his nose at lunch. His heart squeezed at the thought and the idea that hell would await him for the day following on. Instead, he awoke to silence. Dread. Anxiety. His stomach panged with emptiness. His limbs were shaky and sore. It was nightmarish.

Tommy rubbed at his eyes, rising from his sleeping bag. The silence was almost unnerving. He glanced over to see Wilbur's duffel bag and sleeping bag gone along with snuffed out candles. The cardboard box remained. Tommy scrambled to his feet. 

Wilbur didn't stay.

Disappointment crawled up his throat but he couldn't say he was surprised. Nor should he care. Nobody wants to drag around some kid - especially a kid they almost shot. Tommy begrudgingly rolled up his sleeping bag, shoving it into his battered backpack before bringing it to hang from a shoulder. He snatched his bat from the floor before trudging out of the room, giving the gas station one last glance around as a last ditch effort of hope.

Not a single trace of Wilbur remained.

"Of fucking course," muttered Tommy. He knelt down to tug on his red sneakers - with him since day one - and pushed out of the gas station, not wanting to spend another second inside. He had places to go, places to be, for Tommy Innit was always on the move. 

He adjusted the straps of his bag as they dug into his shoulders with the extra weight, dragging his feet along the torn up roads. "How the fuck does this happen? Do cities automatically go to shit when the apocalypse happens?"

Tommy wishes sometimes he had a traumatic life before the whole. . . apocalypse thing. It'd make him feel less shit for not missing his family. It's not that he didn't miss them, but he doesn't think much about his mother and father before it happened; he wasn't close with them. That's what he regrets the most. He never had that father-son relationship and he was the farthest thing from a mama's boy. They fed and clothed him and he went to school and went to bed. He woke up, shit, ate, went to school, ate, slept: Rinse and repeat.

At least everyday is different now. 

He tugged at a strand of hair. His hair looks brown. It used to be such a vibrant, golden fluffy conglomerate of poof on top of his head and now it's stringy and brown. He can't decide if it's brown from not washing it for years or if it naturally turned to brown. It's greasy, that's for sure. 

Buildings became scarcer and farther in between as Tommy traveled down the path. It ventured into rural areas with forests and plains as far as the eye can see. Tommy prefers the plains; in cities it's cramped and allows more room for zombies. Out in the wilderness, although it provides less shelter, he can look out for any hoards. 

Hoards can smell like bloodhounds. There's no hiding in the end.

The sun was three quarters through the sky by the time Tommy saw a building. He'd been walking for hours, feet howling for him to stop and take a break. His legs burned and his lungs gasped for air. He's built endurance, but no human is built to consistently walk with pounds of weight on their back. 

Did he eat a granola bar this morning?

A pep was added into his step at the sight of a new building. It appeared to be a farmhouse, resting on top of a grassy hill. Tommy quickened his pace, eager to look inside. Perhaps there'd be loot waiting for him to pillage. The grass was moist and damp, Tommy nearly slipping as he traversed up the hill; it rained a few days ago and it must've drizzled against last night. 

Quickly, Tommy looked around his surroundings. It was empty and silent, causing his stomach to churn uneasily. The clouds were a light grey, an even darker grey in the distance which indicated more rain in the future. A faint breeze tickled his skin, causing the hair on his arms to stand up. As he approached the home, the screen door was busted and shredded and the door behind it was chipped to pieces with a giant hole in the center. 

Who was here? 

Tommy slowly picked up a piece of chipped wood, glancing around the area. It was silent and there was no other sign of human life. He chucked it over his shoulder, pushing open the chipped door with an obnoxious creek and looked around. He resisted the urge to yell out at any hiding murderers to surprise them and kept his mouth firmly shut.

His trusty bat stayed firmly in his hand, ready to strike.

The stench hit him first.

Bile immediately rose in his throat, burning and Tommy used his free hand to slap a hand over his mouth to prevent any gagging or vomiting; he reluctantly swallowed it, ingesting the burning fluid into his winding, churning stomach. His chest squeezed tightly as the room spun around him; he had smelt some nasty shit but words couldn't even describe what he was smelling. The smell traveled in his throat, wrapping its hands around his throat and gripping him tightly. It was putrid - almost sickeningly sweet - and the air was almost humid from how thick it was. 

Tommy's brain screamed at his feet to move. To turn around. Get the fuck out of this monstrous house--but he couldn't do it. His feet refused to budge, his eyes trained on the hallway in front of him. It was a big house, the source of the smell must be near. Tommy swallowed dryly, mouth dry as cotton. To his left was a white door creaked opened whilst all the other doors lining the hallway were shut. He took that as his sign and gripped the knob tightly as he slowly pushed the door open. 

Although the stink was horrific, the sight inside of the bedroom he entered couldn't even be imagined in his worst nightmares. Tommy tried his hardest to force the vomit down his throat once more, but it was to no avail as he collapsed to his knees. Spit dribbled down his chin as bile covered the carpeted floor, only adding to the stench. He ate nothing, his stomach convulsing as his throat screamed and burned. Tommy's whole body felt cold and hot and numb and pained as he tried to focus himself on his surroundings. His hands gripped onto the carpet, yanking bits of it out as the world spun around him. Eyes watered, stinging as they dripped down his face with snot and spit and bile and every fluid imaginable came out of his orifices. 

There, in front of him, was a man, a woman, and a small little girl tied up in a chair with gouged out eyes and rotting bodies. Maggots spilled out, dried blood matting their disintegrating hair follicles as flies buzzed around the room. 

After a few moments of composing himself, Tommy wiped his face with his bandana and shakily rose to his legs. It took him a few attempts to rise up fully as he determinedly avoided looking at the rotting corpses.

It was very different facing a zombie than seeing a real human being dead. 

"What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck," chanted Tommy as he scrambled to the other side of the room. "What the fuck? W- were they tortured?"

Tommy kept his back to the wall, eyes frantically snapping everywhere in the room except for the bodies in front of him. They were decently fresh, for they hadn't turned yet. They'll turn soon. Tommy has to get out of here. 

Yet he couldn't bring himself to move. He was almost paralyzed.

Without even thinking, Tommy jumped to the bodies, pulling a small pocket knife out of his bag and began cutting at the ropes tying them down. It's stupid, he knows, and he knows if they turn now he's dead but he can't leave them tied up like this. Dead or not. Tommy's hands shook as the bodies slumped forward after being freed; Tommy's mind screamed for him to run, alarm bells ringing through his head but his heart told him that they deserve some last solace. A last bit of freedom before they're a slave to the zombie instincts. 

Tommy allowed himself to look at the little girl.

Her jaw was unhinged, eyes gouged out to empty, black holes. He stared into the void, heart pounding. She had two pigtails, the front of her scalp balding and her skin a grotesque shade of blue-green. Her pink, frilly dress was shredded to bits to expose gashes on her chest. 

Tommy looked away before he vomited up nothing again. He cut off the last bits of the rope before sighing shakily and took a small step back, still crouched. He gathered his bearings before hearing a small groan.

Heavily, Tommy looked up with the breath caught in his throat. The little girl turned her head to him, body groaning and creaking. Tommy scrambled backwards as the girl seemingly came to life, falling out of the chair and getting in a crawling position in one motion. She lunged for Tommy, Tommy quickly scrabbling and dodging from her bites and scratches. Terror rose up in him as he let out a screech and he found himself climbing on the blood-stained bed. "Who taught you to jump?" He cried out.

She lunged at him again, Tommy dodging once more. 

He just saw one of the monsters turn in front of his very eyes. A little girl nonetheless-

-he can't kill her. He can't.

Tommy continued dodging her, trying to make his way towards the door and sending a silent prayer that the parents won't rise too, for he'll be in deep shit. 

Suddenly, he was knocked to the side, growls swarming in his ears as his prayers went unheard. 

The mom rose.

Tommy screamed until he felt like his ears would bleed as he held up his knife to the mom climbing on top of him, jabbing it into the side of her head as she attempted to bite him. She howled and groaned and moaned and snarled as he struggled with her hands grabbing onto his throat tightly, one hand pushing back on her shoulder and the other one stabbing the side of her head repeatedly. At his feet, the little girl held onto to his kicking foot. 

He's going to die.

The mom wouldn't let up, even after taking multiple stabs to the head. The little girl took multiple kicks into the wall, yet she kept lunging back at him. 

This is it.

This is how Tommy's story ends.

His body burned with exertion, his breathing ragged and his throat stinging as he screamed for help. For anybody.

For God.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Suddenly, the monster on him collapsed, the soot and grime and mud wiped on his face and clothes as she fell on him, face right on his cheek. The smell filled his nostrils, but he stayed completely silent. He couldn't even allow himself to move. He only focused on catching his breath as he realized all the peop- zombies - in the room were shot and killed. Shakily with legs like Jello, he shoved the body off of him and ignored how his face, hair, and body were covered in brains, guts, blood, and god knows what else. Gaze finally focused, Tommy looked over at the savior in the doorway.

Blue eyes met brown.

"W- Wilbur?" gasped Tommy.

Wilbur put his gun in his holster, duffel bag at his feet and his guitar case still on his back as he stared at Tommy in a mix of shock, horror, and perhaps even pity. Tommy's bottom lip trembled as he broke his gaze from Wilbur's to look at the mess in the room. The little girl's face was entirely blown off, and the dad was still in the seat with a bullet hole going clean through his forehead. The mom had two in her, blood smearing the bed. 

Tommy probably looked like them.

He swallowed, jaw agape slightly as he looked for the words to say. Thank you? You're back? His mind raced yet it was completely devoid of thought. 

"Tommy," breathed Wilbur. "How did you end up in this mess?" 

Tommy opened his mouth, but all that came out was a small voice-crack as he tried to find words. His mouth twitched and his throat convulsed as he tried to speak from his knelt position on the bed, before he slowly climbed off it and stood numbly at the bedside. The horror dawned on him that that was the closest he's ever experienced to death. Words failed him as he slowly approached Wilbur, holding back the whimper at the back of his throat, and lightly thumped his forehead against his broad chest, arms hanging limply at his side.

Wilbur's breathing hitched, before reluctantly he wrapped his arms around Tommy, rubbing slow circles into his back as the two stood there in a heavy silence.

For the first time in three years, Tommy allowed himself to cry.  

Chapter Text

Cold air nipped at Tommy's skin, turning it a light, rosy pink. The clouds had darkened in the sky, casting shadows and the air grew humid and foggy. He couldn't see in the distance, a thick, heavy cloud low to the ground like smog in the London sky. The storm door a couple yards over squealed as it opened and closed from the wind. Tommy shuddered as the breeze crawled up his spine and the cool bloomed through his body; he was dipping his hands in a well, taking a spare t-shirt to clean the grime off of his face. It was freezing, stinging him and leaving his skin and even brighter pink. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy spared Wilbur a glance, who sat a few feet away on a rock. He didn't spare Tommy a glance as he was wiping off his gun. Tommy looked away and continued cleaning the guts off. After the fiasco in the house and Tommy shed some (manly) tears, Wilbur hasn't said a single word to him and instead brought him to the well a couple yards away from the house. Tommy doubted how clean the water was, but beggars can't be choosers. Tommy wrung the t-shirt out, ice cold water dripping down his arms and dampening the shirt he wore, which was equally covered in guts. 

After he decided he was clean enough, Tommy shuffled not-so-nonchalantly over to Wilbur and stared down at him. Wilbur didn't even look up from his gun as he asked, "you done?" 

"Yeah." 

Wilbur finally looked up, giving Tommy a quick glance-over. "Your clothes look like shit. C'mon." He stood up with a sigh, grabbing ahold of Tommy's wrist and pulling him inside the house. Tommy pointedly avoided looking towards the room he was in earlier as Wilbur dragged him down the hallway into an open-ended kitchen. "You smell horrendous," Wilbur said. He pointed to his duffel bag on the floor next to the kitchen table. "Get some clothes and change."

Tommy scowled. "Turn around, you creepy ass old man."

Wilbur turned around and Tommy immediately began changing. It felt good to change into something different; although he adored his classic white and red tee, it was nice to get into something new. He pulled a hoodie over him, fastening a pair of cargo pants with a bandana as a belt due to how much bigger Wilbur is and quietly said, "I'm done."

Immediately, Wilbur whirled around and pointed to the counter. "Sit, child."

"At least I'm not old and wilting like you," snarked Tommy, but he obliged. His arms burned as he heaved himself up on the counter.

Wilbur gingerly rolled up Tommy's sleeves, looking over his now clean skin. Scars lined his body, both deep and light, and the sheer amount of them didn't bypass Wilbur. "You're not bit," sighed Wilbur with relief.

Tommy jolted. "Of fucking course I wasn't."

Wilbur patted Tommy's forearm. "You have a lot of scars." Tommy glared. "Let's fix that cut on your elbow before we do anything else."

"What cut--" Realization dawned on Tommy. It was from throwing himself through a window yesterday. Wilbur grabbed Tommy's arm, staring at the long gash that started from the back of his bicep to the top of his forearm. It looked worse than how it felt. Wilbur pulled a bottle of alcohol from his bag, dumping some on a rag and rubbing it across Tommy's gash. He startled, instinct to grab onto Wilbur and push him off of him. Wilbur barely even stumbled nor did he react as he simply went back to cleaning the wound. Tommy looked away, ignoring the deep sting until Wilbur grabbed a bandage and wrapped it expertly around a few times.

"Good as new," said Wilbur.

Tommy looked at his arm. "Thanks, bitch." Tommy hopped off the counter, stumbling slightly as he whirled to face Wilbur. "Are you going to leave now?"

Wilbur blinked. "You want me to leave?"

"You're the one who went on about how you're constantly moving and can't watch a child."

Pursing his chapped lips, Wilbur averted his gaze. "I changed my mind. You obviously can't be by yourself." Wilbur took the bottle of alcohol he used to clean Tommy's wound and took a swig of it as he plopped down at a rickety chair at the kitchen table. "What the fuck were you thinking. I tied those people up so they wouldn't get loose as zombies and you fucking untied them?"

Nausea shook Tommy's stomach. "You're the one who killed them?"

Wilbur's eyes widened. "Oh, fuck, god no!" Wilbur shook his head. "I didn't want to deal with them so I tied them up. And you fucking untied them, stupid kid."

Tommy didn't feel like explaining, so he simply sat across from Wilbur. He eyed the bottle of alcohol before snatching it and before Wilbur could even react, he took a small swig.

It tasted like shit.

He immediately spat it back out, making a big show by making groans and moans. "That tastes like piss!" he pointed at the bottle. "How do you drink that dog shit?"

Wilbur snatched the bottle back. "It's not good for you to drink. You're a kid."

"The alcohol isn't what's gonna harm me out here," snapped Tommy. "Maybe you shouldn't drink. Maybe you'll get an old man beer belly."

Wilbur took another swig in defiance. "You're just mad you're a child who can't do what the adults can."

"There ain't nobody telling me what to do," snarked Tommy, but he didn't continue fighting on the subject and allowed the conversation to drop once a thick blanket of silence was draped over them.

There was this sort of dead look in Wilbur's eyes; distant, unfocused, not entirely there. All though he'd set his eyes on Tommy in a split second in a nasty glare and a furrowed brow, he was never totally there. It made Tommy wonder what Wilbur's been through the past few years. His mind raced with possibilities, but he refused to focus on one set one as he stared at Wilbur, who always was determined to not look at Tommy.

Tommy cleared his throat. Anything to clear up the silence. He bounced his leg and looked around. "So. . ." he dragged out. "What's your plan?"

Wilbur blinked, looking over at Tommy in surprise. "I didn't think you'd be one to think much far ahead."

"You don't know anything about me," retorted Tommy. 

"Huh, I guess that's true," Wilbur hummed. He tilted his head, pushing his bangs from off of his forehead and exposed a long gash. "Tell you what, Tommy: let's work together. Partners, if you will. You're an alright kid."

Tommy didn't even think on his offer before he immediately replied, "sounds good, big man." With a toothy grin, he spat on his palm and stuck it out to Wilbur, who stared at him in mild disgust before the same, goofy grin decorated his face. He spat on his own palm, clasping Tommy's much scrawnier hand and shaking firmly. "Good to be partners with you, Big W."

"You too, Tommy," said Wilbur, who wiped his hand on the front of his coat and leaned back in his chair. "So, you're fourteen-" he began.

"-what about it, bitch-"

"-where are your parents?"

Tommy froze. "Bit of an invasive question to ask a kid you just met, yeah?" he chuckled dryly. "Fuck's it to you?"

Wilbur held his hands up in mock surrender, having the decency to look halfway guilty. "You don't have to answer. I'm just curious, since we'll probably be stuck with each other for awhile."

A thousand images flashed in Tommy's mind, stimulating feelings and smells and tastes and sights. He gnawed at the inside of his cheek, tearing a piece of skin off as he looked for the right words to say. He didn't want to offer Wilbur a sob story, but he didn't care too much about being honest. To be honest, Tommy was more focused on the future than he was about past events. He found himself less focused on deaths in the past than most, or even Wilbur from his curiosity. Tommy debated lying and saying he just never had parents before finally settling on a simplistic version of the truth:

"They died."

Wilbur stared at him. Tommy stared back before sneering. "Don't fuckin' pity me."

"I'm not." Wilbur blinked. "I figured, but I thought I'd ask." Wilbur didn't push any further, and Tommy is happy he left it at that. 

A lapse in conversation. Tommy sighed. "What about you? Any parents?"

"'course I do," he said. 

"Well?"

"And that's that," Wilbur finalized.

Tommy huffed. "What, so I gotta share my fuckin' story but you get to stay all secretive?"

"You are a brat of a child."

"At least I'm not a dirty ass old man. Why don't you want to talk about your family? Do they hate you?"

Wilbur looked away and Tommy knew he hit a sore spot. For a second he wanted to push further, press all of Wilbur's buttons, before he ultimately decided it'd be better to get on Wilbur's good side. Instead, he changed the subject, "what'd you do before this-" Tommy gestured vaguely around them "-situation?"

"Ah," Wilbur rubbed the back of his neck and looked almost embarrassed. "I was sort-of unemployed. . . I was living with my dad."

Tommy cackled. "A grown man unemployed with his dad? I'm not surprised!" 

"Shut up!" Snapped Wilbur. "I just- I dropped out of university and needed somewhere to stay. I hated that place."

Tommy attempted to placate the man. "No I get it man. School, uh, wasn't my thing either. I was the problem kid or whatever." Tommy rolled his eyes. "They just couldn't handle my Big-Man-Alpha-Energy."

Wilbur slumped with his head resting in the palm of his hand. "School isn't for everyone," he softly said. "I'm not happy this uh...shitstorm is happening but-"

"It's kind of relieved us of our real world responsibilities," muttered Tommy.

"Exactly."

Pause.

"This house smells like fucking shit."

Rambunctious laughter roared through the house. 

"Fuck, man, you're right- let's-"

"Let's get out of here in the morning, big man. This house fucking reeks."

As Tommy traveled with Wilbur, he learned a few set things and unspoken rules about the man. He was a rather odd and peculiar fellow and Tommy constantly questioned the sanity of him, but he allowed Tommy to ramble on and eat his fill of the food and take as many breaks as he wanted--in other words, the guy was alright. . . Even if he learnt some weird things about the guy.

1. Do not touch Wilbur's guitar case.

This was one of the first things Tommy had learnt whilst traversing with Wilbur; they had settled down in camp and Wilbur had wandered off to gather sticks and dry grass to kindle the flame. Tommy stared at it in fascinating, the flame casting a warm, orange glow on his face and he resisted the urge to poke it with a stick lest he started an even larger fire and Wilbur abandoned him. 

Tall pinewood trees loomed over him, shadows dancing all around as Tommy sat curled up on the sleeping bag and continuing to stare at the flame. Every snap of a twig or rustle of the wind set him on edge, blue eyes darting wildly like an animal around him. Just as his mind wandered off, his eyes wandered as well until they fell on the guitar case Wilbur took everywhere. It taunted him, beckoning him with a finger closer and Tommy found himself slowly crawling towards it. Curiosity enveloped him and his one goal in mind was to just take a quick peek. 

Just as Tommy grabbed onto the roughened fabric and played with the zipper, a gruff voice startled him from behind. "What the fuck are you doing?" And caused him to immediately let go of the case, jumping to his feet and whirling around. 

"Nothing!"

Wilbur eyed him, one fist with twigs and leaves and the other one with the lighter. "You don't touch my fucking guitar case, got it? Keep your filthy paws to yourself."

Tommy glared. "Who pissed in your breakfast? It's just a stupid guitar. Should've told me if you didn't want anybody touchin' it."

Wilbur's own glare hardened and Tommy realized he was fighting an uphill battle. He shuffled a couple feet away from the guitar and flopped down on the ground with a huff. "Whatever," he muttered and tucked his knees to his chest, resting his head on his patched up jeans. Avoiding Wilbur's gaze, he watched his movements as he inspected the guitar case and then began kindling the fire. 

As he watched, Tommy made a mental note to just not even look at the guitar.

2.  Asking questions is fine, but avoid asking about Wilbur's father

Although Tommy had realized it was a touchy subject, Tommy hadn't realized that even the two had gotten more familiarized, it didn't mean he suddenly gained access to tons of new information on the adult. Even though he didn't mind simple questions such as what he majored in university - which was geography - he would get pissed off and avoidant if Tommy attempted to bring up his dad.

"Y'know-" Tommy began around a mouthful of fish Wilbur stabbed in the stream. Wilbur winced and Tommy quickly swallowed before continuing: "I don't know a whole lot 'bout you. You could've been a criminal or something before all this and you're preying on me."

Wilbur didn't seem to annoyed as he used to be at Tommy's accusations, but Tommy didn't miss the flash of something unreadable in his eyes. "No, you don't I suppose." Wilbur flipped the question on him. "But I don't know a whole lot about you either."

"Huh," Tommy hummed. "That's true. Ask me anything, big guy!"

Wilbur stayed silent for a few beats, thinking of a question with furrowed brows and a pursed lip. Tommy grew impatient, foot bouncing before he asked himself, "You had a girlfriend?"

Surprised, Wilbur immediately guffawed. "You could've asked anything"-Wilbur wheezed-"and you ask about a fucking- a fucking girlfriend?"

"Well, if you're curious, I had many girlfriends."

"Oh, well, mister big shot, I had one, but it was long before this whole thing began." Wilbur gnawed at his lip. "I hadn't thought about her in years, but I hope she's doing okay."

"Was she considered family?"

Wilbur narrowed his eyes. "What are you getting at?"

"I dunno." Tommy shrugged, but mischief danced in his eyes. "You never talk about your family."

"Not much to talk about."

"Did Daddy get the milk and never come back?"

The water bottle Wilbur nursed was slammed onto the table as he rose up. "I'm going to go fishing again."

Tommy rose up, about to follow as Wilbur left for the door. As he opened his mouth to tell him he was joining, Wilbur looked over his shoulder and hissed, "don't follow me."

Tommy went to bed early that night, guilt wracking his heart.

3. Wilbur was scared too

If there was anything Tommy knew, it was covering up fear with something else. Humor, outrage, cockiness - Tommy knew well about it. He was an expert in the field, the professor of bottling up fear if you will. Tommy was also more observant than many gave him credit for.

It was the same night Tommy touched Wilbur's guitar case when he noticed something unseen before in his facial expression. The moon was high in the sky, however there was barely even a sliver of moonlight and the own light that remained was the dwindling fire in the center of their makeshift camp. Tommy could barely see Wilbur, but he could recognize the face of a pained man. 

As Wilbur cradled the guitar in his arms, guitar case open next to him, he hummed lowly and held his face next to it as if it were his child. Tommy scooted slightly in his sleeping bag to get a better view of the man's expression. His eyes were squeezed shut, lips chapped and jaw clenched, his eyebrows were furrowed so tightly it must've given the man a headache. Wilbur muttered and whispered and carried on to the guitar for what felt like hours before he finally put the guitar back in its case. Wilbur stared at the closed case for a few seconds before shuffling under his own sleeping bag.

Tommy took that as a sign that he should sleep as well.

It had been at least a week or two since Wilbur and Tommy met. During that time, it was consistent travel. Wilbur didn't allow a day of full rest, and if Tommy was too exhausted to exhausted to travel it was tough luck. He'd near start dragging the boy down the street and Tommy knew there was no way he could win that fight so he ignored the shakiness of his legs and the exhaustion muddling his mind and trekked on.

A compass never left Wilbur's hand and his mind was rather one-track; his utmost priority was traveling and even when he saw zombies he'd continue traveling, even if it went straight into the hoard. He held almost no regard for his safety, as he constantly insisted he must continue traveling north. 

Tommy followed. He didn't have any goal of his own and would rather adapt to Wilbur's.

Buildings lined the horizon, and Tommy shouted with a hoot. "Civilization!" he cried. They'd been traveling through rural farms and plains and forests for what felt like years, and although the fact zombies were more common in populated areas, the idea of seeing another human had giddy bubbling up inside of his stomach. "Wilbur, look." He pointed.

Wilbur's expression didn't change, instead he took one quick glance towards his compass and pocketed it. "Be on guard, Tommy." Tommy subconsciously took a step closer to Wilbur, their arms brushing together as they walked. Tommy ate up the touch hungrily, even if it was for a few brief seconds. 

Following Wilbur's orders, Tommy tightened his hold on the nailed-up bat in his hands and eyed Wilbur's hand that traveled to his holster, hovering over the gun. 

For a moment, Tommy couldn't help but think of Wilbur as cool.

The two neared the city, and they both stayed silent although their gazes flickered towards the other often. It wasn't a large city, creeping along the lines of a town if anything else, and there were no inhabitants. Crows cawed, forcing Tommy into creeping even closer to Wilbur's side, but he missed the slight smug expression on Wilbur's face. 

Glass was broken in buildings, cars were crashed and dead, wooden planks and bricks lined the streets - it was an utmost mess. 

"It's early quiet," murmured Tommy, glancing around. He eyed a telephone pole that crashed onto a zombie, moaning helplessly and pathetically. He took a step away. 

Wilbur nodded. "Agreed."

Tommy's gaze lingered a few feet over and his blood turned to ice. 

A hoard was clambering down the street.

Now, not all zombie's were fast, but many of the one's Tommy ran into were; most were slightly sluggish and instead lunged at you, very few would run at you like a track star. This hoard, thankfully, didn't hold any sprinters but they were gaining on Wilbur and Tommy. 

Tommy yanked at Wilbur's sleeve. "Wilbur-"

"What, Tommy- oh fucking shit!"  Wilbur shook Tommy off his sleeve. "That's a fuck ton. Come on Tommy, we gotta go." 

Wilbur turned and immediately began running the other direction. Tommy yelped and started running behind him, not wasting his time one bit. It was rather awkward running with a bat in his hand, but it'd do. Tommy looked over his shoulder, the hoard not letting up. 

"What do we do?" panted Tommy. "We can't run through the whole street!"

Wilbur's breathing remained steady unlike Tommy who was already huffing and puffing. "We're running until we find a place to lose them," was all he said. 

Tommy's heart pounded in his chest as he dodged debris in the street and hopped over cracks in the sidewalk. Wilbur, who had about seven inches on him, was a few paces ahead with his hand never leaving his holster. Tommy wondered how he managed to run so quickly with all of the things he carried. 

Something knocked into him, the breath leaving his lungs as he was slammed into the hard pavement. His head slammed against a car, his back scraping against the ground as he let out a surprised scream. A zombie was clambering onto him, trying to take a chunk out of his throat. Tommy struggled, his bat thrown out of his hand from the impact, as he screamed for help. For Wilbur. 

"Tommy!" Wilbur yelled, and Tommy spared a glance at Wilbur.

He looked properly horrified. "Wilbur, please!" 

Tommy took his thumb and jabbed into the Zombie's eye, wincing at the blood that dripped down his eye. He took his other hand and pushed on the zombie's shoulder, but it was much larger and heavier than him. "Wilbur, what the fuck are you-" Tommy looked away for a few seconds and his heart dropped all the way down into his stomach and dread crawled up his throat.

Wilbur was ambushed by three at once, shooting one in the forehead while the others were clambering on top of him. Tommy screamed again, horror filling him as his ears starting ringing. He screamed, and screamed, watching Wilbur struggled as Tommy was pushing at the zombie on him.

Bang! Bang! Bang! 

Deja vu flashed through Tommy's mind as the zombie collapsed on him. Unlike last time, however, Tommy wasted no time pushing the filthy  creature off of him and snatching up his bat. He dragged his feet to where he last saw Wilbur, to see the man pushing dead zombies off of him as well. "Wilbur!" Tommy cried out.

Wilbur looked at Tommy and something akin to relief washed over his expression. "Oh thank god," he breathed. "I didn't know you had a gun."

Confusion etched Tommy's face. "Huh? I got no gun. You shot the zombie on me, didn't you?"

"No, what are you-"

"Are you two alright?" A feminine voice interrupted.

Chapter Text

Next to Tommy at the boarded up entrance to the bakery was Wilbur, who crossed his arms in a message of self defense and guarding walls. In front of the two was two women, one with pink hair and one with brown, and a male with auburn hair with a white streak.

The pink-haired one smiled shyly, albeit warmly at the two boys. “Fundy-” she gestured to the male. “-heard you scream. I’m really happy you two are alright.”

Tommy scoffed. “We were handling ourselves just fine. I’m a big man, I was alright with or without you.” He looked at Wilbur, expecting him to agree so the two could leave and get on with their trip. “Right?”

Surpassing Tommy’s expectations, he took a step forward with an appreciative bow of his head. “Thank you so much.” He smiled warmly at the women. “I’m Wilbur”-he pointed to Tommy-”and this is Tommy, my . . . younger brother.”

Tommy opened his mouth to point out the lie, but Wilbur gave him a stern glance which promptly shut him up. The brown-haired women smiled fondly at Tommy. “Hey bud. How you holding up?”

“None of your fucking business.”

She wasn’t even phased as she introduced herself. “You can call me Puffy.”

“Pussy is a dumb fucking name.”

Wilbur slapped his arm.

“Puffy is a great name.”

“I’m Niki,” introduced the pink-haired woman. “It’s very nice to meet you, Tommy and Wilbur.”

Tommy didn’t like one fucking bit how nice these people were. It send chills up his spine, and he certainly didn’t like how Wilbur was sucking up to them. Tommy loved women just as much as the next guy, but these women unnerved the fuck out of him. As the four adults talked amongst themselves, Tommy allowed himself to look around, slowly sneaking away from the group.

They were in what appeared to be a grocery store; it wasn’t a large one and more along the lines of one of those corner shops, but there were long aisles and the tiled floor was weirdly clean. He ran a finger across a shelf. There was barely even a bit of dust.

“What’cha doing, kid?” A male’s voice said.

Tommy jumped. What’s up with people constantly sneaking up on him? Tommy looked over his shoulder and stuck out of his tongue. “None of your business, bitch boy. You got a white streak in your hair. Are you fifty?”

Fundy’s mouth opened and closed not unlike a fish. “I- I was born with that!”

“Okayyyy,” dragged out Tommy. “Why is this place so clean?”

“Because we clean it.”

“Fuck off,” said Tommy lowly. He pushed past Tommy to make his way back to Wilbur, who was glancing around, eyebrows raised and lifting his head. His posture visibly relaxed when his eyes laid on Tommy.

“My baby brother!” He cried out dramatically, and pulled Tommy closer. “I was wondering where you wandered off to.”

Tommy looked at him in disgust. He hit his head earlier, is he imagining this shit? Or did Wilbur hit is head? Did he sneak alcohol in the past five minutes? What the fuck is happening. When he took a look into Wilbur’s eyes and saw a flash of mischief, Tommy stayed quiet as Wilbur began ruffling his matted hair.

Niki smiled at Tommy. “You two seem so close. Wilbur was just telling me you’ve just turned eleven. It’s amazing how Wilbur is able to keep track of the days!”

How much has Wilbur lied? Tommy glanced at Wilbur, careful to not betray his surprise on his face. “Yeah….” Tommy nodded. “The big, uh, one-one.”

Wilbur’s stiff body next to him relaxed. “So proud of my little brother,” he cooed. “Do you two have any siblings?”

Niki shook her head, looking over and smiling at Puffy fondly. “Me and her might as well be family though. We’ve known each other for years.” She gestured back to where Fundy is. “We have a few other survivors, but they’re out patrolling right now. Their names are Eret and Jack.”

“Great. More of you fucks,” muttered Tommy.

“Thank you so much once again for helping us,” said Wilbur.

Puffy jabbed her thumb behind her. “We’ve been using the storage rooms as bedrooms and we definitely have lots more room if you guys need a place to crash for the night.”

Wilbur clasped his hands together in a prayer sort of motion thankfully. “Oh, lovely! May you show us these rooms now, so me and Tommy can have some time to calm down and I can”-Wilbur gestured with his bags-”set this stuff down.”

“Oh! Of course,” said Niki. “That must be awfully heavy.

Fundy piped in. “C’mere. I can show you.”

Tommy stood there for a moment, watching Wilbur immediately move towards Fundy. He glanced at Puffy and Niki, who were staring right back with warm smiles. He scowled, making sure they knew his place with him, before following Wilbur and Fundy to the backroom.

They were led into a storage room, boxes lining the walls and stacked into the ceilings like skyscrapers in a city. They casted shadows on the walls to the equally pristinely clean, tiled floor. Fundy gestured to the room. “It’s pretty empty and it’s the last bit of space we got. Make uh, make yourselves at home.”

In unison, Wilbur and Tommy both chimed a response, but Tommy mouthed off something similar to, “fuck off and leave” and Wilbur thanking him politely. The two watched Fundy shut the door behind him and Wilbur’s kind smile immediately dropped as he turned to Tommy, dropping his things on the floor and shrugging off his guitar case.

Wilbur rubbed his hands across his face. “Can you go along with the act a little more, man?”

Tommy bristled. “You didn’t tell me anything!”

Digging through his bag, Wilbur pulled out a fresh shirt. “You should’ve caught on. You’re a smart kid.”

“I did catch”-Wilbur took off his shirt, changing into a new one-”C’mon on man, you gotta change in front of me? Anyways, I did fuckin’ catch on! I just didn’t want to be your stupid younger brother.”

Wilbur bent over slightly so him and Tommy were eye-level and Tommy resisted the urge to kick him in the nuts and run off laughing at his misfortune. Wilbur’s voice was low and quiet to ensure nobody heard the conversation. “Tommy,” he said, and placed a single hand on his shoulder. Tommy subconsciously leaned into the touch. “We can take advantage of these people.”

Tommy’s lips formed an ‘o.’ “Like. . .” he lowered his own voice to a raspy whisper. “stealing?”

Wilbur’s grin was grotesque and almost deformed, crooked and Tommy noticed one of his molars was missing. “Procisely. See, you’re a smart kid.” He leaned back, allowing Tommy some personal space and Tommy missed the distant warmth. “They’re obviously kind. We play into the ‘older brother needs to take care of younger brother,’ take some shit, and then get the hell out of here.”

Theoretically, it was a brilliant plan; the two women were obviously falling to their empathy and although Fundy was a bit quieter, Wilbur was obviously good at getting people to feed from the palm of his hand. If this was a few years ago, before all of this began, Tommy would vehemently disagree. He’d protest that stealing was wrong and bad, and that he should never steal from other survivors because they need their things to.

This isn’t Tommy from a few years ago. This is a hardened Tommy that’s seen death and even if there was a twinge of guilt in his gut, there was also hunger. He can’t remember the last time he’d eaten a proper meal and he could see the fullness in these survivor’s cheeks. They weren’t sunken in, their skin wasn’t pallid, their eyes weren’t lifeless - they were doing well. They had some sort of food source and they weren’t dirty and musty like Tommy and Wilbur.

It’s a dog eat dog world.

So, instead of protesting like Past Tommy would, he grinned toothily up at Wilbur and matched his expression of mischief. “Alright, Big Brother.”

Wilbur’s eyes shone with what could be mistaken for pride; it replaced the normal dull look in his expression and Tommy felt giddiness flicker in his stomach. “Glad to see you’re just as much of a dirty crime boy as I.” He stuck out his fist.

Tommy looked down at his fist in amazement before excitedly fist bumping the older male. “Aren’t you glad we started this partnership?”

“Let’s get back to the others, Little Brother.”

With one last exchanged look of mischief, Wilbur made his way to the door, opening it up for Tommy and gingerly shutting the door behind them. Wilbur threw his arm around Tommy’s shoulders as he guided them over to a much larger group than from a few minutes ago. At the doorway stood two people - which Tommy assumed was Jack and Eret - and they seemed to be visibly upset.

“Hello!” greeted Wilbur, his entire posture and expression switched to something much warmer. “So sorry I rushed for a room; Tommy was a bit anxious and I had to calm him down.”

Tommy snuggled closer to Wilbur’s side and mustered up the most aw’worthy puppy-dog eyes he could. “So sorry for my behavior earlier guys. I’m just a kid and- and it’s just so scary.”

Everybody turned to Wilbur and Tommy, faces morphing into pity and sympathy. One of the new people, who wore sunglasses and a mop of wavy brown hair, feigned Tommy a smile. “Hey kid. So you’re the ones Niki, Puffy, and Fundy saved. I’m Eret.”

The one who Tommy assumed was Jack crossed his arms. “More people?” He snorted. “Our food reserve won’t last forever, y’know.”

Wilbur tensed beside Tommy, but the two said nothing as they allowed the group in front of them to hash it out.

Niki glowered at Jack, quite unfitting on her otherwise blemish-free and pretty face. “We couldn’t leave them behind. . . He’s only eleven, Jack.”

“I don’t care,” snapped Jack. “Another mouth to feed to me.”

Fundy spoke up, “Hey- Jack that’s kind of-”

Jack whirled on him. “You agree with them?”

Puffy stepped forward. “We have enough food. I don’t know what your issue is-”

This time Jack whirled on Puffy. “The only reason you agreed to take in this kid was because you wish somebody took in your son. This isn’t out of the kindness of your heart - you just want to replace Dream.”

It went so quiet you could hear a pin drop as tension filled the air like a thick fog. Tommy spared a small glance at Wilbur, whose expression didn’t change but he noticed the tenseness of his body and the clench of his jaw. Tommy absentmindedly wondered if he lost his molar from all of that jaw clenching he does.

“That-” Puffy eyes widened in horror at Jack. “You-”

Niki stepped in front of Puffy. “What the fuck, Jack?”

Eret grabbed Jack by the shoulder, pulling him back slightly. “That was out of line, dude.” They shook their head. “That was wrong of you.”

Fundy shuffled his feet, staying quiet but he stared at Puffy with the same expression Jack wore: frustration. Tommy picked at the skin around his thumb.

Wilbur stammered - obviously feigned - and waved his hands up in a way to placate the group. “I am very s- sorry for any trouble we’ve caused. My deepest apologies, we can really just go so we don’t cause trouble-”

Niki shook her head, glare like poison never leaving Jack. “No, you’re fine. Don’t worry.” She spared a small, pitiful look towards Tommy. “We have plenty of your room. I insist you two stay. It’s”-she pointed at Jack-”him in the wrong.”

Guilt stirred in Tommy’s stomach, but he stayed quiet and kept his eyes trained on his battered sneakers, only looking up once or twice. His pitiful body language wasn’t pretend anymore.

Two sides of people stared at each other before Jack sighed, shaking his head. “Whatever. Can we just discuss our news while patrolling? We have some shit to share.”

Puffy waved her hand. “Well?”

Eret spoke up, running a hand through their hair. “We have reason to believe there’s another establishment of people nearby.”

“So?” said Puffy.

“People are scarier than zombies,” quietly commented Fundy from behind Puffy.

Eret nodded. “Exactly. I don’t know if they’re friendly, but I found a car with a medical kit inside and some rations. . . we also saw some campfire smoke in an alleyway. When we went towards it, we saw enough things for a group of people.”

“And you didn’t take it?” Puffy exasperatedly asked, eyes wide in disbelief. “What the hell, dude?”

“I-” Eret swallowed. “They need it just as much as us, Captain.”

Captain?

“So?” Puffy shook her head. “No, no, I get it. Anything else?”

Eret hesitated before adding, “there seems to be more zombie hoards. Only just a few weeks ago we’d only occasionally get a big hoard with only a few stragglers but. . .”

Jack finished for him. “But we ran into multiple hoards.”

Tommy pushed back the whimper that rose up in the back of his throat as he looked over at Wilbur. He caught his gaze and immediately looked away back to his feet.

Niki hummed. “It makes sense. . .” Her voice was much quieter than anybody else and Tommy always found himself straining to listen to her. “That’s how we found Tommy and Wilbur. They were running from a hoard.”

“You know,” spoke up Fundy. Everybody looked at him, including Tommy. “Who’s to say those two aren’t part of that survivor group and they aren’t spies or something?”

Now everybody turned to Tommy and Wilbur. Isolation hit him like a wave. Even surrounded by people and Wilbur at his side, he felt ostracized; he shook his head wildly. “What the hell?” He laughed without humor. “You guys are the first people we’ve seen in- in forever.”

Wilbur pulled Tommy closer to him. “Tommy’s right. We were just passing through the city, we just arrived this morning!”

Puffy’s eyebrows furrowed, seemingly in thought as she brought one hand to rub at the back of her neck. “I don’t want to think Tommy and Wilbur are bad but. . .” she hesitated. “Fundy brings up a point.”

“See?” cried out Jack. “I was right- you shouldn’t bring in random people.”

“You were still out of line earlier,” grunted Eret, but Jack ignored them pointedly.

Wilbur desperately looked around the group. “C’mon, he’s just a kid- you think an eleven year old can do harm?”

Puffy shrugged. “Maybe not him, but you can.” Her gaze met Wilbur’s, and Tommy saw it must’ve taken all Wilbur could to not snap. “I trust you guys, don’t worry, but Fundy just brings up some thoughts worth considering, you know?”

Abruptly, Niki took a long stride forward and in front of Tommy and Wilbur. “Leave these two alone,” she said roughly. “They haven’t done anything yet. You’re being paranoid. If this camp had so much shit-” Tommy nearly laughed at how uncharacteristic the cuss word sounded from Niki’s mouth. “-then why would they come here and mess with us?”

“It hasn’t stopped people before,” admitted Eret.

Niki looked at Puffy hopelessly. “I know you all were in the military and- and I know that raises some suspicion but-” she gestured wildly to Tommy and Wilbur. “Let’s just take care of them until they’re back on their feet? Alright? Think if this was you two.”

The group fell silent and Tommy held his breath. Puffy and Niki locked their gazes, seemingly communicating with an unspoken language. Puffy blinked and Niki blinked back, bottom lip trembling which matched Puffy’s pursed, unmoving lips.

“Niki,” said Puffy kindly. “I agreed with you from the beginning.”

From beside Tommy, Wilbur let out a long sigh of relief and he lightly chuckled. “Sorry to have caused so much discord in your group. I promise once Tommy and I get ourselves on our feet we’ll be entirely out of your hair! Promise, promise!”

Niki smiled weakly at the two ‘brothers.’ “Take as much time as you need.” She looked over at Jack, who was glaring at the floor like it just killed his own mother. “We need to go talk, but feel free to help yourselves to any of our rations.”

Puffy pointed vaguely towards the back of the store and beckoned the group as they inched away from Wilbur and Tommy, the group roughly whispering amongst themselves and their voices fading away as they left.

Tommy’s shoulders drooped and he didn’t realize how tensed up his body was during that ordeal. His stomach growled and he looked towards Wilbur whose eyes were still trained on the room the group disappeared into.

After a few seconds had passed of silence, Wilbur rubbed at his temples. “That Captain is quite sharp.”

“And Niki is really kind. . .”

Wilbur sighed. “Come on Tommy. You’re hungry, let’s go eat, yeah?”

Most of the group didn’t speak to Wilbur and Tommy for the rest of the night; Puffy kept to herself, Fundy, Eret, and Jack talked amongst themselves. Niki was the only one who dared to speak to them, but Tommy didn’t hate her compant, although he couldn’t tell what Wilbur thought of the girl.

Candlelight flickered across their faces as the three sat in a circle inside of Wilbur’s and Tommy’s “bedroom.” Wilbur was mostly silent as they conversed, mostly playing get to know each other.

“Is English your first language?” questioned Tommy. “You have an accent.”

“Tommy,” chastised Wilbur.

Niki smiled and shook her head. “No, it’s not. . . I’m trilingual.”

“Isn’t that the shit where you bike and swim and run and shit?”

With a small giggle, Niki corrected him, “no, that’s a triathlon. I speak three languages: English, Spanish, and German.”

“That’s so fucking cool,” awed Tommy. “I wish I could speak Spanish. Me gusta.”

Niki shrugged. “It’s pretty cool.”

Wilbur looked at her curiously with an eyebrow raise. “Long way from home, huh?”

“I could say the same to you,” shot back Niki with a small smile and something in her eyes that she knew more than she let on. “You’re both British. Last time I checked we’re in Texas.”

“We moved here,” smoothly said Wilbur. “I came here for university and I had to take care of my baby brother.” To put the cherry on top, Wilbur tugged Tommy close to him and ruffled his hair. With a squawk, Tommy immediately pulled away.

Niki softened. “What about family?”

Tommy expected Wilbur to flip his shit; he always did when Tommy asked about his dad. Instead, Wilbur shook his head again. “Nope. Mom died when I was born and Dad fucked off who knows where. Just me and my little ray of sunshine.” Sarcasm dripped from his words at the last sentence, but Tommy wasn’t sure if Niki caught on or not.

“I understand.” Niki played with the sleeve of her flannel. “No parents here either. How old did you guys say you’re again?”

“I’m twenty-four, this stinker just turned eleven. What about you?”

“Right in the middle. I’m nineteen.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed in (mock?) sympathy. “So this started when you were young.”

“We’re all still young,” softly reminded Niki. “Tommy, you’re a real tough one. Bet your glad your big brother has taken care of you so far, yeah?”

Something wasn’t right. Alarm bells rang in Tommy’s mind.

This girl knew.

She knew Tommy and Wilbur aren’t related. Tommy didn’t break character as he pulled out his sweet, innocent eyes and a small pout on his face. “No, I’m taking care of him.”

Wilbur chuckled, deep and hearty. “Sure you have.”

“We all need to be taken care of,” murmured Niki. “Even you, Wilbur.”

Wilbur stared at her.

Niki stared back.

Wilbur gave her a small smile. “Yeah. I guess.” He gave a look to Tommy and he decided it was time to wrap it up.

He feigned a big, fat yawn and made a big show of stretching his arms out and wiping his eyes. “I’m tired. Can we go to bed now- uh, W- Wilby?” The nickname rolled off his tongue clumsily and he felt his face blush a bright red. He refused to look at Niki as he just focused on staring right over Wilbur’s right shoulder. He’d rather avoid the smug expression on his face.

Niki rose up immediately. “I’ll let you two sleep. You must be exhausted.” She strode over to the door, opening it before looking over her shoulder. “Sweet dreams.”

“Good night,” said Wilbur.

“Yup.” With that, Niki left with a soft shut of the door.

After a few moments, Tommy’s face fell to a neutral expression and he turned to Wilbur. “She knows we’re not brothers.”

“I know,” said Wilbur.

“Will she tell the group?”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

Wilbur’s gaze hardened on the door. “She’s too kind.”

“. . . okay. Will we still follow through on our uh. . . operation?”

Wilbur finally turned to him. “Of course.” He pointed to the sleeping bag. “You really should sleep. You may not be eleven but you’re still just a kid.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” complained Tommy as he proceeded to let Wilbur tell him what to do.

.

.

.

“Sleep well, Tommy.”

“Sleep well, Wilbur.”

“Puffy,” Jack called out. “Eret and I are going out again. Hunting and shit.”

Puffy looked up from her conversation with Niki and Fundy. “Now?” She asked, bewildered.

“Why not?” Asked Eret.

“I dunno. . . We just hadn’t discussed anything.”

Tommy’s ears perked, tuning into the conversation from where he sat with Wilbur on a separate table from Niki, Fundy, and Puffy. Wilbur shifted, signaling he also tuned into their conversation.

Puffy narrowed her eyes. “You’re going to the camp again.”

Jack and Eret fell silent.

“I’m not against it,” admitted Puffy. “I just don’t think you should go alone.” Her gaze slowly moved to Tommy and Wilbur. “Why don’t you take Wilbur?”

Tommy froze as the spotlight fell on them. Him and Wilbur exchanged surprised glances. “Why Wilbur?” Asked Tommy. “Trying to use him as bait or some shit?”

Wilbur stood up abruptly. “I’ll go,” he agreed coolly. Just as Puffy opened her mouth, he held up the palm of his hand. “But I’m taking Tommy.”

“He’s a kid, Wilbur,” said Fundy in surprise. “This could be dangerous.”

“Sure, he’s a kid, but we never go without each other.” Wilbur crossed his arms. “It’s both of us or neither of us.”

Tommy’s heart bloomed with warmth. It wasn’t entirely acting; ever since they met about a month or so ago they never separated once.

“Let them go together,” Niki said from the back.

Puffy sighed. “Do whatever you want. Stay safe, alright?”

Before waiting any further, Wilbur pulled Tommy to his feet. “Grab your bat.” He ruffled his hair. “I alrighty got my gun. You two got weapons?”

Eret pointed to the machete at their side and Jack held up his gun, “right here, mate.”

“Perfect,” said Wilbur just as Tommy ran back with his bat. “Let’s go, gentlemen.”

Wilbur pushed through the doors, leaving everybody else behind as they scrambled to follow him. There wasn’t any zombies outside, thankfully.

They walked in silence, looking around warily with their weapons tightly clutched in their hands. Wilbur looked around the city. “So. . . Where’s this camp you saw?”

“Only a bit further,” said Eret as they pushed to the front of the group. “We don’t know if it was recently abandoned, but it definitely causes a bit of concern.”

Wilbur hummed. “Sure.”

Jack glared. “What, you don’t agree?”

Wilbur shook his head. “‘course I agree with you.” Wilbur smiled. “No need to be so hostile.”

Jack opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by Eret shushing them and holding a gloved finger to their mouth. They crouched and everybody else followed their lead.

“What is it?” asked Tommy, going to look around the corner before Wilbur pushed his head back.

“I see somebody,” Eret whispered. “Pipe it down.”

Wilbur stuck his head out slightly further, eyes squinting as he scowered the area. Eret was correct. A few yards down in an alleyway stood a man poking at a fire. His hair was brown and messy with goggles resting on top. He looked relatively normal with a simple blue shirt and pants, although the blue shirt was frayed at the ends with a single red stain on the front.

“It’s a guy,” whispered Wilbur. “Looks pretty average. Should we confront him?”

“What if he’s a wrong’un?”

Eret shrugged. “He might need help.”

Jack huffed. “I say we turn back and actually go hunting.”

Tommy looked at Wilbur. “What do you want to do, Wil?”

Wilbur gnawed at his lip, still trained on the man. “Let’s talk to him.”

“Are you sure?” Asked Eret. “He could be dangerous.”

“It’s just one of him and four of us,” reasoned Tommy. “We could easily kick his ass.”

“what if he’s got buddies?” questioned Jack. “Then we’re fucked.”

Tommy glared at him. “And do you see any of them?”

Before their bickering could continue, Wilbur stood up, fixing his coat and sweater, and waltzed out from behind the safety of the wall.

“Wilbur!” hissed Tommy. He quickly followed Wilbur’s lead, refusing to be left behind and beckoned Tommy and Eret to follow.

“Hello!” greeted Wilbur.

The blue-clothed man jumped, looking over at the group with wide, brown doe eyes. He was rather short, no taller than 5’7 and every man in the group could easily tower over him (well, except Tommy who hovered around a solid 5’8).

“You’re also British!” Was the first thing that fell from his mouth.

Wilbur grinned. “That I am.”

It amazed Tommy how quickly Wilbur could switch personas.

Wilbur gestured to the group. “We all are, actually.”

The man looked at them all. “Could you all help out a fellow European, then?” He begged. “I- I’m quite hungry. I’m also a bit injured. Anybody here a medic?”

“Let me see,” said Wilbur, striding up to the man. “What happened?”

“These bandits raided me,” he said.

Whilst the group approached the man, Tommy lagged behind as he analyzed his surroundings. Something felt off. He always felt like this, but his gut was usually correct. Buildings lined the alleyway, casting a dim shadow safe for the man’s pathetic excuse for a campfire.

A glint caught his eye.

Tommy shifted, looking out of the corner of his eye and the breath was nearly knocked out of his chest.

On the roof was a man in a mask with a gun.

“It’s a fucking tr-” Tommy attempted to yell before he was promptly knocked to the ground, bat flying out of his hands. The side of his face was slammed into the pavement and his vision went dizzy.

Gasps filled his ears before the ringing took over. He blinked desperately, trying to look around.

The last thing he saw was Wilbur’s horrified expression before he gave into a dizzying darkness.

Chapter Text

Pain seared throughout Tommy’s body, nails being pounded into his skull with a jackhammer. Eyes squeezed shut, Tommy tried to wrack his brain for memories but found himself falling flat. Why does his head hurt so bad? Heart bouncing against his chest and stomach doing the flips of a gymnast; his brain felt swollen and his lungs were burning.

“Tommy!”

The noise sounded like screaming, a loud siren that shook his eardrums. Tommy moaned. He tried to tell the noise to be quiet, he wanted to sleep, but his name kept being screeched.

“Stop. . .” Tommy found himself having trouble speaking. “Yelling. . .”

Something shook him and his whole body jolted in pain, but Tommy attempted to force his eyes open. It was too bright. He wanted to sleep again.

“Tommy, get up. . . please.”

Finally, after a few seconds of gathering and slowing his fast-paced breathing, Tommy forced his eyes open after a few attempts and was staring right into the eyes of Wilbur.

Memories flashed through his brain, unorganized and filled with stimulating images and painful sensations. He licked his dry lips. “Wilbur. . .?” He blinked. Wilbur’s face was fuzzy, but he could recognize him anywhere.

Wilbur visibly relaxed. “Oh, thank God,” he whispered.

“My head hurts,” mumbled Tommy.

Wilbur looked around, whispering things Tommy couldn’t catch, before turning back to him. “I know. Can you get up for me, please?”

“Where are we?” Tommy asked as Wilbur slowly helped him sit up straight. His vision began to clear, albeit still slightly blurry as he tried to look at his surroundings.

They were in a small room with a giant, metal door in the front. Jack was standing by the door, a fists wrapping violently against the metal. The banging hurt Tommy’s head. Eret was sat in the corner, knees to chest with a solemn expression. He turned back to Wilbur.

Now that he’s focused more on his surroundings and his memories slowly became clearer, he noticed the large gash on the temple of Wilbur’s head and the blood dripping from his nose. Nausea churned in his stomach. “Where are we?” Repeated Tommy.

“I don’t know,” admitted Wilbur.

Jack banged his fists against the door again. “LET US OUT YOU FUCKING PRICKS!”

Tommy immediately covered his ears with a groan. It was so, so loud. He just needed some silence.

Wilbur picked up on it and glared daggers at Jack. “Can’t you see it’s hurting his head? Stop that.”

Jack had the decency to look apologetic as his hands retracted back to his body. “Sorry,” he muttered, but stayed by the door with a sharp expression.

Wilbur’s gaze flitted across Tommy’s body, analyzing and scrutinizing him. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I-” Tommy wracked his brain. “I don’t think so. My head just hurts really bad.”

Wilbur sighed, running his hands through his blood-stained locks. “That’s good. Yeah. Good.” He wiped the blood dripping from his nose with a grimace. “That bastard fucking ambushed us.”

Eret spoke up, “Jack. Sit down.” They patted the spot next to them. “There’s no point making a racket. What happens, happens.”

“What happened while I was knocked out?” Asked Tommy as Jack obeyed Eret and sat down next to them. “I just remember. . . I saw a guy on the roof. And I tried to warn you- but- but then I-” Tommy stopped himself with a shaky breath.

Wilbur’s face screwed up into a poisonous moue. “There was five of them. Two on the roof and then the guy we saved plus two others hidden inside of the buildings.”

Eret tacked on, “they had to have been watching and waiting for weeks. They somehow memorized our patrolling times and habits. . . how else would they know we would be there?”

Realization dawned on the entire group. Somebody was spying on them or. . .

“There’s a traitor,” whispered Jack. His gaze shakily landed on Wilbur and Tommy. “You fuckers led them right to us!”

Wilbur looked genuinely confused as Tommy struggled to his feet with a fiery lour. “You don’t know fuckin’ shit,” he snarled. “Wilbur and I have dun’ jack shit to ya!”

Wilbur rose as well, gingerly placing his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “You’re slurring your words, you need to calm down Tommy. I’ll handle this.”

Tommy shook Wilbur’s hand off. “No, Wilbur, fuck- fuck off!” He pointed accusingly at Jack and Eret. “How do I know your little posse didn’t save me and Wil just to fuck us over, huh?”

Jack jumped to his feet. “You little fucking shit,” he growled. “You show up, eat our shit and snuggle up in your little sleeping bags and then you have the audacity to accuse us of luring you here?” He pointed to his black eye. “Last time I checked, I’m fucking injured too.”

Eret sighed. “Guys, fighting isn’t doing anything. Sit down.”

Silence fell across the group. Wilbur positioned himself in front of Tommy and Tommy didn’t miss his clenched fists, nails digging crescents into the palm of his hand. The silence was thick and Tommy wished he would just pass out again because the yelling was really hurting his head.

Finally, Wilbur shook his head with a grim smile. He stuck his hand out to Jack. “Sorry. Just not feeling well. Let’s get out of this together, yeah?”

Jack stared down at Wilbur’s outstretched hand, the cogs turning in his brain. With a sigh, he gave Wilbur a curt, firm shake before quickly sitting back down next to Eret.

Wilbur put his hand on Tommy’s back as he led him to the opposite end of the room and forced him to sit down next to him. His stare stayed firmly on the two in front of him, while Tommy’s mind went elsewhere.

What reason would somebody have to trap them? And if Jack is right about a traitor, who would it be? This couldn’t possibly be about him and Wilbur, could it? They showed up by sheer chance, they just somehow ended up in this mess. Tommy dug his hands into his face with a long, dramatic sigh. Him and Wilbur should’ve just left the first chance they had and get out of this dumb mess. Instead his head hurt, he was heavily dehydrated, his body was sore, and he was confused to no end.

“Tommy,” Wilbur whispered.

Tommy removed the hands in his face to Wilbur peering over at him. “Yeah?” he whispered back.

“I’ll get you out of this,” he promised.

Tommy wanted to shout that he was lying and only saying this to comfort him, but he just sighed. “And how is that?”

Wilbur hesitated but he gave Tommy a small, hesitant smile. “I’m not sure yet-” Tommy glared. “-but I always get out of things, right, Tommy Danger Innit?”

Tommy smiled slightly at Wilbur’s effort and even using Tommy’s “full name.” He wiped at the blood on Wilbur’s cheek. “Yeah. You’re right. Thanks Wilbur.”

“Of course,” said Wilbur with relief swirling in his brown eyes. He gave Tommy another small grin before situating again in his seat by the wall.

Tommy closed his eyes before realizing he was falling asleep again once more.

SLAM!

“Get the fuck up,” a voice snarled, and Tommy’s head immediately started tortuously pounding again.

Tommy coughed, spittle dripping down his chin as a swift kick was delivered to his stomach and his eyes flew open. Gasps of terror echoed in the room, but Tommy couldn’t focus on anything except the room spinning around him and the blood dripping down his face as another kick was delivered to him.

“You motherfucker!” somebody yelled, but Tommy was too unfocused to differentiate any voices.

Tommy held up his hands, trying to shield his face. “I’m getting up!” he cried out, body trembling. “Let me be!”

Hands grabbed his wrists, digging so hard he’d have bruises as he was pulled to his feet. Everything blurred around him and god damn it can’t he be given five fucking seconds to get himself sorted?

Tommy blinked, swallowed dryly, and forced his eyes to focus on in front of him. A man with shaggy, black hair and a white bandana was tying his hands together with a frayed rope. It was so tight Tommy was convinced his circulation would be cut off.

The man looked over at somebody else with white patches across his skin and a cloth mask covering his nose and mouth. “You get the rest tied, Ranboo?”

Ranboo shakily nodded. “Y- Yes!”

“Yes what?”

“Yes s- sir!”

The man moved behind Tommy, shoving him forward with a firm push between his bruised shoulders. He nearly tripped over his own feet, a small gasp escaping his lips. A firm slap was delivered to the back of his head at the noise. Panic surged up inside him.

Where’s Wilbur?

His gazed moved around wildly, desperately begging his head to stop spinning. He relaxed slightly when he noticed Wilbur was next to him, hands tied and a gag in his mouth. Spit and blood dripped down the side of his mouth as he gurgled nonsense. To his left, opposite of Wilbur, was Jack and Eret. They lacked gags, but their hands were also tied.

“Why is he gagged?” rasped Tommy. His throat burned.

“The fucker wouldn’t stop talking” the guy behind him said. “I’ll gag you next if you don’t shut up. Get going.” Another firm push.

Tommy glared. “Like fuck I will! What the fuck? Wilbur!”

Wilbur looked at him desperately, eyes begging and pleading as he softly shook his head. It chilled Tommy to see Wilbur so helpless. “You promised me!” Tommy said, eyes wide. He knew he looked pathetic. “Wilbur, you said you’d-”

Suddenly, his body was thrown to the ground, landing firmly on his knees. Tommy cried out. “You’re gonna break ma’ fucking knees, man!”

“Ranboo, get the gag.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

A booted foot was placed firmly on his back as he was bent forward with his head on the stone floors. Cloth was shoved into his mouth and tied in the back of his head. Tommy struggled and squirmed, but he was too weak as he was helpless to do anything. He attempted to scream, but it was shoved nearly to the back of his throat.

He was yanked back to his feet and he was convinced his arm would be yanked out of his socket.

“Let’s go, Ranboo,” the man said. He grabbed Wilbur as he shoved them both ahead and out the door.

Tommy took in his surroundings the best he could as he was lead out. It looked to be a factory or some sort of workhouse - it was fucking huge. Shelves lined the area with cans and bags of supplies. He looked over and saw the boy - he had to have been around Tommy’s age - lead Jack and Eret who both simply hung their heads. Why weren’t they fighting back?

As they were lead to the center of the factory, a man in a green hoodie and a mask stood with crossed arms and a tapping foot, as if impatient. Next to him, on top of a pile of cardboard boxes, was the man with the blue shirt and goggles.

“That took awhile,” the masked man said.

Bandana man shoved Tommy and Wilbur in a line, Ranboo following suit. “Sorry. They are real fighters”-he flicked the side of Tommy’s head-”this one is real obnoxious. His brother or whatever the fuck wouldn’t stop threatening he’d kill us.”

When Tommy looked over at Wilbur, his expression was blood curdling. Wilbur would look mildly annoyed and most of the time his eyes were dull and lifeless, but there was fire burning. It was bright and hot and downright terrifying. Tommy’s never seen such an expression on a man in his entire life.

“Good job, Eret,” said the masked man.

Everybody looked at Eret, whose eyes were trained on the floor.

“What?” Jack stammered. “You fuck- you fucking know this prick?”

Eret didn’t respond.

“Sapnap, you can untie him.”

Bandana man cut Eret’s ropes loose, Eret flexing their hand as they took a few paces forward to stand beside the masked man. Bandana man- Sapnap - smugly smiled at the tied up group as he went back to have a hold on the backs of Wilbur and Tommy’s shirts.

“You’re going to fucking regret this,” growled Jack, taking a step forward but Ranboo pulled him back.

“Don’t move,” muttered Ranboo.

Masked man nodded to Eret. “And as promised you’ll get your share of food and supplies.” He smiled. There was something off about this guy. Even though Tommy could only see the bottom half of his face, it was almost deformed; objectively, he had a handsome smile, but it sent chills down Tommy’s spine. “You really sold your friends out for some supplies. How barbaric.”

Eret stayed quiet, eyes firmly trained to the ground.

“It’s okay,” the man continued. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Jack pulled against Ranboo, eyes trained on Eret. If looks could kill, Eret would be rotting in hell at that very moment. “I fucking trusted you!” He snarled. He looked like a rabid dog pulling against chains. Teeth snapping, eyes wild with fury - Jack no longer looked like a man, he looked like an animal.

Eret continued to stay silent.

“You talk too much,” the blue-shirted man muttered. “Sapnap, can you shut him up or something?”

Sapnap rolled his eyes. “Can’t you see I got my hands full with tweedle dee and tweedle dum? Tell Ranboo. Jack is his fucking responsibility.”

Ranboo’s eyes went wide as he panickedly began whispering to Jack, “please be quiet! C’mon, please?”

Jack tried whirling around, but Ranboo had a whole foot on him and wasn’t malnourished like Jack is. “Suck my fucking cock!” Jack screeched.

“. . .Dre?” said George. Tommy made a mental note that was the masked man’s name. “Do we need this guy?”

Dre looked at George curiously. “Not this one in particular, no. Why?”

“Good.” George’s face held no emotion, which perfectly matched his monotonous voice, as he swiftly pulled a gun from his holster and aimed right at Jack.

Jack screamed and hollered, eyes wide in panic. He struggled in Ranboo’s grasp, and Tommy began screaming too. His eyes stung as tears rapidly fell, struggling in Sapnap’s hold. He screamed until his throat was raw, spit wetting the gag as spit got everywhere.

Then, Jack went silent as a gunshot echoed throughout the factory. He made a few gurgles as he fell to the ground with a thump. Blood slowly created a puddle on the floor, Jack’s expression still etched with terror but with a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. Ranboo trembled as he dropped Jack to the ground, clothes stained with blood.

Tommy forced himself to stop screaming in case he was neck, but the terror never left his body as he shook so hard his teeth would’ve clattered if he didn’t have the gag in his mouth. He spared a glance at Wilbur.

He looked terrified. Tommy’s heart fell into his gut.

Tommy looked back at Dre and George, whose expressions were blank as if a man didn’t just die in front of them.

And Eret’s fucking eyes were still on their fucking shoes like the shoes were the most fucking interesting thing in the fucking world.

“Ranboo,” George said after a few seconds of silence, as if he enjoyed letting the terror seep into Wilbur and Tommy. “Can you drag his body out? I don’t want it stinking up the place.”

Dre sighed. “You’re so nit-picky, George.”

George rolled his eyes. “Well do you want to smell the body?”

Dre sniffed. “No, not really.” He glared half-heartedly at George. “Did you have to shoot him?”

“Well he wouldn’t shut up. You said he didn’t need him.” George looked at Ranboo’s stiff body that still stood there shaking. “Go, Ranboo.”

Ranboo yelped and quickly began dragging Jack’s lifeless corpse out of the room.

Dre took a few steps forward. “You can let them go, Sapnap. I doubt they’re stupid enough to run.” He looked at Wilbur, eyes narrowed. “Especially this one. You can take off his gag, too.”

Sapnap promptly took off Wilbur’s gag and scurried to sit on top of the cardboard boxes next to George. His eyes shone with bloodlust and Tommy resisted the urge to vomit.

Wilbur spat blood on Dre’s shoes. “Fuck you,” he rasped.

“That’s not nice, Wilbur,” said Dre, as if he was chastising a child.

“How- How do you know my name?” demanded Wilbur. His eyes landed on Eret. “Was it you?”

Dre sighed. “No, no, it wasn’t Eret. I know a lot of things about you, Wilbur.” He gestured to Tommy. “I didn’t know you had picked up babysitting as a side hustle.”

“I don’t know him,” quickly lied Wilbur. “Never seen him in my life until yesterday. I don’t even know his name.”

Sapnap roared with laughter like a hyena. “That’s some bullshit! You were screaming”-he raised his voice an octave into a mocking, british accent-”’Tommy! Oh Tommy!”

George and Dre joined his laughter. Tommy’s face burned and Wilbur looked much, much more murderous.

“What do you want,” Wilbur bit out. “Food? Medical supplies?”

Dre shook his head, tsk’ing. “Look around, Wilbur! Does it look like we need fucking supplies? Use that pretty head of yours.”

“I. Don’t. Know.” Wilbur coughed, blood dribbling from his mouth.

Dre turned to Tommy. “Do you know who you’re traveling with, Tommy?”

Tommy didn’t move nor did he attempt to speak around the gag.

“Oh! I’m sorry.” Dre quickly strode over to ungag Tommy.

Tommy snapped at him as hard as he could, attempting to bite off his finger.

Dre laughed, like a child on Christmas, as he danced away from Tommy. “Ooo! He bites!” He looked at Wilbur teasingly. “I didn’t realize you adopted a pet, Wilbur.”

Wilbur looked away.

“Fu- Fuck. . .” Words were mixed up, swarming together like a giant pot of soup in his brain, but if Tommy knew any words, they were curse words. “Fuck, prick, shit, fucking pussy.”

“Wilbur!” Dre gasped mockingly. “Please teach your child to not use such naughty language.”

Wilbur grinded his teeth together. “Just tell me what you want.”

“Tommy, I asked you a few seconds ago: Do you have any idea who you’re traveling with?”

Tommy glared daggers. “Does. . . Does it fuckin’ m- matter?”

“I think it does,” hummed Dre. “I’ll tell you about Wilbur, then! See if he’s darling big brother after that.”

Tommy and Wilbur both stayed silent.

“Before this whole apocalypse thing began, did you know Wilbur was in prison?”

Tommy’s gaze snapped to Wilbur who was pointedly avoiding Wilbur’s gaze. “You’re lying,” he said firmly.

“No! No! I’m not!” insisted Dre. “That doesn’t really matter. It’s not relevant to what I want.” He took a step forwards to Wilbur, grabbing a handful of hair and yanking him slightly down so they were perfectly eye level. “What I want, is revenge.”

Wilbur spit right in Dre’s face and Tommy resisted the urge to cheer him on.

Dre didn’t even react and just allowed the spit to drip down his dried lips. Gross motherfucker. He was creepy with that dumb mask too. “Your father owes me some shit, Wilbur. And you’re the perfect bargaining chip.”

Wilbur scoffed. “Phil doesn’t care about shit. I’m not the bargaining chip you need.”

“That’s such a load of bullshit,” snapped Dre. “And you know it.”

“No, he really doesn’t care. Why do you think I’m alone? The old man couldn’t give two shits.”

“. . . I’m not gonna argue that, for that’s not the point of discussion; your old man is a shitbag. Scammed me out of tons of supplies and ammo, KILLED one of my men, and- and-” Dre shook his head. “I don’t need to share all the details. But you should know more than anybody else how heartless Phil is- except you, Wilbur.”

Wilbur shook his head. “You’re wrong. Phil doesn’t care.”

“And now you’re lying for the old man!” Dre raised his hands, taking a few paces back. “That’s fine. I have other ways of getting information out of you.”

Wilbur began pulling at his ropes, panic filling his body. “I’m telling you, I don’t fucking know anything!”

Dre swiftly pulled a gun out of his holster, pointing it straight at Tommy. “Come on, Wilbur.” His smile was disgusting. This was no man.

This whole group of psychopaths were animals. They were no better than the zombies crawling around outside. They were the monsters. There wasn’t a sliver of humanity in any of their eyes and the smile on Dre’s face - it was disgusting.

Tommy stared down the barrel of the gun, trying to still his trembling body. He stayed silent in fear of setting the man off, just staring down his fate.

His life was in Wilbur’s hands.

Wilbur promised him they’d make it out. He promised.

“Stop!” Wilbur darted in front of Tommy, covering him with his much larger body and looked at Dre with the expression of a wild animal. “Leave him alone. Shoot me, kill me, do anything you want with me- he’s- he’s just a kid. I’ll do anything.” His voice cracked at the end, stabbing Tommy’s heart.

“Oh Wilbur,” Dre’s eyes softened, almost mockingly. “You don’t get to make the choices here.”

Dre’s gaze flitted from Wilbur as he winded around him to Tommy, but his body froze as he looked over Tommy’s right shoulder. He fired the gun, the bang echoing throughout the factory. “Sapnap, George, get over here!’ he barked.

The two stumbled to their feet, guns in hand as they hurried over to Dre’s side. “What?” asked Sapnap.

“Do you see something?” George squinted his eyes, looking around.

Tommy looked over at Eret again, but they were finally looking at Tommy.

He could see the regret in their eyes and Tommy’s heart squeezed. If he was in Eret’s position, would he do the same? Would he sacrifice other’s lives for his own selfish gain? He found himself sympathizing, even if his mind screamed cusses and ‘filthy traitor.’

“Get out of hiding!” shouted Dre. “I see you.”

Slowly, somebody moved out of the shadows.

Ranboo held his hands up behind his head, eyes wide and filled with panic. Somebody much shorter was at his side, gun stretched up and pointed right at his head. Tommy squinted, eyes still unfocused.

It was Niki.

Niki was fucking there to save them.

“Step away from the boy,” called out Niki, shoving the barrel of the gun further into the side of Ranboos’ head. “Or I fucking shoot.”

When was Niki such a badass?

“Sapnap!” yelled Dre.

Sapnap pulled out his gun to fire at Niki until she pulled Ranboo in front of her as a shield. “Bitch!” he snarled. “she’s using him as a shield.”

“Are there more of them?” muttered George. “She couldn’t have possibly shown up alone, has she?”

Tommy looked to his side. Wilbur wasn’t there. His blood ran ice cold as he looked around wildly. Where did Wilbur go? He looked around wildly until he saw Wilbur creep slowly behind the cardboard boxes. He was escaping.

Without Tommy.

Tommy averted his gaze. At least one of them should escape. To not draw attention to Wilbur, he kept his attention to Niki holding the gun to Ranboo’s head. Poor kid. Probably accidentally got roped into all of this.

Niki kicked the back of Ranboo’s knees, falling to the ground on his knees until she was level with the back of him and could see his face. Sapnap’s gun was still trained directly at her as her gun was dug into the back of Ranboo’s head, buried in his mop of split-colored hair. “You shoot, I shoot!” She yelled.

It was silent. Nobody dared to move as the two groups’ gears turned in their heads. Obviously, they held some level of value for Ranboo or else they’d let him die. Niki somehow knew that and was using that to her advantage.

Or this was entirely a roulette to her and she guessed like a mad woman. Tommy couldn’t help but admire that about her. He thought she was all sweetness like candy, but she just proved him wrong.

If he makes it out of this alive, he’s going to make it up to her.

Before anybody could make any sort of negotiations, another gunshot rang out and Tommy nearly jumped out of his skin, eyes flitting around wildly.

Somebody next to him screamed, and Tommy looked over in horror to see George curled up on the floor, screaming and writhing around on the ground like a bug. Dre let out his own horrified screech, falling to the ground over George, panickedly screaming out things Tommy couldn’t catch. Before he could react, yet another gunshot rang out and Sapnap fell to the ground with a gurgle. Blood spilled out of his mouth like a waterfall as he fell to the ground. Blood gathered in the front of his white t-shirt and puddled around the ground. He twitched before his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

Tommy fell to his knees, vomiting. Not another death. Not another one.

Not another one not another one notanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronevnotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronevvnotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotheronenotanotherone-

“Tommy!”

Somebody grabbed him by his elbow, pulling him to his feet as the world spun around him. The room smelt like shit and piss and vomit and blood and bile once again rose in his throat. He coughed, bile trickling down his throat.

“Tommy, focus god damn it, we have to get out of here!”

Sharp, stinging pain bloomed across his cheek as he was pulled back to his thoughts. He blinked, realizing his hands were freed, and he brought a hand up to his cheek. He was slapped. Wilbur was in front of him, hands on his shoulders with a worried expression. Blood splattered on his face. It wasn’t his blood. That was the man he shot.

Tommy looked around. Dre was writhing in pain, face beaten bloody and swollen like a blackberry. Sapnap and George were bleeding profusely on the floor. Eret was wiping their bruised knuckles, nodding to Tommy before his gaze fell on Niki, who was no longer holding a gun to Ranboo and was now tying his hands together.

“You-” Tommy coughed. “You-”

“Shh.” Wilbur ran a hand through Tommy’s hair. “Conserve your energy. We’re going to head back, okay? Hold on a bit, alright?”

Tommy was too drained to argue, so he nodded and tried avoiding the bodies all around.

He will never be able to forget the smell of death.

As the men turned to leave, a weak voice rasped out from the floor:

“You will regret this.” Dre coughed as Eret brought their foot down on Dre’s stomach. “I’ll never forget this.”

Wilbur’s stone cold gaze fell on Dre, expression like he was looking at a bug and Tommy decided he didn’t want Wilbur to have that expression ever again. “Good,” he said softly, before looking at Eret. “Come on. We can talk later.”

Eret nodded, delivering one more swift kick before he promptly pushed ahead and started walking out of the warehouse.

Wilbur pulled Tommy closer as he gave Niki a small, grim smile. Eret went up to Niki, giving her a curt nod as they took hold of Ranboo for Niki who suddenly looked very, very exhausted.

When they walked outside, it was dark and the moon was high in the sky. Wilbur furrowed his brows, looking at Niki. “How long were we gone?”

“All day,” she replied. “Puffy wanted me to wait another day but I- I couldn’t.”

Wilbur cursed. “Well now she’s probably wondering where you are.”

Niki’s eyes went wide. “Oh, shit, I didn’t even-”

Wilbur chuckled, squeezing her shoulder with his free hand. “Hey, you were pretty cool back there. Thanks for saving our lives, Niki.”

Niki ducked her head, face flushing a bright pink. “It was nothing.” She wrung her hands together.

Any other time Tommy would laugh, poking fun at her embarrassment, but his brain couldn’t stop replaying their dead bodies on the floor. Men were shot and killed because he didn’t notice the trap in time. Because him and Wilbur decided to stay to rob these people who ended up saving their lives.

Wilbur seemed to have noticed his internal conflict, because he pulled him even closer with his arm around Tommy’s shoulder.

How much of it was feigned to keep up the big brother-little brother facade?

Wilbur and Niki shared a hushed conversation, whilst Eret, Tommy, and Ranboo walked in complete silence. Tommy spared a glance out of the corner of his eye. He felt bad for the kid. His heart squeezed painfully whenever he looked at him.

“Hold,” said Wilbur. “Look.”

Everybody looked to where Wilbur was pointing; there was a small gathering of zombies on the way to the base where Puffy was at. Niki gnawed at her lip. “What should we do?” she whispered. “If we shoot them, it’ll only draw more in.”

Ranboo made a small whimper and Tommy gave him a look of pity. He was tied up, if it came down to it he couldn’t defend himself. Ranboo made eye contact with him and Tommy attempted a small smile. Ranboo immediately looked away and Tommy flushed in embarrassment.

“Is there a back entrance?” Asked Wilbur.

“No,” said Niki.

Eret interjected, “Yeah.”

Niki glanced at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Huh?”

Eret kept their face devoid of any obvious emotion, monotone as they spoke, “when I was, uh, feeding them information at night, I needed a way to leave without any obvious path. On the roof there’s this pipe and it goes down into the ventilation system. We can go down that.”

“Duly noted,” muttered Niki as she glanced at Tommy and Wilbur. “Are you two good enough to climb a building?”

Wilbur shrugged. “We’ll have to be if we don’t want to deal with that mess.”

Eret led the group to the back of the building, gesturing vaguely to a rope that hung off the edge and a dumpster. They clambered on top before freezing. “What do we do about this guy?” They jabbed their thumb at Ranboo who flushed pink, but stayed silent.

Niki promptly cut the ropes off his wrists, but kept a firm hand wrapped around his forearm. “I don’t think he’ll be making any escape attempts.” She looked at Ranboo who began rapidly shaking his head yes. “See?”

Eret stared at Ranboo for a few seconds before shrugging and extending their hand to Wilbur. Wilbur gratefully accepted it, groaning at the exertion due to his injuries. Wilbur reached for Tommy, who received a boost from Niki. He flushed from the help from a much smaller girl, but after a burst of pain seared through him he decided it wasn’t time for any unearthed toxic masculinity to emerge.

Last to climb on was Niki after she nudged Ranboo to climb on top. He needed no help as he practically was the same height as the dumpster. Was this kid fed steroids or something? What was in his water?

“Now the rope,” said Eret. “It’s tied, don’t worry. The worst part is heaving yourself up.”

Niki glanced worriedly at Wilbur and Tommy. “Can you handle it?”

Tommy slurred, “of fucking course I can!”

“Why doesn’t he hold on and Wilbur and I pull him up?” proposed Eret.

“Like I’m gonna fucking trust you to pull me up,” snapped Tommy.

Wilbur interjected, “that sounds great, thanks.”

Eret nodded, obviously discouraged from Tommy’s sharp words, but he swiftly started up the rope and waited on top of the roof.

“You got this,” whispered Wilbur.

Tommy glared. “Why you fuckin’ babying me all of tha sudden? Fu’k off man!”

Wilbur didn’t respond as he grabbed onto the rope. He took sharp intakes of breath every time he heaved himself up, the rope burning into the calloused palms of his hands. As he finally made it up, he coughed and shook his head.

“You good?” Asked Eret.

Wilbur avoided looking at Eret. “Let’s just get everybody else up, yeah?”

Tommy grabbed onto the rope, standing there awkwardly as Wilbur and Eret grabbed hold of the rope.

“You ready?” Called Wilbur.

“Yeah, just get it over with, big man!” snapped Tommy. He just desperately wanted a nap.

Tommy was nearly knocked over as the rope suddenly began heaved. Tommy quickly latched his legs around the rope, holding on for dear life as he was slowly pulled up. Wilbur gasped every so often, presumably in pain, but Eret simply breathed in exertion. After a few moments, Tommy clambered up as Wilbur pulled him up to his feet. Tommy caught his breath, simply the exertion of holding onto the rope hurting him.

Niki and Ranboo later follow suit as Eret led them down the ventilation system until they finally entered the building.

Puffy was sat at a table in the center, head in her hands as she muttered to herself.

Niki called out, “Puffy!”

Puffy jolted, looking up with a hopeful expression. Her eyes widened and she jumped to her feet, racing to the group as she grabbed hold of Niki’s hands. “You made it back!” Her eyes flickered across the group. “And you brought somebody.”

“He’s Ranboo,” gruffly introduced Wilbur.

Puffy looked Wilbur and Tommy over. Pity filled her eyes and Tommy resisted the urge to scream at her to not pity him. “You two look. . . You need to get check out ASAP.” She paused in her movements. “Say. . . Didn’t Jack go with you as well? Where is he?”

Silence fell.

“Where’s Jack?” Repeated Puffy, this time slightly louder.

Eret spoke. “He died.”

Tommy winced at the bluntness. “You could’ve- You could’ve-” he gave up on his sentence. The stuttering and the pain in his head was too much.

Puffy’s eye twitched. “He what?”

Eret looked away.

Niki spoke up, “Wilbur, Tommy, Eret, and Jack were ambushed by some men. Five to be exact. Three of them were killed, but I’m not sure where the other two are; they were gone when I arrived.” She gestured to Ranboo. “Ranboo here was some sort of henchman and helped tied up our men.”

“And you brought him here?” Questioned Puffy.

“We can’t just kill him,” said Wilbur. “He looks only a little older than Tommy.”

“And,” Niki took a shaky breath. “And Eret was the one who led them to our location. The reason our group was ambushed.”

An uncharacteristic rage replaced Puffy’s normally calm features. She whirled on Eret, eyes wide with anger. “He fucking what?”

“I have nothing to defend myself with,” they softly said. “I was promised supplies in exchange for information.”

“And you gave it to them?” Shrieked Puffy. “You- you traitor!”

Tommy’s hands raised to his head. Wilbur covered Tommy’s hands that were over his ears, blocking even more noise out. “I think Tommy is concussed,” said Wilbur. “Can we please refrain from shouting.”

Puffy glared at Eret and Ranboo. “Niki can you handle these two while I look Wilbur and Tommy over?”

“Check Tommy first,” insisted Wilbur. “I’m fine, really. Just a bit bruised. I can watch these two with Niki. I don’t want her alone with them.”

Niki bristled. “I can handle myself fine.”

“Just in case,” said Wilbur.

Puffy pointed at Wilbur. “Okay, but you’re getting checked after Tommy, mister.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” and Wilbur gave her a mock salute.

Puffy stared at him blankly, but she took Tommy from Wilbur and slowly guided him near one of the windows and sat him down at a table.

“Okay, Tommy,” she softly said. “I’m going to check you for a concussion and then I’ll tend to your wounds, okay?”

Tommy only hummed a response.

“You can sleep later,” she told him and Tommy perked up at that. Finally.

Puffy did a few tests; checked his vision, had him say the alphabet, asked questions about his memory until she ultimately confirmed he had a small concussion. She promised it’ll get better after a week and it won’t be too bad for long and that it’s the worst on the first day.

Tommy would probably end up forgetting later due to his spotty memory at the moment, but he nodded with a sleepy mumble and drifted off in his empty mind as she quietly tended to his injuries. Tommy lolled his head, looking over to see Wilbur staring right at him. What was he thinking?

His arm began to stung and Tommy gasped, looking down. Puffy looked up apologetically. “Sorry, I need to clean these cuts.” Tommy grimaced and looked away once more.

After a few minutes, Puffy patted Tommy’s knee. “All better. Let’s get you to rest, bud.”

“Wh’ about W’lbur?”

“Your big brother will be right out here,” she said as she guided Tommy to his room. “Lay down. We’ll be back in a second, alright?”

Tommy had no energy to argue, simply allowing himself to be guided inside of his sleeping bag and promptly passed out.

Tommy was woken up by the door quietly opening and shutting with a squeak and a firm click. His vision wasn’t as blurry as before when his eyes fluttered open, squinting. It wasn’t as dark as it was last night, which hinted to him it was starting to become morning.

In walked in Wilbur, shed of his coat and instead wore a simple t-shirt and jeans. Man, Tommy has never seen Wilbur without that jacket. Tommy chuckled to himself. It’s gotta reek. “Wilbur?” murmured Tommy, rubbing at his eyes sleepily.

“Tommy?” whispered Wilbur. “Shit. Did I wake you up?”

“Yeah,” admitted Tommy.

“Oh fuck, sorry. Go back to sleep.”

Tommy shifted into a sitting position. “It’s fine. I feel better now.”

Wilbur sat down on his sleeping bag. “That’s good.”

“What happened while I was, uh, asleep?”

“There was some arguing. . .” Wilbur rubbed the back of his neck. “We were arguing about what to do with Ranboo and Eret. Puffy wanted to give them both a second chance but Niki wanted to throw them out.”

“. . . and what did you want to do?” Slowly asked Tommy.

Wilbur took his bottom lip between his teeth, gently chewing at the peeling, dry skin. “I didn’t think my opinion’d matter to much, but I said to give them a second chance.” He looked at Tommy who stayed quiet and didn’t reply. “You disagree?”

Tommy shook his head. “No.” He gave Wilbur a small, bashful smile. “I was kinda hoping you’d say that. . . That Ranboo guy. His eyes are sad. And- And didn’t Eret help us escape? He can’t be that bad, can he?”

Wilbur’s expression was unreadable, but he didn’t look upset or angry so Tommy was pacified by that. “No,” he softly said. “He can’t be. I think- I think I would’ve done the same thing in his position.”

“Me too,” whispered Tommy.

A beat.

“Wilbur?”

“Yeah, Tommy?”

“Y- You know all that stuff uh- D- Dre said?” Tommy scratched at his hair, running a hand through the bloody locks as he searched for the right words to say. “About you being a criminal?”

Wilbur’s face fell. “Yeah?”

“I don’t care,” said Tommy firmly.

“You don’t?”

Tommy shook his head, scooting closer to Wilbur. “What you did in the past is none of my concern. I don’t care what you did, because I think you’re a good person. You saved me multiple times and- and I think you care about me. Even if you don’t want to. You do.” Tommy gave him a small, shaky smile. “And if I think you’re a good person, and all we need is each other, then I think you shouldn’t worry.”

Wilbur fell quiet, staring at his twiddling thumbs, mouth fallen open slightly as his eyes furrowed. Tommy opened his mouth to apologize, worried he said something weird or bad, that he had upset the man, but Wilbur snapped his head up. “Thanks, Tommy,” he said. His eyes were soft. “I was really worried back there. It’s- I never meant to pick up some fucking kid. If I’m being honest, I only dragged you along to use you to my advantage at first.”

Okay that kind of hurt.

“But- seeing those motherfuckers hurt you-”Wilbur’s fists clenched. “It took all I had to not beat them to death. I don’t know if that means I care about you. I certainly don’t love you, but- but I don’t want you hurt, okay Tommy? So can you take care of yourself, okay? So I don’t feel these- these icky emotions again?”

Tommy stared, jaw agape.

“Can you do that for me, Tommy?”

“Y- Yeah. I can, Wilbur. Of course. I care, too.”

Wilbur relaxed. “Good.” He looked around. “You should go back to sleep. It’s probably only around 5 A.M. I’ll tell you some more of what happened when you rest more, okay?”

“. . . Alright, Wilbur. Good night.”

Wilbur chuckled. “Good night, Tommy."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“What do you want?” Demanded Wilbur. “It’s early in the morning, I have to get back to Tommy.”

Niki sighed, running a hand through her fading pink locks. “That’s what I want to talk about.”

Wilbur froze. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re not brothers.”

“Huh?” stammered Wilbur. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Niki crossed her arms. “I’m not stupid. I know you two aren’t that close; it’s obvious.” She cheekily added, “you also slipped up. You said your mom died when you were young- how could Tommy have been born? Besides, that creepy masked guy exposed your lie by talking about that Phil person.”

Wilbur dropped his expression of confusion, stuffing his hands in his pocket and narrowing his eyes. “And what will you do with this information?”

“Nothing.”

“Why?” demanded Wilbur. “Blackmail? I don’t care enough. Tommy and I will leave if you want to blackmail us.”

Niki scoffed. “Knock your ego down a peg; I don’t care enough.” Her gaze softened. “But I do care about Tommy, and I want to know you won’t hurt him. He’s- He’s a good kid Wilbur. And I don’t know if you know what you’re doing.”

Wilbur stayed silent, eyebrow raised while he was waiting for Niki to finish talking.

“Today you proved you care about the boy, but you barely did it without me and Eret’s help. What if next time nobody helps? You won’t be able to save Tommy in the future if this is the path you're going down.”

“What are you getting that?” prompted Wilbur.

Niki pondered for a second. “Not anything, I suppose. Just letting you know.” She started walking back inside. “C’mon. It’s cold and I’d rather not gather any zombie’s attention.”

Wilbur stared at the stars twinkling in the sky before following Niki back inside.

Chapter Text

Before the apocalypse, Tommy was bullied in school.

It wasn't too terrible or anything - twelve year old's being twelve year old's - but it left a sour taste in his mouth and the hailstorm inside his brain made a racket with intrusive thoughts. Other than that, his family life was fantastic; a mother and father and his dogs. His grades were decent for a child, passing his classes but not excelling in particularly anything - he did try to pick up a musical instrument but his mother complained about the racket so he had to squeeze piano practice in the band room after school - and his main hobby was playing video games. 

His life lacked meaning.

Now, that's a lot to spout off about for a child; his parents moved to the United States for a job opportunity and he ended up in the south. Southern accents clashed with his northern British accent, his tastes in fish and chips rivaled grits and gumbo, and he was just different than all the other kids. 

It's selfish to say, because of all of the pain and death the apocalypse has caused, but Tommy can't help but stay grateful it occurred. It gave his life meaning and something to fight for besides algebra and finishing the new Legend of Zelda game. 

Staring at Jack Manifold's lifeless body yesterday revived a newfound guilt in him. It flashed in his mind whenever he blinked. The sounds of those men who kidnapped Tommy and his newfound group gurgling as they bled out on the floor. Looking at Dre's face swollen and as purple as a plum - Tommy actually hated plums - and his cheeks swelling to the size of grapefruits, hands twitching and eyes furious with tears pricking. 

Tommy's done enough upchucking the past few days to last a lifetime. 

Mirrors weren't exactly on hand the past few years, and one's appearance isn't on mind during the fucking apocalypse, but Tommy is sure he looks like shit. 

"Tommy, you look like shit," commented Wilbur as Tommy exited the room he was in, startled as he looked over to see Wilbur leaning against the wall and nursing a cigarette. The smoke filled Tommy's lungs unpleasantly, quickly taking his t-shirt to cover his nose and mouth and dramatically coughed.

He took a step away. "I didn't know you smoked that shit," he waved his hand to rid of the smoke in his vision. "Where'd you even get those?"

Wilbur pointed vaguely in some direction, but Tommy didn't care enough to bother looking for what Wilbur was pointing at. "Fundy grabbed some last night whilst we were uh- busy nearly dying. Ever the caring one." He took a long drag before holding the cigarette up to Tommy's face. "Want to try?"

Tommy slapped his hand away, the cigarette flying from Wilbur's hand and he quickly stomped it out. "You're not supposed to smoke indoors."

"Says who? The police?" Wilbur laughed dryly. "Fuck twelve. Besides, they're all dead or trying to save their own worthless skin right now."

"It's bad for you," weakly protested Tommy.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. "I don't need a fucking child nagging me." He avoided looking at Tommy as he furrowed his brows and looked towards the middle of the building, where Puffy, Fundy, Eret, Niki, and Ranboo gathered. Ranboo and Eret were sat down in chairs, while the rest of the group was standing in front of him with glaring expressions and icy stares. "Are they still arguing about Eret and Ranboo?"

Tommy immediately marched towards the group, ignoring Wilbur's protests as he rounded the shelves and stood behind Ranboo, placing a single hand on his shoulder. He ignored how violently the boy jumped at that.

"He's a traitor," grounded out Niki. "Throw him out to the zombies, I don't care."

Puffy sighed. "Niki I know that's not how you feel. You're just hurt." Puffy shook her head. "You're telling me in his position you wouldn't rat us out either?"

Fundy rubbed the back of his neck. "What's the point of keeping somebody around if they would? He could do it again."

Niki nodded earnestly. "See? Fundy agrees."

"What about Ranboo?" 

Everybody snapped their heads to Tommy and he suddenly felt very, very small. He resisted the urge to shrink back at the sight of icy cold glares settling on him. Queasiness rocked his body like waves in the ocean.

"What do you mean, Tommy?" softly prompted Puffy. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

Tommy threw his hands in the air. "All I've been doing for the past two days is resting"-Tommy's fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to throw the chair Ranboo sat on across the room-"and all you've been doing is arguing the same shit over and over." 

There was a beat of silence as Tommy's words fell upon them like a blanket, thick and heavy that could be cut with a knife. After a moment, Wilbur spoke up from a few paces away, new cigarette hanging from his mouth. "He's right, y'know," he said, long strides taken with his long legs as he settled beside Tommy once more. Wilbur brought out his lighter to light the new cigarette, cupping his hands. After he lit it, he gestured towards the group with a firm expression. "All you've done is argue. Make a decision, because you aren't getting anywhere."

"I don't know if it's your place to say that," quietly, but not weakly, said Puffy. 

Fundy played with a strand of auburn hair, sniffing nonchalantly. "As much as I dislike the guy"-Wilbur scoffed-"he's not wrong. We have to figure out something instead of sitting around arguing." 

A scratchy voice cleared their throat and rasped out, "m- may I say something?" 

Tommy's gaze flitted down in surprise to see Ranboo speak up. His adam's apple bobbed as he picked at his bleeding thumb, leg bouncing and jostling the flimsy chair he sat in. "You can throw me out to the uh- to the hoard, but . . ." Ranboo lifted his head, eyes level with Puffy. "But Eret had no choice."

"Ranboo," whispered Eret.

Ranboo ignored Eret, continuing to speak. "He wasn't getting information on you guys. He was getting information on- on Wilbur. He was promised that-" Tommy was impressed by how Ranboo's voice gradually grew stronger, the rasps fading and the stuttering clearing. "-in exchange for information on Wilbur, not only would you guys be safe, but he would get supplies! You were lied to." 

"Thanks, Ranboo," murmured Eret. "He's not lying for me. I- I thought-"

Puffy's face screwed up unpleasantly, lips pursed and nose scrunched up like she just smelt something bad. "And how do I know I'm not just saying this to save your own skins?"

Wilbur raised his hand slightly, palm facing Puffy with a quirk of his lip. "He's not lying," he said. "I was told to my face they only came after us for me."

Fundy bristled, abruptly standing up with a loud screech of his chair as he glared up at Wilbur from his much shorter stature. "So you're the reason Jack is dead?" Fundy's lip trembled, body shaking with an unearthed rage. "You're- You're telling me that- that this isn't Eret's fault or- or even Ranboo's. No, this is your fucking fault. If you weren't here, we'd be fine. We wouldn't be arguing, Jack wouldn't be dead, and Eret wouldn't be labeled as a traitor."

"Fundy, sit down," demanded Puffy. "I know you're angry, but let's-"

"No, Fundy's right," muttered Tommy bitterly. "We're the reason Jack is dead."

Puffy stared Wilbur, who stared right back unblinkingly. The bastard even had the audacity to take a drag of his cigarette, gaze still unbreaking. Her jaw clenched and unclenched, seemingly in a fight between thoughts and emotions. Her eyebrow twitched, furrowing slightly and her lip curled back. She took a deep breath as everybody watched her conjure up her next words. Whatever she said next, obviously determined the group's fate. "You should leave," she finally decided, eyes squeezing shut with a shaky breath. "I'll- I'll give you some supplies for the next few days, but you can't stay here anymore."

Wilbur nodded, facial expression not changing. "That's alright. Thank you for your hospitality."

"But Tommy can stay."

Tommy froze, eyes as wide as saucers as Puffy's demeanor changed once her gaze landed on Tommy. She looked akin to pity and Tommy bristled. He fucking despised pity and it was a one way ticket to get on his shit list. "You're injured and obviously Wilbur isn't good to look out for you. You're just a kid. You should stay here with us. We don't have- have psychopaths tracking us down for our crook father."

"Fuck off, I'm staying with Wilbur," snapped Tommy. "You can't make me do jack-shit, bitch."

"I agree with her," said Niki. "Wilbur was a criminal. You don't know what he's capable of--for god sake's Tommy, he could've been a fucking pedophile!"

Tommy didn't miss how Wilbur's hand slowly crawled to his holster and how he straightened his back out, eyes flashing. Tommy took a small step back from behind Ranboo's chair. The boy was trembling once more, eyes wide as they were trained on his bleeding hands in his lap. Eret was staring straight ahead, their expression blank as the two both stayed out of the argument; they were smart enough to realize the position they were in. "You don't know anything!" dictated Tommy. "You don't! You don't!"

He was met with pity. Enough with the fucking pity. Wilbur could be cold and an asshole and sometimes even over-the-top but he never, ever pitied Tommy. Tommy would rather roam this planet with a ticking timebomb and murderer than with a bunch of people who only served him pity and coddling actions. "You people don't even know Tommy," growled Wilbur. "Let us just get our shit and leave. This discussion has ended."

"And you know him?" calmly said Puffy. It unnerved Tommy how calm she remained. "Wilbur you're not as good of a liar as you think you are. You're not brothers. Tommy isn't- isn't ten or whatever you said he was. He's malnourished, Wilbur. He's traumatized. He's injured. Tell us, how long have you actually been with him?"

Wilbur swallowed, but he didn't make any other movements as he lowly and flatly replied, "a month."

Niki chortled. "A month." She sighed. "And in that month, the kid has been beaten, lied to, kidnapped, and his hair has thinned since he arrived. Sounds like a great guardian."

"Wilbur saved me," protested Tommy. "He saved me and has protected me and fed me and- and he's done more than you lot have"-he glowered at Puffy and Fundy"-Niki can argue, but what can you two say? You were going to let me and Wilbur die. Wilbur protected me there, too. And Fundy went out to look for f- fucking cigarettes. But Wilbur is the bad guy. Wilbur is irresponsible." Tommy held himself, nails digging into the skin of his arms and formed crescent moons of blood. "You can't say anything. Niki can. Niki tried. But not you two. Stop parading with your false sense of morality, you motherfuckin' fuckers."

Clapping rung out the store from beside Tommy and he didn't even need to look to know Wilbur was applauding his little outraged monologue. "Well said Tommy!" Wilbur placed a hand on his shoulder. "Now that he's said that, can we please leave before the sun goes down and you all look like even bigger assholes?"

Wilbur was responded to with silence, so he clasped his hands together with a sneering grin. "Thanks!" He slithered his hand across Tommy's shoulders as he began to guide him away to gather their things. 

Tommy pulled away, looking over at the group and landing on Ranboo. "What about him?" He pointed. "You never answered my question about Ranboo."

"Throw him out, I guess," said Niki.

"I- He can come with us!" Desperately cried out Tommy. "He- He's not okay. We can take him, right Wilbur?"

Like telling a child no to a puppy, Wilbur shook his head. "No. Come on Tommy-"

Tommy took a step back. "I'm not going with you unless Ranboo is coming."

Something about Wilbur that Tommy had learnt is that he doesn't take outside opinions well; criticism, arguments - any sort of outside opinion that differed from his own - pissed him off and had him turn into a different man. He'd get defensive, brash, angry, and would give Tommy nasty glares and sharp words. Tommy learnt to deal with it, knowing Wilbur didn't mean anything he says in the moment, but this time Tommy refuses to give in. 

Ranboo will die if he's thrown out.

"No, Tommy, he's not our responsibility." Wilbur's eyes hardened, eyebrow quirking up as if he was challenging Tommy to fight. "Now let's get our things and leave."

Fists clenching and unclenching, Tommy stood firmly where he was as he mustered up the nastiest glare he could at Wilbur. "Fuck you, Wilbur. He'll die if we leave him be."

"Then that's his problem"-Wilbur grabbed Tommy's arm, fingers digging into the already bruised skin. Panic filled his body, but he froze in place as to not let Wilbur know he scared him. "-and not ours. Now. Come. On." Wilbur yanked.

Tommy slipped from his grip. "I'll stay here," he threatened. "Then you'll be all alone. Wilbur, Ranboo's coming with us whether you like it or not. You're a selfish prick 'n you're just gonna let some kid not much older than me get eaten. Fuck you."

"You're being dramatic. You'll forget about him in a few days-" 

"-like hell I will!" 

THUMP! THUMP!

"I hate to ruin the, uh, mood?" Fundy stammered. "But we have company-" he shakily pointed to the boarded up entrance where zombies were throwing themselves and pawing at the doors to get in. "Our yelling was practically a dinner bell."

Wilbur grit his teeth and promptly stomped out his second cigarette of the day. "What a waste," he wistfully sighed. "Tommy, we'll discuss this later. We have bigger issues."

Puffy and Niki raced towards the doors that threatened to open at any second, backs pushing against it with heaving cries. "They'll open this up any second!" Cried out Niki.

"Fuck," cursed Wilbur as he raced to the girls to help keep the door shut.

CRASH

Glass flew everywhere at Wilbur, Niki, and Puffy's feet as a rotting hand punched through the glass with a snarl. Tommy yelped, eyes widening as more and more began punching through the glass. 

"How do they know how to do that?" Eret gasped. 

Ranboo looked at Tommy and Eret, eyebrows upturned in worry. "You- You didn't know?"

"The fuck you mean? Obviously whatever you're saying we don't know," snapped Tommy.

Ranboo wrung his hands together. "Some- Some of them have intelligence." Tommys' breath caught in his throat. Noticing his panic, Ranboo hastily added, "not all of them! Just a few abnormal ones have some level of intelligence. I- I've seen some open doors or use keys."

If it weren't for the direness of the situation, Tommy was sure he would've passed out right then and there. Sure, he's seen some weirdly strong zombies but he just figured it was because they were strong as humans. . . but for some to possess intelligence? "How is that possible?" he stammered, gaze flickering to Wilbur, Niki, and Puffy struggling to hold the doors shut whilst they discussed amongst themselves. 

Fundy stammered, "but they don't have brains."

CRASH!

Glass flew across the building as the four looked towards the three at the door. More were breaking in. 

"We have more important matters," snapped Eret. They immediately pulled their gun out of their holster and raced to help out the rest of the group.

Something cold and heavy was placed in Tommy's hands. Panic filled him as he stared down at the gun in his hands in horror. He looked at Eret's retreating form before looking at Fundy who was pulling out a machete. Ranboo looked equally horrified. "I suppose you, uh, you don't know how to use a gun, do you?"

Ranboo shook his head. "Do you?"

". . . I don't."

"It can't be that hard, right?" Said Tommy, before accidentally shooting at the shelf. He dropped the gun with a squeal. "I'll just grab one of Fundy's machetes!"

Not looking to see Ranboo's reaction, Tommy snatched one of the blades before racing to gather with the rest of the group. They had abandoned the doors in favor of pushing a bunch of chairs in front, but the door was pounding on and bashed against. Hands were grabbing out in the window as they continued to be smashed open. Tommy's gaze landed on Wilbur, whose arms absolutely dripped with dark red blood. His gun was pulled and he was shooting at the heads that ducked inside. Niki was pushing more and more objects in front of the door, while Puffy and Fundy sliced at hands that darted inside. 

How can Tommy make himself useful?

CRASH!

Blood-curdling screams filled his ears as the worst case scenario began unfolding in his eyes. A hand reached out, grabbing a handful of Niki's pink locks and yanked. With almost superhuman strength, her body was pulled through as glass sliced her entire body. Tommy let out his own horrified scream, as he stared at horror. Why isn't anybody fucking helping her? Everybody was just standing there uselessly as she screamed and struggled, cries filling the air.

Tommy shook his head to rid of his self-doubt and anxiety coursing through his veins; despite his body screaming at him to not move, stay safe and away from the giant hoard, Tommy dragged his feet. Like he suddenly moved into the eye of the hurricane, it was almost eerily calm as time seemed to slow down as Tommy ran as fast as he could towards the window. He dove towards her, grabbing ahold of Niki's leg and pulling as hard as he could. 

Something grabbed onto his shoulder, the smell of rot and blood filling his nostrils as he struggled at what grabbed him. He ignored it, continuing to try to pull Niki from the hoard. Screams of protest were behind him, but he had a tunnel vision right on Niki; he can't let her die like this. Alone in a hoard, bitten and mauled at with blood dripping everywhere. The thought of it nearly knocked Tommy on his ass. 

His shoulder was yanked at again as Tommy was pulled from the shattered window. He yelled in protest as Wilbur and Puffy worked to quickly cover the window up with boards and tall shelves. Tommy struggled and struggled and struggled. "Let me go!" He screamed, throat burning. "Let me go! She's still fucking out there! You fucking cowards."

Somebody was shushing him. He didn't want to be fucking shushed. He wanted to save her. He wanted Niki alive. He wanted the kind-hearted yet kickass of a woman to be at his side. He wanted to be five minutes before it suddenly went to shit because Tommy can't have fucking anything in his fucking life. Arms wrapped around his center as he was lowered to the floor, his legs flailing and kicking as he watched in horror as he could no longer see Niki's torn apart body due to Wilbur and Puffy obstructing the window. Niki's screams faded as all he heard was his blood roaring in his ears and his heart violently thumping in his chest.

Soft shushing lullabied in his ears, as if consoling a baby. Tommy wanted to whirl around and bang his fists against whoever was fucking grabbing onto him and bash them against the floor again and again. He wanted Niki back. She was kind. She was good. She was a bit harsh, but he could see she genuinely cared about his wellbeing. 

She was supposed to teach him Spanish.

Wilbur's entire body obstructed his vision as he knelt in front of Tommy. "Tommy," he said. 

"Wilbur," Tommy said.

Tommy weakly looked over his shoulder. He was sat between the long legs of Ranboo, whose arms were firm around his waist with a pained expression. "Let me go," he growled, but he made no movements to fight.

"Will you run out there again?" Ranboo asked.

Tommy shook his head. "No."

Ranboo let him go.

Tommy immediately darted to his feet, pushing past Wilbur and nearly knocking him on his ass as he raced towards the window. He has to retrieve her. He can't have another one. He has to.

Before he could make it too far, arms wrapped again him again. Tommy kicked and screamed and wailed and cried, pointing pathetically towards the window. "She's out there!" He screamed until his throat was sore and all he could make was raspy wails. "You fuckers!" 

Ranboo was pulling him back again, continuing his fucking shushing. It was taunting him. It was a taunt, ringing in his ears. Reminding him he was just some loud child throwing a tantrum. Tommy allowed himself to go limp, admitting defeat. He was handed off to Wilbur, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pressing him into his side. Tommy glared at his sneakers, covered in somebody's blood. 

"You all did nothing."

"I know, I know."

Tommy slowly moved his gaze to the crowd of people in front of him. Their expressions were remorseful and haunted. "You all have no right to look so upset," he snarled lowly. "You all did nothing."

He expected silence in response, but Puffy glared at Tommy. "She was already bitten as soon as she was grabbed. There was no point."

"You let her suffer," Tommy pointed accusingly. "You all are nothing but cowards and I hope you all rot in hell. You are the lowest of the low. You throw accusations, fight, call Wilbur a shitty guardian but you all let her die. You let her suffer. You are bad if you kill a person, but you are evil if you allow the deed to happen."

Eret spoke up before an argument could break out. "It doesn't matter now. She's dead." He made his way towards the back where the vent is. "We have to get out of here before we join Niki."

Wilbur's grip around Tommy tightened as he guided Tommy to the vent. He looked over his shoulder to see Ranboo and Fundy following behind, but Puffy's eyes were blown wide and staring at the zombie hoard. "Puffy?" Called out Fundy.

She didn't respond. 

"C'mon, you're gonna get left behind," tried Fundy again. "Let's go."

Puffy fell to her knees, eyes screwed shut as she began mumbling nonsense. The zombies continued to bang at the windows, the walls shaking from the pressure. Tommy stared helplessly at her as Wilbur continued to push him away from her. "Why is she just standing there?" He asked.

Wilbur softly replied, which was rather uncharacteristic. "I think she's given up."

Tommy attempted to pull away, but due to his injuries and exhaustion he was too weak to pull loose from Wilbur's iron grip. "Then we have to force her to come with us."

Fundy was slowly trailing behind the group, but his eyes never left Puffy as he was calling for her and attempting to reason. 

"She won't come," quietly said Ranboo. "When- When people get like that. . . it's basically committing suicide. She's lost it."

Fundy glared. "Shut up, patches-" Ranboo frowned at the white splotches on his arm. "-she's just a little upset. I'm gonna snap her out of it."

"God damn it," muttered Wilbur. "Fundy we're leaving you behind if you don't come with us right now. I don't know how much longer those boards will hold up."

"It'll only be a second. She just needs some coaxing-" Just as Fundy took a step forward, the boards snapped in half as a zombie barreled through the door like an American football player. "What the fuck?" He screamed. 

Wilbur hurried his pace, not even looking back as he dragged Tommy along with him. 

"Fuck that, she's on her own," cried out Fundy as he turned tail and ran to hurry with Tommy and Wilbur.

The last words they heard from Puffy as they clambered into the vent system was, "my little duckling! You've grown so much! Papa's missed you."

Those words will ring through Tommy's head for as long as he lives. 

As the group arrived to the top of the building, an orange hue casted across the town and a breeze bit at Tommy's cut and bruised skin. He shivered as the wind ruffled his hair like an older brother would. Wilbur shifted, blocking Tommy from the wind; he couldn't decide if it was intentional or not. 

"Oh fucking shit!" Gasped Fundy as he peered over the edge of the building. "That's- That's a lot of fucking zombies."

Tommy leaned away from Wilbur's grasp to follow Fundy's gaze. His heart dropped so far into his stomach he could shit it out. "Why- Why is there so many?"

Ranboo quietly said, "there was eight billion people on the planet. Every time somebody dies, a zombie is born; there could be a billion zombies in total. Maybe even more."

"The fuck?" Tommy shook his head. "You gotta be bitten. Are that many people getting bitten? Just don't get bit."

"You guys know less than I thought." Ranboo shook his head, eyes unblinking as he informed Tommy, "we're all infected."

Wilbur glowered at Ranboo. "You saved Tommy or whatever the fuck but you're on thin ice, Ranpoo. Don't scare us like that."

"It's Ranboo-" Ranboo sighed, shaking his head before continuing, "no, you don't get it. When you die you turn. That's it- the bite just speeds up the process. We're all- we're all infected."

Tommy's blood ran ice cold. "So- So it's inevitable?"

Fundy laughed dryly, eyes manic. "It's all futile, is what you're saying?" Fundy kicked at an invisible rock. "Fuck!"

"We can discuss this later," bit out Eret. "Did you all forget we're in the middle of a hoard?"

"Well, you got a plan then?" Tommy rolled his eyes. "We can't stand up here forever, genius."

Eret glared but they rubbed a hand over their face then through their hair, adjusting their sunglasses. "Get out of the city."

Wilbur snorted. "Yeah, I could figure that one out on my own."

Fundy, their bloody savior, spoke up, "if you guys can cover me, I can probably get one of these cars running," he said. "Before uh- Before all of this I was a computer guy and shit but my dad was a mechanic. I know some things."

"And what if it doesn't have gas?"

". . . we're fucked."

"So, you're just gonna force us to play- play Russian roulette?" spluttered Tommy. 

Eret consoled the younger. "That's why we'll . . ." Eret's gaze scowered the area. ". . .go for that car. Away from everybody else."

"And they'll still be focused on Puffy," morbidly added Wilbur.

He got a glare from the group for that. 

"We got a plan now," said Tommy. "Let's do this shit! Show them wrong'un zombies whose boss!"

"Atta boy," clapped Wilbur. "let's go. Tommy, stay close, got it?"

The gang lowered themselves off the building, padding quietly as they scurried to the car by the buildings. Fundy took some cords out of the trunks as the group formed a protective ring around the man as he went to work. Thankfully, the hoard didn't pay much attention due to the sounds and noises that emitted from the building they came from earlier and the smell of Puffy and Niki's corpses. 

After a few minutes of anxious waiting, thoughts racing through Tommy's minds with "what-ifs," the car roared to life. Tommy jolted, whirling around and staring at the van in amazement. The hoard groaned and moaned as their attention shifted to the growling car, the headlights flashing on. "Fundy!" cried out Tommy. "You fuckin' did it, big man!"

Fundy stared at the car in amazement, as if he didn't think he could do it either. Wilbur clapped Fundy on the back, moving past him as he threw all his things in the back and clambered into the driver's seat. "C'mon guys, you just gonna sit around?" He flicked his head towards the incoming hoard. "Unless you want to become dinner."

Tommy wasted no time as he scurried around the side into the passengers seat. Wilbur fondly patted his head and Tommy swatted it away. "My right hand man," remarked Wilbur. Tommy couldn't help but crack a smile. 

The van rocked slightly as everybody climbed in at once. Right behind Tommy sat Fundy and Ranboo, but in the very back next to the bags and supplies was Eret. 

"Get your seatbelts on," said Wilbur as he adjusted the mirror. 

"Fuckin' drive, man!" screeched Fundy, pressing his face against the window. "They're coming!"

Wilbur took his sweet time adjusting the windows as if he was on his daily commute to work. "It's not safe to drive without seatbelts and fixing your mirrors, Fundy," he chastised.

"Fuck this," muttered Tommy. He reached over, knocking Wilbur's leg to the side as he stretched his leg to slam his foot on the gas pedal, snatching the wheel. 

"Atta Tommy!" Called Eret from the back.

Wilbur jolted, pushing Tommy away as he gained control of the van. "That was so unsafe, man! We could've ran into the building!" he exclaimed as he slammed the gas pedal, the car crawling down the abandoned street and weaving between fallen posts and other dead cars. 

Tommy rolled down his window, the wind rustling his hair as he stuck his head out with a victorious hoot. "Take that you fuckin' nasty motherfuckers!" He yelled out. "Nothin' can kill Tommy Danger Innit!"

Everybody else joined in on Tommy's victory screech, hollering and blurting out every curse word they could imagine. 

"This was a win we needed," softly said Ranboo after the crowd quieted down. 

Wilbur looked at Ranboo from the mirror as he gave up on forcing the smile that crept up on his face to go away. "It was," he said. He winked at Ranboo before focusing on the road again. "Add this moment to your biographies after this is all over, yeah?"

Tommy pressed the radio button. Nothing. "It was worth a try," he muttered, leaning back in his seat and rolling back up his window. 

"How long are we going to drive?" Asked Fundy. "I don't know how long this car'll last."

Wilbur shrugged. "Until it stops driving, I guess. We can sleep in the car if it's pitch black out when it dies."

Before silence could fill the van, Tommy spoke up, "So, Eret, Fundy, Ranboo- what'd you guys do before all this? Tell me about yourselves. We're like- We just survived something together. We've bonded, fellas."

Eret chuckled, the first to reply, "I was the son of the mayor of Los Angelos. My mother was a business woman from the U.K., but I've lived in California for most of my life. I was attending university for International Relations before, uh, this began. Fundy and I are around the same age and befriended each other pretty quickly at the beginning of this." He looked at Fundy, a small smile tugging at his cut up lips. "A few years now, I guess."

Tommy hummed. "That's good to hear. What'd you do, Fundy?"

"I'm from the Netherlands," he said.

"You're both far away from home," commented Wilbur, drumming his fingers against the wheel.

Fundy shrugged. "Like the rest of here I came for university. Dad was a mechanic like I said. Didn't know much about my mom. I ended up dropping out though," he chuckled. "Before all of this I was just- just kinda lazing around all day in my parent's basement."

"I know exactly how you feel," sighed Wilbur. His gaze shifted to the mirror. "What about you Ranboo? You're awfully quiet."

Ranboo hesitated before softly saying, "I don't remember."

Tommy scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. "The fuck you mean you don't remember?"

Ranboo looked at Tommy, shaking his head with desperation swirling inside his eyes. "I- I have amnesia. It's how I ran into. . . that group I was in."

Tommy clicked his tongue, feeling bad for him. "Did they save you?"

". . . yeah." Ranboo shook his head. "Now I realize they were just taking advantage of my memory loss. I don't remember my name or- or my parents, or where I'm from-" Ranboo scrubbed at his eyes, voice cracking. "They just called me Ranboo and I went along with it. I just know I'm like. . . around seventeen. That I'm not even sure. It's just speculation."

Wilbur's lips downturned, eyes flickering back to the road with a solemn expression. "That's alright. Maybe it's for the best."

Ranboo didn't respond. 

Desperate to prevent the quiet overtake the vehicle, Tommy loudly said, "well, I am fourteen years old and I moved here because of my parents! I had a mom, a dad, and two dogs. I lived-" Tommy bit at his lip, squeezing his eyes shut as he thought. "-I think south of here. Around San Antonio, I think."

Eret hummed. "You've traveled pretty far for a kid," they said. "We're near Louisiana, I think."

"How'd you end up so far from California?" Asked Wilbur.

Eret chuckled, holding up his hands. "Sounds crazy, but by helicopter."

Wilbur looked behind him for a second, letting out a small, shocked bark of laughter. Tommy cackled and Fundy chuckled long. Fundy backed him up. "Yeah, that's actually how I met the guy!"

Tommy wheezed. "How the fuck did you get a helicopter? Are you one of those rich Hollywood people?"

"It was stolen."

The wheezes in the car only continued. "Did you steal it?" Questioned Wilbur. "Do- Do you know how to fly a fucking helicopter?"

"I don't!" 

Tommy struggled to catch his breath as he prompted further, "then how did you get on a helicopter?"

Eret grinned. "Okay, so, me and a bunch of other friends were running from our university because we had an outbreak there. We were taking shelter there for a few days before we said, 'fuck this' and our buddies ran and ran. Eventually we just ended up at some random, abandoned hospital and there was just a helicopter up there."

"And your friends knew how to fly a helicopter?"

"Well, one of them flew a helicopter in GTA."

Tommy was thrown into another wheezing, guffawing fit of laughter as he nearly hit his head against the window from his body seizing up with giggles. "So you guys just guessed?"

"Then it crashed!"

Wilbur looked at them incredulously. "And you survived that?"

Fundy nodded. "Dude! I saw it crash. I ran over to check if they were okay."

". . . I was the only survivor," Eret quietly said. Hastily, he added, "but me and Fundy stuck with each other ever since."

Tommy calmed down, smiling weakly at the men behind him. "Crazy first few days to this shit ordeal, huh?"

Fundy tilted his head. "What about you Tommy?"

Tommy blinked. "Huh?"

"What was your first few days like?"

Tommy's upbeat attitude suddenly vanished as memories flooded his brain. He looked away.

Fundy spluttered as he added on, "you don't have to! I realized that was-"

"Nah," softly said Tommy. "It's alright. Not- uh- not much happened. That's all."

The car didn't respond and Tommy decided to finally let the silence fall. Crickets, owls, and other creatures sounded out as they drove, the hum of the wheels turning against cracked pavement almost like a lullaby to Tommy's ears. Tommy didn't like the silence. He would start thinking. And if he was thinking-

"SAM! SAM! Get up!" 

Tommy clasped his hands over his ears, bile rising in his throat. Not again- Tommy keep your fucking stomach down- His arms were jello as he squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his fists against his skull. Shutupshutupshutupshutup.

It's your fault, Tommy.

You let them die.

Forests were beautiful during sunrise. The orange glow casting across the pinewood trees, purple trickled across the sky as it turned a pleasant baby blue. Darkness fading, light shadows casted across as the canopy above looked slightly less intimidating due to the welcomed light. Tommy drank in the sunlight eagerly, soaking it up like a sponge in water. 

"Wilbur?" Said Eret. 

"Yeah?" Wilbur said, purple eyebags pulling underneath his bottom lashline. He didn't even look back to answer, eyes tiredly trained on the road through the forest. They'd been driving all night. Others volunteered to drive, but stubborn Wilbur insisted he was alright. 

Eret tapped against the window. "Can you pull over?"

"Bathroom break?"

"Something like that."

Tommy kept himself leaned back in his seat, still tired despite sleeping in the car. Nightmares plagued him all throughout his sleep and if anybody noticed, they hadn't said anything. 

In the back, Fundy had just woken up by Ranboo stayed fast asleep. Nobody did anything about it; the kid probably needed the rest. They don't know entirely what he's been through, but it's most likely been a fuck ton. 

Wilbur pulled over to the side and Fundy and Eret both immediately climbed out. To Tommy's surprise, Eret also pulled out his bag. "What are you doing?" Questioned Tommy.

Eret sighed as Fundy went around the car to Eret's side. "This is the end," he said. Fundy had the decency to look upset. "We're gonna go our separate paths."

"Huh?" Tommy stammered. "You're- You're leaving?" 

Fundy rubbed the back of his neck. "You guys are cool and all but. . . we aren't meant to be in this group."

Wilbur shrugged. "That's fine. We all have our reasons; I won't force you all to speak about your past further and demand you to stay." He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. "I wish you both luck."

"You're not gonna say bye to Ranboo?" protested Tommy.

"We barely know the kid," said Eret. "besides, let him sleep."

Tommy frowned. "So, this is goodbye."

Fundy tried to give Tommy a comforting smile as he slid his backpack on. "If it's meant to be, we'll meet again."

"'if it's meant to be,'" mocked Tommy. "Maybe my foot is meant to be up your ass!"

Eret chuckled. "We won't forget you two. Especially Tommy."

Wilbur ran his hand through his hair. "I don't think anybody could forget Tommy."

"We should get going. Day time seems long until it's not," said Fundy.

". . . bye," said Tommy.

Fundy and Eret waved as they shut the doors to the car. 

Wilbur waved before promptly starting the car again.

Tommy watched Fundy and Eret's forms disappear into the forest as they drove away, face pressed against the window as the two men continued to wave. Tommy continued staring long after they left the two behind, Ranboo softly snoring and Wilbur softly humming in the background. 

Chapter Text

It was apparent almost immediately that there was a lack of two presences in the car; even though Fundy and Eret weren't the most talkative, their interjections and chuckles from the back - even despite Eret's betrayal - furthered the warm bloom inside of Tommy's chest. The rest of the trip was silent save for Wilbur's humming, Ranboo's snoring, and Tommy rustling around in his seat (he always had trouble sitting still). 

The car jolted to a halt, nearly causing Tommy to bang his head against the window with a small squeal. He looked over at Wilbur accusingly. "I was about to fall asleep again, man," he complained. "I didn't sleep well all night-"

Wilbur sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Well, the car's out of gas, so you won't be getting sleep either way." Flicking an eyebrow towards Tommy, he lifted his hands in an upward motion towards Tommy leaning back in his seat. "C'mon, let's go. Wake up Ranboo while I figure out where we are, yeah?"

Tommy grumbled, grumpily unbuckling his seatbelt with a click as he turned around in his chair. Not even bothering to get up fully, Tommy clambered half-way over the seat and began shaking Ranboo. "Get up, bitch!" 

It only took a few firm shakes to wake him up, Ranboo's eyes flying open with a gasp. Tommy eyed the mask. "You ever gonna take that off, man? That thing can't be comfortable to sleep in." 

Almost as if it was instinctual, Ranboo's hands flew up to his mask, gripping the fabric tightly and looked at Tommy with fear. "No!" He loudly said. He flushed and then hastily add, "it doesn't bother me. I forget it's there."

Tommy's lips quirked downwards at the implications that Ranboo thought Tommy was going to rip the mask off. He shook his head and leaned back into his seat, his body cramping up at his position half-way over the seat. Continuing to angle his body towards the fellow teenager, Tommy rubbed at his eyes. "This is as far as we're going, big lad." 

Ranboo looked around with a furrowed brow. "Where'd everybody go?"

Inside of his chest Tommy's heart squeezed. "Wilbur's just outside looking around," he said uncharacteristically soft.

"And Fundy and Eret?"

"They uh- they left. They said they had to go, I dunno why." Tommy sniffed. "Personal business, I guess."

Kissing his teeth, Ranboo nodded solemnly. "That's alright. I didn't know them well, anyway. Things happen." Ranboo reached over and unbuckled his seatbelt before throwing the car door open. "Let's get our things then, I suppose."

Tommy sighed, the idea of moving at all filled him with dread. He hadn't lied to Wilbur when he said he barely rested. He slept all night, sure, but it wasn't good sleep. Nightmares plagued his night, images burned into his mind of blood and guts and-

"You coming, Tommy?" Said Ranboo through the glass, tapping at it.

Mustering a shaky smile, Tommy nodded and swiftly got out of the car to the trunk. 

Tommy grabbed his and Wilbur's bags, eying Ranboo's small drawstring bag. The air was cool and the leaves were changing to a burnt orange and began to decorate the grassy, fauna floored forest with fallen leaves and acorns. It was a warning of the future cold weather, signaling the harsh weather of what was to come. 

Before the apocalypse, Tommy adored winter. Not so much after he saw a woman die of hypothermia, fingers turning black. Lips purple. Eyes almost frozen open with face permanently cemented in a horrified, suffering expression. Tommy shuddered, suddenly feeling much, much colder. 

When Tommy brought himself pack to the present, Ranboo was awkwardly carrying Wilbur's battered guitar case. Tommy scrabbled as he opened his mouth to warn Ranboo about touching Wilbur's guitar without permission, but it fell to deaf ears as the man in question spoke up, almost as if he was summoned by somebody else touching his guitar.

Tommy swears it was like some sort of sixth sense.

"I'm not going to say this again," said Wilbur slowly from behind Ranboo. "But you have three seconds to turn around and hand me that guitar case."

Ranboo's eyes flew wider than Tommy has ever seen them as he nearly jumped out of his own skin. His head ducked, hair slapping against his face as he spun on his heel and thrust the case into Wilbur's case. "So sorry! Was just trying to help, never would've thought about damaging or stealing it or-" Tommy spaced out as Ranboo continued to babble. Tommy liked the guy, but the guy was kind of a pussy.

Wilbur, thankfully, cut his whining babbles short as he quickly inspected the case and slid it back on its rightful place on his shoulders. "Don't do it again," was all he said before his gaze fell on Tommy. "Help Tommy with his bags, wouldn't you Ranboo? You're letting him take the brunt of the work."

Tommy blinked at Wilbur, hoping he could somehow telepathically communicate his gratefulness due to the two bags he carried. It's unfair he had to carry two heavy bags but Ranboo only had to carry a small drawstring pouch! Ranboo scrambled to grab one of Tommy's bag, long limbs flailing. The boy was almost cartoonish in his actions, long limbs flailing, eyes bug-eyed from behind a sloppily sewn together mask, and his stammering and babbling. "You can chill out," said Tommy before quickly following Wilbur, who had immediately began marching ahead further into the woods.

Purposefully lagging behind, Tommy allowed his steps to fall in sync with Ranboo's, whose eyes continued to train on his shambly combat boots. The bottoms of his shoes looked like they were about to peel off. Tommy looked at his own: the fabric was peeling as well and the ends of his shoelaces were beginning to disintegrate. They'll need to get new shoes soon. Tommy bumped his shoulder lightly with the side of Ranboo's arm (the kid was too tall to bump shoulders with) and Ranboo looked down at Tommy with his bug eyes. "Yeah?" He nervously said.

"Please, calm yourself big man." Tommy looked him up and down. "You're like seven foot eight big lad - you're a giant, act like it!"

Ranboo flushed in embarrassment. "Right. . ." 

"And sorry about-" Tommy lowered his voice, eying Wilbur's large form strides ahead of them, compass in hand. "-Wilbur. Dude's got this freaky obsession with his guitar. I remember when I first started traveling with him I thought he was like some rabid dog about to bite me."

Ranboo's face contorted in confusion, tilting his head to the side as light brown strands fell in his blue eyes. "If you don't mind, uh, mind me asking. . . why is he so attached?"

Tommy pursed his lips, chewing at the torn inside of his cheek as his thoughts bounced around the inside of his skull. He debated lying and telling Ranboo some random story to quench his curiosity, but he instead settled on shrugging and honestly saying, "I don't know. He's weird."

"How do you even know him?"

"Now that's a story big lad." Tommy breathed in deeply; the air was so crisp in the woods, despite the smell of twigs and dirt filling his lungs. It was a nice change of pace from burning buildings, rot and screams of terror ringing in his ears and stabbing against his skull. "He held me at gunpoint!"

Ranboo's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "What? You know what, I'm not surprised."

Nodding in earnest, Tommy replied, "he really did. He then saved me later on after saying he couldn't kill a kid. Secretly a big softie, I'll tell you. Don't ask me anything else about him, though. I know next to nothing about before all of this. Hell, I know almost nothing before I met him."

"What is he hiding?" Mumbled Ranboo and Tommy pretended he didn't hear it. 

Greeted with something hard, Tommy immediately backed up to have Ranboo run into him like a falling line of dominos. Tommy rolled his eyes, looking from behind Wilbur. "What the fuck? Why'd you stop?" He stepped out of their little makeshift line, looking ahead. "What?"

"There's a camp," simply answered Wilbur, eyes firmly trained on it.

"Okay?" Tommy scrunched his face in confusion. "And why did you just fuckin' stop in front of us?"

Wilbur didn't spare Tommy a glance as he continued ahead, ground crunching beneath his heavy footsteps. "Because you shouldn't blindly run into things, child."

"At least I'm not gonna get dementia in the next five years," snarked Tommy, but he remained a few paces right behind Wilbur as they cautiously approached the camp. 

It was obviously abandoned; the firepit was out with the grass dried out surrounding it. There was two logs as makeshift seating and there was an empty can of beans tossed to the side, open and eaten. Wilbur looked over his shoulder, beckoning Ranboo who stood a few yards behind. Tommy flopped down on one of the logs, picking at the wood. "Let's take a break," he announced. "My feet hurt."

Wilbur exasperatedly rolled his eyes. "We walked for maybe twenty minutes."

"You try carrying a bunch of shit, fuckface!" snapped back Tommy. "Just give me a few minutes."

"We could hunt?" Weakly protested Ranboo. "We don't have as much food as we did before . . ."

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. "And you know how to hunt?"

Ranboo went quiet.

"Because I'm not hunting," carried on Wilbur, gaze falling on Tommy. Tommy could almost see the lightbulb illuminate above his head as he grabbed onto Tommy's wrist and harshly yanked him to his feet. Tommy almost skidded forward and nearly faceplanted as Wilbur placed his hand on a shoulder to steady hand. "I do have an idea though. Ranboo, you have a knife?"

Ranboo silently handed it to Wilbur.

Wilbur nodded at him. "Can you fish?" he asked.

Ranboo shrugged. "Can't be that hard."

Wilbur gestured vaguely in a random direction. "Go find a stream. Don't get lost. Go to the stream, get some fish, and come back." Ranboo nodded, still standing there. "Go!" Wilbur barked, then Ranboo promptly scurried off in a random direction.

"He shouldn't be alone," protested Tommy.

"I don't actually care about fishing," said Wilbur. "I was quite against it before the apocalypse. I had a pet fish named Sally." He looked wistful and it was probably one of the more emotional expressions Tommy had seen on the man.

"I had two dogs."

Wilbur huffed a small laugh. "Anyways, I initially sent Ranboo off because I don't want him here in case things go awry."

"What does ah-ree mean?"

Wilbur didn't answer him as he pulled the gun from his holster and handed it to Tommy. Tommy stared at it, suddenly feeling like he was about to pass out. His gaze flickered from between Wilbur and the old model gun. "Wilbur . . .?"

"You need to learn how to shoot." Wilbur lightly shook the gun for emphasis. "God knows how you survived this long without knowing how. I'm going to carve some targets in the trees and you're going to shoot."

"The sound," said Tommy.

"We won't be here for long," promised Wilbur. "If Ranboo finds a stream, we're going to follow that."

Hesitantly, Tommy finally grabbed the cold, deadly steel. A weapon was in his hands. He could end any life in a second. Can he find the courage to pull the trigger? He helplessly watched as Wilbur carved circles with an x in the center on a couple of trees before walking back to Tommy, standing behind him. His presence was simultaneously comforting and unnerving. 

"Try shooting," said Wilbur.

Tommy stammered, throat going dry as he stared at the weapon in his hands. "All I've done is play Call of Duty!" he cried out. "This thing is fuckin' heavy as shit too."

"Stop complaining," sighed Wilbur, coming up behind Tommy and grabbing ahold of his hands. Tommy stiffened at the closeness as Wilbur adjusted his hands to the proper position. "Always bend your elbows," he supplied, breath on Tommy's ear. He cringed. Wilbur's breath smelt bad. Like smoke and bacteria. 

Wilbur took a small step back, nodding at his form. "Shoot when you're ready." He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his coat.

Tommy took a deep breath, held it, then shakily aimed the gun at a random tree - he wasn't even sure if it had a target - and quickly pressed the trigger. The bang echoed through the forest as birds cawed and flew from the forest canopy. Tommy's ears rang as he hesitantly looked over at Wilbur, whose face was parallel to what could be mistaken as pride. "You're a natural Tommy," he said, eyes fluttering and smile wide as he pointed towards one of the tree targets. 

Right on the x of a target was a splintered hole with a bullet buried into the wood. Both giddiness and fear bubbled up inside of Tommy, a tornado of conflicting emotions as his gaze wavered from the bullet hole to Wilbur's proud expression. He settled on soaking up the praise like a lizard in the sun as he ignored the cold weight in his hands and the ringing of his ears. Wilbur's eyes softened. "It's freaking you out, huh?"

Tommy bit his lip, averting his gaze as he continued to pointedly looking at the gun. It was so much different than like the video games; pressing the trigger in a video game was thrilling and invigorating. Sticking it to the man was his thing and he was brash and he thought, he thought for the longest time in a situation such as the apocalypse he wouldn't act like the scared child he is now. Thinking back to his hands desperately shielding his face as bullies pummeled him with ape-like blows, he realized his entire personality was a protective façade. If he's nearly wetting himself over the natural born ability to shoot a gun and he has nightmares over somebody he barely knew's death, how could he survive the next five, ten, fifteen years? 

Heavy weight grounded Tommy from his thoughts swirling around his mind like a storm. Wilbur bent over slightly, hand traveling to Tommy's hair and running through it before both of Wilbur's hangs hung limply at his side. Tommy noticed, for the first time in awhile, how broken Wilbur also was. His chapped lips with bouts of blood, his nose crooked from being broken and bashed in, his hair matted, bruises decorating his skin - a stark, stark contrast his pale skin - the blood stained clothes and the barely put together guitar on his back. They were both just scared boys trying to navigate everything, but Wilbur handled it much better. After shaking his thoughts out of his brain, Tommy curtly nodded.

"It's alright," said Wilbur. "It means you still have your humanity. I lost that awhile ago."

Tommy wanted to argue and protest that no he hasn't, he saved him! But he kept his mouth shut, allowing Wilbur to speak his piece. "You're a good kid, Tommy. Kind. Far kinder than I was at your age, and I wasn't even in a fucking apocalypse. You'll get better at the whole-" Wilbur waved his arms, flailing as he grasped for the right words to say. "-this." 

Tommy smiled shakily at Wilbur. "Thanks big man. I'm fine. Just a bit weird, especially realizing my. . . my power."

"Ready to do more shooting?"

"Of course."

"Good lad," said Wilbur. 

Tommy's heart swelled as he turned back around, this time the weight in his hands not quite as heavy as he held his breath and took aim.

A few rounds of shooting later, Wilbur stopped Tommy from further practice as not to waste bullets. Wilbur refused to let Tommy sit down again, as they had to immediately get moving before their dinner bell gunshots attracted a hoard.

"Don't forget Ranboo," said Tommy.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. "I'm not. We're gonna go the direction he went and grab him."

Tommy and Wilbur fell in sync, silently walking through the forest. It grew chillier as the sun lowered in the sky - it was probably around 4 P.M. - and Tommy instinctively stepped closer to the body heat radiating off of Wilbur's tall form. 

Water rushing filled Tommy's ears as they crunched over leaves through the woods. It didn't even cross Tommy's mind on how Wilbur knew there was a stream nearby as they crept closer, blue sparkles met his eyes, rocks scattered across the shore with a long, pointed stick thrown to the side decorated with blood. Across the stream stood Ranboo, but next to him was an extra figure that Ranboo definitely didn't leave with.

Tommy didn't miss how Wilbur's hand jumped to his holster like it was muscle memory. 

Ranboo's new acquaintance seemed to have noticed them, ruffling his own brown, fluffy hair as he tapped Ranboo's shoulder and pointed behind him. Ranboo turned, face brightening once he noticed Tommy and Wilbur across the stream. "Hey guys!" He greeted.

Tommy's eyes narrowed at the newfound company. "Who's this fuckin' guy?" He pointed his finger accusingly. "You're not a wrong'un, are you?"

"What's a wrong'un?" replied the brunette. 

Ranboo quietly informed him, "a bad guy."

An 'o' decorated his mouth as the boy clasped his hands behind his back. His brown hair was so long and shaggy it near covered his eyes as he smiled at Wilbur and Tommy. "I don't think I'm a bad guy," he softly said. 

Wilbur took a step forward, rocks sliding into the river. His hand was unmoving from its placement on the holster, but the boy ahead of them seemed to hold no weapon whatsoever. All around this kid just seemed so nonchalant and unthreatening. "Ranboo, do you know this guy?" He asked.

Ranboo shyly rubbed the back of his neck. "We just met. . . he saw me fishing and said he had more food at his cabin."

Wilbur's eyebrows flicked up at that, settling his gaze on the boy next to Ranboo, whose happy smile never faltered despite the fact he should be worried. "My name is Tubbo," the boy supplied, not even squirming one bit.

"You have a cabin?" Asked Wilbur.

The boy - Er, Tubbo - nodded earnestly. "Yup!" he said with a pop of the 'p.' "It's just up ahead. I come down to this river all the time. Are you all hungry?"

Tommy shared a hesitant glance with Wilbur; he knew Wilbur was sharing the same thoughts as him: just who the hell is this guy and what is his deal? Giving him a glance over, he seemed reasonably fed. Tommy couldn't get a good look at his face due to the sheer amount of hair covering his face, curling around his ears and at the base of his neck. There was no visible weapons nor was there anywhere obvious to hide them. 

Wilbur leaned over, whispering in Tommy's ear, "you have that gun from earlier?"

"Yeah," whispered back Tommy.

Wilbur pulled back after quickly whispering, "keep it on hand." He straightened his coat and flashed Tubbo a grin. "Would it be alright if we stayed there for just the night? We won't be trouble, it's just getting awfully dark."

There was his 'oh I'm so charismatic and British and humble and kind and cool' act. His voice lifted an octave, suddenly losing it's gruffness and even his eyes seemed to lighten up, Tommy noticed. 

Tubbo clapped once. "Sure!" He turned and immediately started bounding up to where his cabin supposedly was. 

Tommy hopped over the stream, hurrying so he wasn't left behind as Wilbur simply stepped over the stream with barely a jump. Tubbo was correct in which it was just up the path; they reached the cabin in no time. It was a simple log cabin and there was no other signs of disturbance in the area. Just as Tommy was about to step on the porch, Wilbur yanked at his arm. Tommy glared at him. "What, man-" Tommy's words faded as he looked where Wilbur was staring with wide eyes.

On a pike was a zombie head. 

That's fucking creepy as shit. 

"Be on guard," murmured Wilbur as he stepped ahead on the porch, where Tubbo was patiently holding the door on them.

As Tommy passed him, he realized how short he was. How old is this kid?

Then the stench of rot hit him. He looked over to see Ranboo much, much paler than he was before and his hand was covering his mask and his eyes watered. Tommy would give anything to have that mask. He looked over at Wilbur, who was normally undeterred, looking rather sickly. The door squealed shut behind them, Tubbo's footsteps on the wooden planks echoing through the mostly empty cabin. 

"Sorry about the smell," he said. "That's just lunch."

"L...Lunch?" Stammered Ranboo. 

Tommy stammered, resisting the urge to gag. "The fuck you havin' for lunch?"

Tubbo held up a finger as he disappeared in the other room. Something wet dragged against the floor as Tubbo dragged in a body and with a grunt, threw it onto the kitchen table. It wasn't a human body; it was obviously a killed zombie, but Tommy didn't miss the flies hovering around and the smell of shit.

"What the fuck?" He breathed, eyes refusing to leave the rotting corpse. 

"Zombie!" he proudly announced.

Wilbur took a step back. "Yeah, we can see that."

"My dad told me I shouldn't waste," said Tubbo. "It looks real nasty, right? But it's not bad. Just plug your nose and add some salt!"

"You have salt?" weakly asked Ranboo.

"Nope," said Tubbo.

Even Wilbur's voice wavered as he asked, "and you just....kill zombies and drag them back here?"

"Yes!" said Tubbo. "What's so confusing?"

Ranboo shook his head. "This is how you get sick."

"I boil it, though."

Tommy spluttered. "It's still rotten- and there's toxins and- and all this shit."

Tubbo's expression suddenly hardened, a day and night difference from the tranquil expression he wore thirty seconds ago. "What other choice is there?" 

"Literally anything!" Tommy exclaimed. 

"I bring you guys here, and you practically insult my cooking," snapped Tubbo. "I gave you hospitality!"

Wilbur looked around. "Are you. . . completely alone?"

Tubbo crossed his arms. "Why?"

"How long. . . How long have you been here?"

Tubbo went quiet before slowly asking, "how long has this thing been around?"

"No, it can't be three years," argued Wilbur. "You couldn't have been surviving on just- just rotten flesh!"

"No, no," Tubbo sniffed. "You're right. Just the past few weeks."

The three boys went silent. Tommy was quite unsure on how to react; he just stumbled into a cabin in the middle of the woods to some kid who was blatantly mentally unstable who was surviving off of rotten flesh and zombie bits for the past few weeks. He seemingly hasn't left the cabin at all in years all alone. "Is this cabin yours?" Asked Tommy.

"Uncle's," answered Tubbo.

"A- And where is Uncle?" asked Ranboo.

Tubbo grinned. "I can get him for you?"

Tommy didn't know whether to become worried because there was somebody else, or let out a sigh of relief because this kid wasn't completely alone. Wilbur seemed equally conflicted, as he stiffened up from beside Tommy. 

Tubbo held a finger to his lips as he beckoned them. He tip-toed into another room, pointing at a body on a rocking chair. "Hi, Uncle," he whispered. "We have company, is that alright?"

No answer.

"He's quiet," supplied Tubbo.

Wilbur straightened out his sweater. "I'll introduce myself," he declared, making his way to the front of the rocking chair with his gloved hand stuck out, ready for a handshake. Then he let out an un-Wilbur-like yelp and backed away into the wall, hand suddenly retracted. "What the fuck!"

Tubbo frowned. "That's not polite!"

Wilbur snapped his head to Tommy and Ranboo who were just staring back with horrified expressions. "Wh- What?" demanded Tommy. Tommy hurried to Wilbur's side before letting out his own yelp. "What the fuck!"

In the rocking chair, was a dilapidated and rotting body. This was no zombie, for the man had a clean bullet hole through the side of his temple. Tommy's eyes scowered his entire body before his gaze fell on the handgun at the bottom of the rocking chair and the reality of the situation hit Tommy like a train. He nearly fell to his knees, immediately looking away so he couldn't see 'Uncle' anymore and focused on Tubbo a few paces away. "Tubbo," he weakly said. 

Tubbo was staring at Uncle's body unblinkingly, hands fidgeting together and body trembling. His mouth was moving at the speed of lightning, yet no words left his mouth; his body casted a shadow on the wall, a puppet of his wide eyes and shaking body. Ranboo was beside him, slowly taking small steps away.

"Please. . ." quietly said Tubbo. "Apologize to Uncle."

Tommy's eyes nearly popped out of his skull and his jaw could've dislocated by how far it dropped. He fixed his expression as he spared a look towards Wilbur, who looked just as horrified at the situation at hand. Wilbur's tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips before he hesitantly turned to Uncle, body limp in the battered rocking chair. "I'm. . . sorry, Uncle," he said slowly, gaze flickering between Tommy to Tubbo to Ranboo and then back to Uncle. He then slowly took a step back.

"I'm sorry, Uncle," parroted Tommy.

Tubbo nodded. "Thank you. Uncle accepts your apologies." He tilted his head. "I'm sorry for not supplying a better meal. Ranboo caught some fish by the river. Perhaps we could eat that, together?"

Ranboo's eyes were wide as saucers as he desperately looked at Tommy and Wilbur to try to save the situation and get them out of there. Instead, Wilbur offered Tubbo a small, shaky smile. "Sure. . . Sounds good, Tubbo."

And Tommy almost felt bad for being frightened of the kid when his eyes sparkled brighter than the stars in the sky and a toothy grin spread across his face. "Wow!" He said, shaking his head in almost disbelief. "My first time talking to people in years and they're kind. Now we get to eat like a family! I will set the table for you guys," he announced as he scurried and darted out of the room.

Immediately, Tommy felt to his knees, face buried into his hands as he tried to not weep right then and there. 

Chapter Text

Stale and dry air filled Tommy's lungs as the tension-filled room seemed to have loom over the dining group. Tommy ensured he sat in between Wilbur and Ranboo, pointedly avoiding sitting next to the crazed Tubbo, instead directly across from him on the wooden table. He kept his hands firmly in his lap, swallowing dryly at the chipped plate with cut up salmon and a glass of water. Tubbo, despite his seeming mental instability, had quite the amount of survival gear and knowledge in his head - he had one of those bags that filters the water upon automatically filling it with river water. 

Tubbo had wasted no time digging in; he stabbed the fish, a bit of blood oozing out of it as he shoveled the cut up pieces into his mouth. As he ate his fill, Wilbur took his fork and took the largest cut-up chunk of the fish and promptly placed it onto Tommy's. Tommy gazed at him curiously, but Wilbur simply nodded and then began eating his own share.

The only other person who seemed to share Tommy's anxiety was Ranboo, who was staring reluctantly at the plate as his dilated eyes scanned the room as if he expected something to jump out at him any second. Tubbo chugged his glass of water, and due to the silence of the room all he heard was the scratch of silverware and Tubbo's throat gulping the drink greedily. If it weren't for the tenseness, Tommy would laugh aloud at the absolute awkwardness of the situation. 

Finally, the tension was cut after Tubbo swallowed the last bit of his food, let out a loud belch, and asked, "so, you all heading up north?"

Wilbur's eyebrows pinched together as he looked up from his meal. "How'd you know that?" 

Gesturing wildly with his fork, Tubbo smiled lazily. "I see tons of people come through here. There's some sort of establishment up north," he informed. "So you are, too, huh?"

Tommy watched Wilbur from the corner of eyes, gut wrenched with worry as he watched Wilbur grow pale, a bead of sweat beading at his temple. Wilbur cleared his throat and very cautiously asked, "and did you catch the name of this establishment?"

Tubbo took his index finger to tap the side of his brain in a cartoonish gesture of thought. "I know I caught the name. It's uh" -his face screwed together, nose scrunched as he began tapping his temple with his index, ring, and middle finger- "Mantopia? Manberg? Something like that." 

Something caught in Wilbur's throat as he wildly began coughing. He threw his arm over his mouth, beating a fist against his chest. Tommy began to get up out of worry, chair screeching but Wilbur simply held up as his hand as he took a gasp of air. "Sorry. I choked." 

Tommy looked at him incredulously, but Wilbur simply stared back as if challenging him to say anything. Deciding it wasn't worth the argument, Tommy spooned the last bit of his meal into his mouth and washed it down with the rest of his water. He almost forgot about the abhorrent smell of rot in the back of his throat and nostrils!

Tubbo looked at his fidgeting hands, eyes low-lidded as he gnawed at his bottom lip. Hesitantly, he spoke up, "may I ask a question?"

"Shoot," said Tommy.

"Can I join you all?"

"No way," Tommy immediately said, just as Ranboo chimed in with a cheerful, "sure!"

Tommy slammed his fist on the table, rattling the flimsy wood as the cracked silverware clanged. Ranboo shot him a bewildered expression as Tommy vehemently argued, "we don't have enough room. And, uh, and don't you have your . . . your uncle to tend to."

Tubbo looked much smaller than he did before as he argued back, "Uncle can come."

"No- No the fuck he can't!" cried out Tommy. He shot up from his chair. "He's a rottin' corpse!"

Wilbur's knee slammed up against the table and he groaned. As he rose, he rubbed his kneecap. "Tommy," he hissed. "Calm down."

Tommy shook his head. "No, this kid is fuckin' weird man-" he pointed to the room 'Uncle' was in almost accusingly. "-he has a dead man's body just sittin' there for god knows how long! Can we possibly drag somebody like that along?"

Still sitting down, Ranboo tugged at Tommy's sleeve almost chastising. "He's traumatized."

"We all fuckin' are," retorted Tommy.

Wilbur shrugged. "Both of you are right." Wilbur turned to face Tubbo who was trembling as he was staring down at his fidgeting hands. "Tubbo," he said.

"Yeah?"

"You're aware of the situation you're in, aren't you?"

Tubbo shook his head, body trembling so hard it was almost violent. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Wilbur flipped his coat as he navigated around the table. He gripped the back of Tubbo's chair harshly as he spun it around, the chair screeching against the flimsy wooden planks of the floor. Tubbo whiplashed, eyes shooting wide open as he stared up at Wilbur, who bent over so he was more eye-level with the shorter male. "You know you're acting mad."

"What are you talking about?" he cried out. 

"Your uncle is dead. You shot him. And now you're in denial," enunciated Wilbur.

Tubbo forcefully shook his head, gripping the arms of his chair until his nails dug into the wood, splintering and bleeding. "I didn't, I didn't!" His head shaking didn't cease, eyes scrunched shut tightly and jaw tensed. "He- He's just there! He's sleeping! He's sleeping- Uncle is fine."

Deja vu coursed through Tommy's brain as familiar memories scorched his skin and lit his fire.

"He's fucking dead, Tommy."

"Sam?"

"Get out of there, Tommy-"

"Sam's not dead! Look!"

Tommy marched around the table, shoving Wilbur out of the side as he grabbed ahold of Tubbo's collar and harshly yanked him to his feet. Tubbo yelped as Tommy dragged the boy, Tubbo squirming and struggling against Tommy's stronger grip as he pulled him into the room where Uncle is.

"What are you doing Tommy?" demanded Wilbur. 

Without responding, Tommy threw Tubbo on the floor with a loud thump, the boy squawked as he hit the hard floor and scrabbled backwards to get away from Tommy. Tommy barely looked towards Wilbur and Ranboo, who were hovering by the entrance before Tommy glanced around and pulled his bat out of the holster on his back. With one sudden and violent hit, Tommy brought the bat down upon the body's head.

Tubbo screamed, both hair-raising and horrendous, launching towards Tommy. Tommy kicked him away, not even looking at the boy as he threw the dead corpse on the ground. Then he brought the bat down again. And again. And again. Blood squirted across the room, splattering against the walls and floor; with an animalistic and inhumane fury, Tommy tossed the bat away and slammed the heel of his shoe into the gut of the corpse. 

A light weight on Tommy's shoulder brought him back down to earth. Heaving, Tommy took a step back from the battered body and took a glance over at Wilbur who wasn't staring down at him in horror or anger - like Ranboo, who was staring at Tommy with a newfound shocked and scared expression - but with sadness. "Tubbo gets it," he murmured into Tommy's ears. 

Tommy took a deep, shaky breath as he shook Wilbur's hand off and looked over at Tubbo. He was on his hands and knees, crawling towards his Uncle's body with salty tears streaming down his face. Tubbo made no moves to touch the body, he simply wept - and Tommy allowed him. 

Wiping his face with his ripped sleeve, Tubbo's body relaxed and limply turned towards Tommy, eyes downturned and heavy. "You. . ." he breathed.

Heart squeezing, Tommy dropped to his knees as he tried to catch Tubbo's unfocused stare. He reached his hand out - not touching the boy - and outstretched his palm. Tubbo leaned forward, lip trembling and eyes red and puffy, and Tommy placed his hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he softly said.

Tears began to well up in Tubbo's eyes and Tommy reached over to wipe them from the boys red cheeks. "I'm sorry," he said again, slightly louder. "I'm sorry."

Tubbo's lips fell open, desperately trying to make a sound but all that came out was a high-pitched whine and a pathetic voice crack. The two boys stared at each other, Tommy opening his arms with an open expression. Tubbo's eyebrows pinched together, before hesitantly falling into the other boy. Tommy patted his back, not knowing exactly what to do in the situation; the hug didn't last long, for after a few moments of physical contact Tubbo yanked himself away and shakily rose to his feet. 

"You did what you had to," he finally rasped out. 

Wilbur leaned against the doorframe with a heavy sigh. "How barbaric, Tommy."

"Well he's snapped out if it," observed Ranboo quietly. 

"Can I please come," feebly repeated Tubbo. "Please." He stumbled towards the nearest person - which was Wilbur due to Tommy stepping away - and clutched the fabric of his jacket by the lapels. "Please."

What surprised Tommy was the man made no move to push Tubbo off of him. Wilbur simply stared down, lips parted slightly and eyes low lidded as he stared down, hands twitching limply at his side. After a few minutes of seemingly in deliberation, he gingerly pushed Tubbo off of him, but not away. Betrayed, Tubbo stared up at him, eyes and cheeks wet and red. Wilbur pursed his lips and cleared his throat. "Tubbo," he said. "I- How old are you, man?"

"I'm not sure. . ." He quietly said. "Around fourteen, I think?"

Wilbur stiffened at that as realization dawned on Tommy: Tommy and Tubbo are the same age. Conflict was nagging at Wilbur, which was obvious by his stiffened posture and hesitant mouthing of words. "You're Tommy's age," he whispered.

Tubbo immediately looked at Tommy. Tommy took another step back, eyes flickering between Tubbo and Wilbur. He wasn't sure if he wanted Tubbo part of the team. He felt bad for him, but the kid might fucking lose it again next time somebody dies. 

Hypocritical of him, isn't it?

"Can you fight?" Asked Wilbur.

Tubbo nodded. "I- I can use guns! Uncle owns a shotgun somewhere. The kick doesn't bother me! I swear!" He grasped onto Wilbur's lapels again. "Please. I can't be stuck here anywhere. I hear so many good things about ManPlace-"

"-L'manberg," interjected Wilbur.

"-and I know what berries and mushrooms are good to eat. I can make a fire, I can! Uncle taught me. He taught me so much. I'm useful." Tubbo's lips moved at the speed of light, bordering on rambling as he scrounged around to convince Wilbur of his use. In the end, It was obviously Wilbur's decision; Tommy could give input but he's not sure how much it weighed in Wilbur's scale. "I swear. I can- I'm not dead weight. I can't stay here alone. Please."

Wilbur's face squinched. "I. . . I can't just take in every kid on the block-"

"I'm not a kid," Tubbo said.

"You promise you can take care of yourself?"

"Yes!"

Wilbur took a step back, lightly pushing Tubbo away and held him away at an arm's length when he tempted to grab onto Wilbur again. It was obvious this was uncharacteristic for the boy; panic was reverberating off of him and it seemed to have almost seeped into Tommy as well. He can't blame the kid, Tommy was almost the same. You latch onto the first adult you see, trying everything you can. Tommy could obviously tell the kid was trying everything he could - even the thinly veiled attempts at manipulation. 

"Alright," sighed Wilbur. "But you better make yourself useful, alright? I can't have dead weight - especially since winter is coming."

Tubbo immediately straightened out, brushing the dust off of the knees of his pants and flashed Wilbur a tight-lipped smile. It was a night and day change, seeming almost like a completely different boy. Tommy tilted his head to the side; he was right about the manipulation, it seems. He caught Wilbur's gaze. Wilbur knows it, too. 

Wilbur spun on his heel, heavy footsteps carrying him out of the room. "We leave now."

"It's dark," stammered Ranboo, finally speaking after the height of tension vanished. "We can't see anything. . . and it's cold."

"Do you have coats, Tubbo?"

"Of course," he said. "Uncle and I were always prepared for the night. We, uh, I think we have some cans of beans somewhere too? I can look before we go!"

Wilbur huffed a small bout of laughter. "Aren't you eager to please?"

Tubbo nodded.

"Go get the shit; Ranboo help him-" Wilbur pointed at Tommy then beckoned him with the motion of his finger like a dog. "-You, Tommy, come with me outside." Without looking back, Wilbur strode out of the cabin as Tommy scurried after him.

The cool air hit him in the face like a punch to the nose; the chilly breeze enveloped him, body shuddering. Tommy stepped closer to Wilbur, who led them down the steps. Tommy attempted to get even closer, but Wilbur danced around him so they were face-to-face. Tommy hid his disappointment and settled on hugging his arms, fingers running across his raised hairs and pink goosebumps. "What is it, Wilbur?"

"That Tubbo kid- he's something else," said Wilbur.

"You know what L'manberg is," said Tommy; it wasn't a question, it was a statement.

Wilbur nodded. "Yup. It's where I was taking us all, I've been there before."

That makes no sense. If L'manberg is so great, why did Wilbur leave? Tommy raised a brow. "How did you end up all the way south in a gas station in the fuck middle of nowhere?"

"That doesn't matter," was all Wilbur responded with before hastily adding, "we can have a much better life. It's rather astounding how well put together the place is." 

"Really?" prompted Tommy.

Something cloudy glazed over Wilbur's eyes, something like a child talking about Superman or landing on the moon. Bright with stars dancing around in his eyes. There was even a tug at the corner of Wilbur's lip as he continued his anecdote. "Walls surrounding the town - tall walls. No, not a town, it's more like a city. There's buildings made of wood, buildings made out of sheet metal - there's even one made of stone. There's a church, there's bars. It's fantastic." He took a deep, shaky breath. "The people there can be a bit shady, but there's some good ones. It's a good, safe place. . . Especially for you Tommy. You'll be safe there."

Tommy opened his mouth to ask more questions about this utopia before the front door to the cabin groaned open and Tubbo and Ranboo waltzed out with two large backpacks on their backs and coats in their hands. In one of Tubbo's hand was a flashlight, flickering every so often but it provided a bright, blinding ray of light. Tubbo handed one with a fluffy hood to Tommy and Tommy immediately put it on, sighing at the newfound warmth. 

"Good job," said Wilbur. "Can I have that flashlight?"

Tubbo handed it to him instantaneously. "Here you go, Boss Man."

"Boss Man?" Wilbur chuckled. He rolled his shoulders. "I like that."

Tommy rolled his eyes with faux exasperation. "Ah, you done it now Tubbo. You gave him an ego!"

Ranboo chuckled. "As if it takes much for that."

"Watch it," said Wilbur, but his eyes twinkled with laughter and his lips quirked up. "Everybody ready? Let's go."

Chapter Text

Two turned into eight. Eight turned into five. Five turned into three. Now, three was four; the beginner duo of just Wilbur and Tommy had evolved and merged into something bigger. Something more. 

It was a long trek. Wilbur had estimated around a month of travel - he gravely underestimated it. Winters in Texas weren't rough. They were chilly with frost nipping at your ears and you shudder when the wind blows against your face at the worst. Winters on the East Coast were a cold Tommy had never experienced; zombies were creatures you can stop. A quick blow to the noggin', the slice of a dagger, the powerful shot of a pistol, but you can't stop nature. It's a force unlike anything else. You can outrun a zombie. You can't outrun the freezing cold. 

Wilbur had estimated this, Wilbur had estimated that. Wilbur failed to estimate the harshness of the wind, the snow that covered Tommy up to his torso and drowning him in numbing cold, his collarbones jutted out harshly, blood permanently stained his face and hair. Wilbur said for them to do this and that and blabbered on about ifs and buts once they arrived to L'manberg, but how can they worry about bloody L'manberg if they can barely reach the god forsaken destination?

A month of travel he said, two months at the worst he said. We'll find food soon, he says, just hold back your hunger he says. No resting, he says, we must continue walking he says. Tommy wanted to scream to hell it all, that we need to look at the here-and-now, because they're dying. Slowly, but they're all dying. 

Currently, the gang was trudging slowly through the blistering cold. It's like walking through glass; a bunch of shards being thrown at you at once, the cold slapping Tommy over and over again as he pushed his hardest. Despite his hood thrown over his face, knit gloves covering his shaky hands, and pants patched up before they traveled, the cold seeped into his skin. It coarsed through his veins, chilling him from the inside out. Every step nearly felt like fire, but it bit and hissed and screamed at him. Wilbur, as per usual, was a few paces ahead with a determined furrow of his brow and the raspy holler of his voice.

Tubbo was the only other person who didn't seem affected by the cold. He had claimed he was used to it, as him and his Uncle used to travel to the mountains to ski and the snow was absolutely blistering up there. Tommy figures he's lying out of his ass and he was cold, just ignoring his feelings, but he didn't have the energy to ever call him out on it. All he could ever focus on was the trembling of his knobby knees, the burning of his lungs, and the snowflakes cutting his face. 

The blizzard wasn't nearly as horrid as it was a couple days ago. Even Wilbur refused to trudge on, finding shelter quickly as they could in an abandoned house. Zombies weren't any trouble in the cold; the only ones they found were frozen or barely capable of movement. Nobody had even bothered to waste their time on a zombie, they simply walked past and didn't pay the rotting corpses any mind. Now, the falling flakes simply obstructed his vision and made walking a bit harder. 

"Up ahead," coughed out Wilbur.

Tommy garbled out some incoherent swears, talking hurting his throat as he took in icy air into his lungs, and snarked back, "what? I can barely see shit because you insist on-" Tommy stopped his movements, briefly remembering he was knee deep in snow and oh it was so, so cold- 

Ranboo and Tubbo hurried up behind. They always tended to lag a few paces behind. Although Tubbo boasted the cold didn't bug him one bit, but Ranboo was suffering much more than anybody else. 

"That's a big ass fuckin' lake!" shrieked Tommy, rubbing his hands together to retain some warmth. "What the fuck?"

Ranboo shook his head. "That's like a near ocean."

Wilbur pinched his nose bridge, not even bothered by the cold leather of his gloves pressing against his face. "It's not an ocean, Ranboo. I know this lake. I'd fish here in the summer," he kicked up some snow, shining like glitter as it fell down. "It's just huge. Really huge."

"What do you say we do, Boss Man?" Asked Tubbo, leaning against Ranboo and rubbing against him for warmth. Ranboo threw an arm around the much shorter boy and pulled him closer. "It'll take awhile to go around, but we can't walk on it."

Wilbur glared at Tubbo. "Don't tell me what to do. We're obviously walking across."

There goes Wilbur. Making dumb fucking rash decisions because his impatient ass can't go a single day without traveling to this mysterious L'manberg place. "No fuckin' way," snapped Tommy. "This could go a million fuckin' ways wrong."

"Shut up, child, don't tell me what we can and can't do," snarled Wilbur right back, turning to face Tommy. 

In the past 3 months or so of travel through the harsh climate of the East Coast, Wilbur was dilapidating. Everyone noticed it, yet nobody said a single thing. Sarcastic and scathing, the man would sneak Tommy his bits of his meal if he noticed the meat on his bones was thinning too much to his liking. Or Wilbur would pull the beanie off his head and stick it on Tommy's if his ears looked a bit too pink. He still didn't let anybody near his wretched guitar case, but he was much less rude about it when Tubbo learnt "Rule Number One."

No, Wilbur was the same Wilbur. Perhaps a bit more on edge, but Wilbur. It was physically. Wilbur was the scrawniest Tommy had ever seen him. Collarbones jutting out harshly, cheekbones sunken in, all color in his face had vanished unless the cold was biting at his cheeks until they were a bloody red. Bruises and bandages decorated him, and his eyebags were the most purple Tommy had ever seen on a man. Wilbur was sickly and everybody feared bringing it up in case he lashed out. Because if anybody was weak, it certainly wasn't Wilbur!

"You've been telling us what to do the past few months," said Tommy, hugging himself to contain some semblance of warmth. "Yet we're out here freezing our asses off in the middle of fuckin' nowhere."

"Okay, wise guy," Wilbur growled, taking a step closer. Now, Wilbur may have slimmed down a bit, but he still absolutely towered over Tommy's form. 

Tommy was supposed to be over six foot, his doctors said. Due to malnourishment and the harsh conditions, he's not so sure if he'll ever reach even above 5'8".

"What you say we do then?"

Tommy spluttered and stammered as he tried to retort, but the cold absolutely muddled his brain. "I dunno, go around or some shit?"

"Don't criticize me if you can't even come up with a plan yourself," Wilbur said before whirling around once more and immediately began marching ahead. "Go around, see if I care! But get back to me when you're half-dead in the freezing cold."

Tommy glanced back at Tubbo and Ranboo, huddled together with pinched eyebrows, wobbling lips, and widened eyes. "You're not gonna say anything?" He exasperatedly asked. Tommy gestured towards Wilbur who was now just casually walking across a frozen lake. "What if we fall in?"

Tubbo played with the frayed ends of his scarf. "I guess whatever happens, happens. . ."

Ranboo was the first to walk ahead, gently tugging Tubbo along with him to catch up to Wilbur. Tommy stared ahead, shaking his head in absolute disbelief - they're crazy!

And that's saying a lot if Tommy Danger Innit is the one telling them they're crazy. 

Anxiety coursed through Tommy, jolting him with the sporadic thumps of his heart against his chest every time the ice crunched or groaned beneath his feet. Wilbur was far ahead of them, staring at his stupid fucking compass and head held high like he was some sort of fucking dictator. Tommy grumbled to himself. He was cold. He was hungry. He was exhausted. 

"Stop!" hollered Wilbur.

Immediately, as if it was muscle memory to obey Wilbur, Tommy halted. He looked up from the ice beneath his feet, Ranboo and Tubbo frozen next to each other, then he noticed Wilbur. 

Beneath him, the ice had formed a small crack. Wilbur was frozen where he stood, staring down at the ice. The void beneath it called out, swirling and Tommy could almost taste it'd be a frozen over hell beneath the layer of ice. "Wilbur!" cried out Tommy. "Be careful!"

"The fuck you think I'm doing?" barked back Wilbur. He took one shaky step forward. Then another. 

Tommy watched in horror, taking his own shaky steps. 

"Stop, Tommy," hissed Ranboo from between his teeth. "It's gonna break."

Tommy didn't even look at him as he took slow, cautious steps forward. "I need to help Wilbur," he bit back.

Wilbur looked up from the cracks beneath his feet, staring at Tommy with horror etched across his face. "Stop where you are right now, Tommy," he demanded. "Don't you dare fucking move. This ice here is thin, stop it right now."

Tommy shook his head violently. "No, you're- you're about to fall in, Wilbur! Come back here. We can just walk all the way back to the shore and we can- we can go around. Come back, Wilbur."

"Tommy, look," Wilbur said. Tommy looked. The other side of the lake was visible. Far, but it was visible. "We're so close. Just walk around where I am, alright?"

CRACK

Everything felt as if it was moving in slow motion, yet it was too sudden to process all at once. One moment, Tommy was arguing with Wilbur, beckoning a few yards away with the cool air swirling around him. The next minute, there was a loud crack then a splash with droplets flying across the lake until a bit of water landed on Tommy's face, and Wilbur disappeared from his vision. 

"WILBUR!" screamed Tommy, so loud his throat burned and his lungs were on fire. He was cold, yet his entire body burned; it was on fire. He was on fire. Not a single thought crossed through Tommy's mind, body on autopilot as he skidded across the ice and grabbed ahold of Wilbur's clutching hands. 

Only Wilbur's legs dangled into the water, arms scrabbling and nails digging into the cold ice. With all of his might, Tommy heaved Wilbur up onto the ice. His throat had gone hoarse with how much he screamed and groaned. He felt somebody pull behind him, and then another as they manage to heave Wilbur out of the ice.

Wilbur coughed, on his hands and knees as he took deep, frantic breaths. After a few moments of organizing himself, Tommy helped Wilbur rise to his shaky legs. 

Tommy looked at Tubbo and Ranboo. "Is- Is he gonna get hypothermia now or- or some shit?"

"Uh-" Tubbo frantically looked around. "He should be okay. . . but we really shouldn't be out here any longer. Just in case. He was only there for a few seconds."

CRACK

The ice began to crack under Tubbo's feet, his lips parting and eyes widening in shock. Ranboo looked at Wilbur, rushedly spouting out, "are you okay to move?"

Wilbur grabbed onto Tommy's arm, biting out at Ranboo, "of course I am. Don't worry. Let's just hurry - L'manberg is close."

Thankfully, the snowing had weakened, allowing the group to see more than a few feet ahead of them. Because of this, they were allowed an early glimpse of L'manberg distantly on the horizon, like some sort of saving grace.

The stories Wilbur told him were not lies; it was an establishment Tommy  hadn't seen in a very long time. There were walls all around, effectively shielding the establishment from any creatures outside. The walls were so far stretched around that Tommy couldn't even see how big the place was. Breath caught in his throat as the group neared the city, the young boys looking at each other with expressions of a child on Christmas morning.

"Isn't it a beauty," breathed Wilbur, his pace quickened. "Hurry."

Their slow, pained movement quickened immediately upon seeing the buildings. Wilbur told him stories how they managed to obtain running water, a steady system for food and water, they even held restaurants and bars - a year ago if you told Tommy society managed to move forward he'd laugh in your face and call you a naïve fool. 

As they neared, the walls seemed even grander. Tall and looming above them, casting dark shadows across their faces and causing Tommy to shudder. They weren't pretty nor particularly neat, but they were strong and a symbol that humanity will make it. Tommy looked over at Ranboo and Tubbo who were looking up at the city with wide eyes and smiles of anticipation, nearly jittering with excitement like children. Wilbur also held a childlike excitement, but he had promptly pulled his hoodie over his head.

"It's warmer in there, right?" asked Tommy.

Wilbur stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Much warmer."

Watchtowers lined the walls with  halphazardly made metal roofs, but effectively shielding whoever stood up there from the outdoor elements. The man spotted them and leaned over the railing, waving with a small smile. "Hey travelers."

Wilbur tugged Tommy in by the sleeve. "Do the talking," he hissed, ducking his head.

Tommy opened his mouth to argue, but Wilbur shot him a stern look so he cupped his hands to project and shouted back, "hey! This uh- this L'manberg?"

"Manberg," corrected the man.

Wilbur bristled but Tommy ignored it.

"Yeah, whatever," said Tommy. "You gonna let us in?"

The man's lips formed an 'o.' "Right. I'll have somebody open the gate."

"They got a shitty system."

Wilbur shrugged. "Nothing's perfect."

Then, light slowly shone upon them as the gate in front of them screeched open, the metal whining like a newborn. The boy by the gate was rather young, hands gripping a rope tightly with gloved hands and skewed glasses, looking upon the group almost cautiously. Wilbur immediately strode in, like it was his home as he glanced at the boy with low-lidded eyes. He barely even gave him a nod of acknowledgement before he beckoned the rest of the group to follow behind.

And Wilbur's stories really fell flat in the descriptions of this place. Before the apocalypse, Tommy would point and laugh at such a mock replacement for a city, sheet metal scattered about and trailers turned into makeshift houses, but to a boy whose scrounged in abandoned buildings and was freezing in the snow, it was a paradise - a utopia. The snow wasn't as thick inside the walls, Tommy looking down at the cobblestone path that traveled through the buildings. 

These buildings were quite unlike anything Tommy has seen; they were all unique and different than the other like the very snowflakes that fell onto the tip of his pink nose. There were some smaller buildings made from train cars, whilst others were much taller and made from a mixture of sheet metal, shipping containers, and wooden planks nailed against the walls. What was surprising was the windows. They weren't neat, instead taped together with slightly different shades of glass, but these were full blown homes and buildings. Inside the walls was somehow already warmer, but Tommy pondered if that was merely placebo affect. 

"Stop gaping so you don't draw attention," whispered Wilbur, pulling Tommy from his gawking. "They'll know you're not from here."

Tubbo pursed his lips, obeying Wilbur whilst Tommy continued to look around without a care in the world. Tubbo shoved his hands in his pockets, fidgeting inside by picking at the loose threads of his gloves. "Why does that matter?" He asked, all curiosity and no bite.

Wilbur pulled his hood even further down, looking around. Tommy followed his gaze, and like a chameleon shedding its camoflauge Tommy suddenly noticed the amount of people. It could almost be described as bustling; there wasn't a ton of people, but it was the most Tommy has seen in awhile. People were walking down the streets, and Tommy ignored the sheer amount of people with grotesque scars or amputated legs. Some disappeared into trailers and buildings, and Tommy's eyes follow the flickering neon signs that hung above some buildings.

"Skep's Bar," read aloud Tommy

Wilbur replied to Tubbo, tone hushed and low but not angrily, "people take advantage of that. There's not that many shit stains. . ." Wilbur trailed off, catching where Tommy was looking. "Yeah. There's actually quite a few bars. People will always find enough time to drink booze. I've been in Skeppy's bar. He's a weird fellow. I know a better place." Suddenly, he diverted from the cobblestone road and beckoned the group. 

The boys remained silent, everybody in absolute awe. Wilbur ducked into a makeshift alleyway, boots crunching on the snow, Tommy shuddered as the alleyway casted dark, cold shadows onto them. Tommy lagged behind, reading the graffiti and vulgar signs upon the walls and nudged Ranboo. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

Ranboo jolted, seemingly being snapped out of a trance as he whispered back, "no. I didn't even know this place existed." He eyed Tubbo who was a few paces ahead, right behind Wilbur. "Tubbo says he's seen photos before."

Like dominos, the boys collapsed into each other as Wilbur skidded to a halt ahead of them. The hum of the sign above Tommy's head drew his attention as he looked at the neon sign. Glowing letters said, "bar" but next to it on a wooden sign was etched, "Big Q," and all together it read, "Big Q's Bar." Tommy looked at Wilbur whose grin could almost be described as sleazy as he leaned against the door, holding it open. 

"We are underage, Wilbur," teased Tommy. "What man is going to force children to drink?"

As Tommy walked in, Wilbur lightly swatted the back of his head. "Just get in. It's warm and I know the owner."

Warmth enveloped Tommy as he walked in and the group in unison let out sighs of satisfaction. A fireplace crackled in the corner, albeit one of the few sources of light in the dim shack of a bar. It was rather large for a building made of boxes and sheet metal; the bar was off to the side, the long counter connected to a cut in half train car. To the left in the far back of the bar, where tables were decorated all around with a few patrons sat down sipping at their bottles of God-Knows-What was some scrappy stairs that looked two seconds away from falling off. 

Tubbo immediately ran to the chairs that were sat in front of the fireplace and Ranboo spared Wilbur and Tommy a glance before he scurried to follow Tubbo. The two ended up getting weirdly close, and Tommy isn't sure how it happened because they were always together, but he didn't question. Wilbur nudged Tommy. "Not gonna sit with them?"

"Nah," Tommy shook his head. "Those two are weird, like some sort of old married couple, I'm gonna leave 'em be."

Wilbur chuckled, ruffling Tommy's hair.

Tommy missed this Wilbur. The one who wasn't forced into the position of leader, the once forced into babysitting a bunch of teenagers; he was a bit harsh over the trip, and sometimes a complete dick, but when he smiled down at Tommy and ruffled his hair he preened and absolutely glowed under the praise. Tommy's heart ached when he thought back to how he almost fell into the icy waters, submerged into the swirling vortex. "Follow me then, little gremlin," said Wilbur, striding ahead and flipping his hood off. 

Tommy stuck close. Not because he was timid or anything, he was a big man, but because he just wanted to protect Wilbur! The weight of his gun became very apparent as he locked eyes with a particularly nasty looking patron, eyes narrowed and scars decorating his face. Tommy frowned and wondered how Wilbur knew the owner of a place such as this, but he followed Tommy up to the counter where a man was tending to his cups and bottles of booze. 

When he lifted his face, Tommy couldn't help but wince. Scars lined his face, some little and some larger, but one in particular caught his eye and he couldn't pull his gaze away from it - no matter how rude he appeared. It was a long gashed that traveled down his eye, which was a pale white that drifted off to the side. Due to its lack of focus, Tommy assumed it had no vision because his other dark brown eye was tracked onto Wilbur immediately. The gash across his eye traveled all the way down to his mouth and reached the bottom of his chin; the lip had been damaged, permanently unable to close and exposing a golden tooth. Tommy couldn't help but admire him; he looked like a badass!

The man's lips curled back, exposing a missing tooth, and grinned when he saw Wilbur and opened his arms in a greeting. "Ey, Wilbur!" 

Wilbur smiled broadly back, the reached forward across the bar to give Wilbur a quick squeeze, slapping his back with a thump and pulled back just as quickly. He looked Wilbur up and down, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Hey, Quackity," greeted Wilbur. 

"It's been forever!" said Quackity, shaking his head in disbelief. "Take a seat. I'll pour you a drink - on the house."

Tommy awkwardly sat down beside Wilbur as Quackity poured a honey colored liquid in a cracked glass and slid it to Wilbur. Quackity continued rambling. "How long has it been man? A year?" He laughed rambunctiously. "Doesn't matter! Haven't met a gambler like you in forever."

Wilbur almost looked embarrassed as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Quiet down, wouldn't you? I don't want attention drawn."

Quackity's lips formed an 'o,' seemingly remembering something as Wilbur tentatively brought the drink to his lips and gulped it down eagerly. "You always had the good shit," said Wilbur with a smirk. "You ever gonna tell me the secret to this or . . . "

"A magician never reveals his tricks," simply chimed Quackity, finally sparing Tommy a glance and leaned against the counter. "Picked up a babysitting gig or something?"

The atmosphere loosened Wilbur up like Tommy has never seen before as he absolutely beamed down at Tommy, slamming his cup down on the counter as he threw his arm lazily over Tommy and tugged his stool closer. "This," he said. "Is my right hand man! He's my special boy, his name is Tommy."

"Hey Big Q," greeted Tommy with a small salute. "Can I get some of that shit?"

Quackity cackled. "Sure, kid."

Wilbur tutted, but he didn't discipline Tommy as Quackity actually poured a shot and slid it to Tommy. "Baby's first shot," he said, sharing a grin with Wilbur who was lazily smiling at Tommy.

Tommy stared down at the shot. Why was he so nervous? He flickered between looking at Quackity and Wilbur before taking a deep breath and quickly poured it down his throat. It burned, but it was almost pleasant as it warmed him from the inside. As he slammed it down - because everybody always slams it down - he almost felt dizzy as he looked at Wilbur and Quackity. He flashed Wilbur a grin, who just kept smiling right back at him. Between Wilbur and the alcohol and the finally warm building, his heart pitter pattered and his body jittered with happiness. 

"You really went for it kid," grinned Quackity. "You're teaching him well, Wilbur."

Wilbur raised his glass. "One more, Quackity."

Quackity rolled his eyes playfully. "One more," he said. "No more free drinks Wilbur, you're gonna put me in debt."

Wilbur huffed a small bout of laughter. "Debt," he echoed.

Eyes widening comically, Quackity nodded as he slid the filled glass back to Wilbur. Tommy looked down at his own glass and Quackity simply shook his head before responding to Wilbur, "for real man. Getting this shit is a pain. No matter what, humans will invest in the drug or booze business."

"Need something to get through this shit," sighed Wilbur, slumping slightly and drummed his fingers against the bar. 

Quackity pursed his lips. "Yeah."

A silence fell, but only for a few seconds before Wilbur tilted his head after taking a sip of his drink. "Say, Quackity, you still got that spare bedroom up there?"

Quackity's eyebrows furrowed. "That's my bedroom, Wilbur."

"And I've slept there enough for it to be mine as well," huffed Wilbur. "Could I stay there until I get more on my feet?"

"Christ, Wilbur!" exclaimed Quackity. "You have your own house-" then, his face fell. "Right."

"Yeah. Right," lowly parroted Wilbur. "I had a house until it was ransacked and"-his grip on the glass tightened until his finger tips were red and Tommy almost told him to stop or he'd break the glass-"and fucking- all my shit."

Quackity rubbed at his temples, confliction decorating his scarred face. Tommy stared at him. Despite the scars, he was obviously handsome before everything - even despite his greasy, shaggy hair that fell down to his shoulders - and even now he surely wasn't ugly. Tommy chewed his lip. Nobody was in tip-top shape these days. "I just- sorry, Wilbur. I saw you come in and, uh, assumed things got better."

"They didn't," muttered Wilbur. "I think I'm just gonna stay in hiding here."

Questions and thoughts and ideas ran through Tommy's mind like a millrace, storming around and muddling his brain as he itched to rapid fire a million questions at once. Wilbur was always quiet about his past, and this only raised even more questions as he attempted to organize what was happening. Wilbur apparently was a resident here and then he wasn't and he apparently has to stay in hiding - that's the gist of it, it seems.

"You can't stay with me," said Quackity. "I don't have the room."

Wilbur desperately grasped at straws. "I can get you ammo? Medical supplies?'

"I don't need that shit, Wilbur. You know I don't go out the walls much - and I can't even shoot, dude, look at my eye!" Quackity put his foot down, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry man- and if they find you here under my roof you know that- that fucking cult will come after me."

Wilbur shushed him, leaning closer to Quackity and instinctively, Tommy scooted away. He had a feeling he really wasn't supposed to listen to this conversation. He should've just went to sit with Tubbo and Ranboo by the fire. "Don't say their names," Wilbur hissed. "You call them a cult and you know they'll find a way to come after you."

"Let them," snarked Quackity. "Their fucking leader is a little shit anyway. Sends his little goons to do the work for him." 

"Still getting that kid to do his work for him?" Asked Wilbur.

Quackity squinted his eyes, scrunching his face in thought as he racked his mind before sighing. "I think they still have that uh- what's his name? Purpled? I think they still have that kid working for them." 

Wilbur pinched his nose bridge. "And even in the apocalypse people find a way to use child labor."

Quackity chuckled humorlessly. "And you'd think with zombies roaming the world, humans would finally gang together to beat the bigger evil."

"Quackity," said Wilbur, almost as if he was speaking to a child. "Humans are the bigger evil."

Quackity went quiet at that, simply taking Wilbur and Tommy's empty glasses and began cleaning them until they were past pristine cleanliness. Tommy shifted in his seat, looking towards Wilbur who stared at his hands that were folded neatly on the counter. "Wilbur?" he whispered.

Wilbur looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah?"

"Where are we gonna sleep?" He asked.

"I-" Wilbur cleared his throat. "I'll figure something out. Don't worry, yeah? Why don't you go sit by the fire, Tommy?" He grabbed Tommy's hand and squeezed it. "Your hands are freezing. Shoo. Go talk to your friends."

Tommy had a feeling he was just trying to get rid of him so he could talk to Quackity. "I can take the hint," he muttered, ignoring Wilbur's apologetic expression as he shifted off the bar. As he walked away, he immediately heard Wilbur and Quackity talking quietly amongst themselves. He resisted the urge to linger and eavesdrop, but he really wasn't in the mood for Wilbur to get on his case so he slumped back over to Tubbo and Ranboo.

Ranboo looked up, face brightening when he noticed Tommy walk over, but he quickly morphed into confusion. "Why'd you leave Wilbur?"

"Aw, came to visit lil' old us?" cooed Tubbo playfully, patting the chair next to him, which Tommy reluctantly took as he slouched in his chair. The exhaustion hit him all at once, the fire nearly burning him due to how close he was and slowly healing the numbing of his bones and limbs. They ached so, so much. 

"Wilbur's talking to the bar owner," he simply said. He wasn't going to blab Wilbur's business to Tubbo and Ranboo; he obviously let a little too much slip to Tommy, and he honestly couldn't give that much of a shit. His gaze flickered to a train cart connected to the the wall of the fireplace, the room much dimmer than the rest with one single man sitting there. 

The man looked familiar, but Tommy couldn't place his finger on how he was familiar. He scrutinized his appearance, ignoring Tubbo and Ranboo's interrogation. The man had pink hair, loosely tied back in a small ponytail with a braid across the side with scruff decorating his chin and sharp jawline. When his eyes flickered up to meet Tommy's, his blood turned into ice, colder than the outside elements. Those were the eyes of a hunter; narrowed and hooded, watching him with the prowess of a panther, unblinkingly. Tommy's heart pounded, but he couldn't force himself to look away as his body trembled. 

Who is this guy? Why does he look so familiar? Tommy's head hurt as he ran through the files of his brain, throwing apart filing cabinets and wracking it for information; memories, thoughts, anything. 

The man slowly took a sip of his drink, gaze unwavering. He took another sip, gulping until it was empty until he slowly rose. His coat was long, drifting down to the floor with faux, white fur and a simple button down and pants underneath. Unlike everybody else in the bar, he looked much more refined, without a speck of dust or a hair out of place on the man save for a long scar across his eyebrow, effectively slitting it at the arch. The man's gaze finally snapped away as he walked past the boys, but something slipped from his pocket with a light thump. The man paid no attention, stalking over to the bar with light steps, despite his large build.

Tommy scrabbled to the wallet that fell out of the pocket, snatching it and flipping it open. There wasn't much in it - money wasn't a big issue - but the wallet seemed vaguely familiar. He fingered through the pockets of it, before pulling out a small slip of paper. His entire body froze, time halting in motion as his breath caught in his throat, staring at the picture he pulled out. The wallet fell from his hands, but Tommy ignored it as he stared down at the picture, trembling.

It was a picture of him. At the beginning of everything. His smile was blinding, teeth white and crooked in all their childhood glory. His hair was the sun, shiny and fluffy and clean, without any matting or blood or broken. He wore his simple red and white baseball tee and jeans, sneakers not nearly as battered as they once wore. A hand rested on his shoulder - probably Tubbo or Ranboo - but he ignored them as he stared at the man's large, hunkered over form in front of him. He saw red, tunnel visioned on him.

Sam took that photo. 

Before Tommy could even stop himself, he yelled out, "hey, you!"

The man stopped in his movements, looking over his shoulder as he pointed to himself. "Are you talking to me, kid?"

"Who the fuck else?" snapped Tommy, kneeling to pick up the wallet and wave it around. "You fuckin' dropped this."

"No need for the attitude," he said smoothly. "Thanks for pickin' it up."

As the man made a step forward to grab it, Tommy moved away from his grasp with heavy steps. "Where'd you get this photo?" he seethed. "Where'd you fuckin' get this?"

The man's eyes widened, before he firmly stepped forward again. "None of your business, kid. Now hand that back-" he went to grasp it again, but Tommy shoved the photo in his pocket.

His body was absolutely trembling with rage. He doesn't remember who the man is, but he supposes that doesn't matter; Tommy was a photo in this man's fucking pocket when it should be in Sam's pocket. This man isn't Sam, and he sure as hell isn't a friend of Sam. Tommy was Sam's friend. "This isn't yours," Tommy growled. "Why the fuck do you have this?"

Realization dawned on the man, faltering in his movement as he stared down at Tommy, who was mustering the absolute nastiest glare he could, his whole body jittery and mixing together in emotions of rage, betrayal, sadness, and confusion. "You're that guys' son."

"I wasn't his son," corrected Tommy. "But I was close enough. How do you know Sam?"

The man rolled his sleeves up. "It doesn't matter." He turned around, going to leave. "Keep the photo. I have no interest in messing around with some kid."

All semblance of reasoning had vanished from Tommy; the only thoughts inside of his head was Sam. 

The building burst into flames, rumbling as it collapsed-

"You motherfucker!" roared Tommy, throwing himself at the man with all the years of rage built up inside him. People were yelling, and he thinks somebody tried to grab onto him, but all he could focus was the power behind his fists as he swung them as hard as he could as the man he knocked onto the floor, nearly hitting his head against the table. The man quickly caught his fists with ease, shoving Tommy off of him. 

The man looked as if he wasn't even trying as he avoided Tommy's swings, simply holding the boy back at an arms length. "Don't make me hurt a kid," he said, repeating it over and over as if that would make Tommy stop. Tommy cried out as tears streamed down his face, trying to land a single fucking punch he will pay for what he did to Sam he took away his family he will pay he will pay he will pay he will pay-

Beneath him, the man and him gained distance as Tommy didn't even realize what was happening. He jolted, but his vision stayed firmly locked on the man as arms wrapped around his waist and heaved him off of the man. Somebody helped the man to his feet, but he didn't accept it as he slowly rose to his feet and wiped the dust off of his pants - and anger bubbled up inside Tommy again by the nonchalance. "You will fuckin' pay!" he screamed, kicking in the grasp. "Let me go!" 

"Tommy," a familiar voice said in his ear, weakly and absolute sadness dripping from their words. 

Wilbur.

Tommy continued struggling, but he knew it was futile. Wilbur was stronger than him, his arms tight around his waist as he held him in place. Wilbur took his other hand, running it through Tommy's greasy and matted locks, once golden. His heart squeezed, thinking to the photo snug in his pocket. He'll never let that get taken away again. Wilbur shushed him, and after a few minutes, Tommy relaxed in his grip as he numbly stared at the man who was discussing something with Quackity. 

Wilbur cooed nothings into his ear; Tommy wasn't paying attention. Grief was crawling inside him, rising from his throat like nausea as salty, warm tears streamed down his face. His arms hung limply by his side, Tommy simply allowed them to fall. He didn't care. He didn't care. He wanted Sam. This monster of a man - far worse than any sort of zombie or creature from the outside - was most definitely the cause of Sam's death. Wilbur continued petting him, and the roar of the bar silenced as Quackity ushered the man outside. 

"Tommy," Wilbur repeated.

Tommy made a weak grunt. The energy was absolutely sucked out of him, his gaze trained on his dangling limbs. 

Wilbur gulped, adams apple bobbing from behind Tommy's head. "What. . . what happened?"

Tommy didn't respond. 

". . . C'mon, Toms-" That's a new one. He must've really freaked Wilbur out. "-Quackity made us a deal? Yeah? There's a spare trailer a few rooms over that Quackity a landed a deal on." Wilbur smoothed Tommy's hair, and he finally allowed himself to lean into the touch. "We're all gonna sleep in there. It's warm. And safe, okay? Quackity said he's going to take them there right now, okay?"

Tommy gasped for air, snot streaming down as he scrubbed at his nose, hiccupping. After a few moments and a shaky exhale, Wilbur sat Tommy down once more, who nearly collapsed from his jelly legs. Wilbur bent over, leveling his gaze with Tommy's as he cupped Tommy's cheeks. Tommy's eyes screwed shut, trying to stop the tears but they just kept coming. Big men don't cry. Big men don't cry. Big men don't cry-

"Breathe with me," whispered Wilbur. "Follow me, Tommy-"

Tommy couldn't focus, mind heavy and muddled. He simply hiccupped and took deep, desperate gasps of air. 

"Tommy breathe," snapped Wilbur.

Tommy jumped, eyes slowly landing onto Wilbur's. His eyes were as wide as saucers, melancholy and desperation swirling around in the chocolaty gaze. "That's it," he said. "Good lad. Now breathe, alright? C'mon."

Tommy took deep, shaky breathes attempting to mimic Wilbur's as he slowly came down to earth. Wilbur gave him a small smile, faked to hell and back as an obvious attempt to calm Tommy, but he returned the half-assed smile in return.

"You've made a mess of yourself," lightheartedly scolded Wilbur, wiping Tommy's tears as they slowly fell and took a napkin from his pocket and swiped it across his nose. "There we go. Good lad. Can you walk?"

Tommy averted his gaze. He felt like a child. "Of course I can." He scowled.

Wilbur chuckled. "Silly me. C'mon." He linked his arms with Tommy, staring down at him with an affectionate glance that made Tommy squirm. It was nice, he supposed, but it was almost uncomfortable. It felt undeserved. It reminded him too much of his former partner, Sam. "Let's go, Tom."

Chapter Text

One thing Tommy learnt about Wilbur was that he would show lapses of affection, overly sweet and kind to the younger and contrasting his normally rough and nihilistic attitude; he'd praise Tommy, becoming weirdly attached to the boy, but these lapses never lasted long. Almost as if he was in a trance, he'd snap out of the hypnosis and then hold Tommy at an arm's length once more. 

It was one of those moments. Just twenty minutes ago, Wilbur refused to move an inch away from Tommy, arms squeezed around him and swiping the tears from his face. Now, sat in some random RV that belonged to a friend of Quackity, Tommy sat on the couch opposite of the kitchen. Next to him sat Tubbo, who was rambling about fun facts about dinosaurs and at the front near the steering wheel sat Wilbur and Ranboo. They weren't talking, Wilbur only really spoke to Tommy directly, but he noticed Ranboo squirm and open his mouth every so often to just immediately close it again.

"-and oh! Did you know dinosaurs are more closely related to birds?"

Tommy made a sound of acknowledgement, not having the heart to tell Tubbo to fuck off, as he stared at the photo of him in the palm of his hand. "Sorry, Tubbo," he said, rising with the crack of his knees. "I'm going to use the bathroom real quick."

Tubbo looked at him, gaze sad and swirling with disappointment. Tommy knew Tubbo was far smarter than he let on and he knew Tubbo was only rambling to take his mind off of things, so Tommy flashed him a week grin as he shoved the picture back in his pocket - but never stopped holding it - and meandered into the bathroom at the back of the RV. 

Then, once he entered the bathroom and glanced into the mirror, his whole body tensed up. When was the last time Tommy was in a proper bathroom with water and took a good look in the mirror? He fished the photo from out of his pocket and shakily held it up to his face in the mirror. His breath caught in his throat before steadying himself with a small, shaky exhale.

He looked so different he was nearly unrecognizable. 

The contrast was so stark that this photo of him could've been mistaken for anybody else; if you told somebody who didn't know Tommy three years ago that was him, they might not even believe you. It wasn't merely puberty and growing up that effected him. Sure, he grew some and his voice definitely deepened, but the spark he had vanished. Tommy barely even remembers how he used to view the world. Most definitely more optimistic, but Tommy supposes he still retains some of his optimism compared to other survivors. 

Shiny, fluffy blonde hair had turned into more of a golden brown, stained from dirt and dried blood. The ends were split, ripped and matted, unwashed for years; Tommy didn't exactly have the time to bathe. His stature in the picture was startling; he's always been a skinny child, but now was almost horrifying. Although there was some noticeable muscle, everything about him was scrawny. Hesitantly, he lifted his shirt and pointedly avoiding the scars. His ribs stuck out, sending shivers down his spine. He quickly pulled his shirt down. Tommy leaned up to the mirror until his nose almost touched it.

God, he was absolutely filthy. 

An old bandage was plastered on his nose, where flushed cheeks should be was scratches and dirt, his eyebrows were borderline a unibrow, and scabs were scattered all along his face both old and new. He resisted the urge to pick at one. Tommy took an index finger and pulled his lip back, opening his jaws. His teeth were crooked still, but turned a sparkly white to a yellow. Dental care wasn't exactly a priority. He winced when he thought to how bad his breath smelt. Tommy quickly pulled away from the mirror, pocketing the picture, and began tucking at his strands in an attempt to look slightly less battered. 

It was to no avail. 

Wilbur said there was running water. He needs to ask him about showering. 

After a few moments of building himself back up and muttering words of encouragement, Tommy kicked the door open and marched out with a false bravado. He smiled at Tubbo, who looked seemingly shocked by his newfound energy, but smiled back sweetly. Tommy made his way up to the front, where Wilbur was leaning back in the seat with his feet kicked up on the dashboard. Ranboo was the perfect opposite, neatly sitting with his hands folded in his lap, staring right at his hands. Once Tommy got closer, he notice Wilbur's eyes were shut. 

"You asleep?" Asked Tommy, snapping his fingers in Wilbur's face.

Wilbur sighed and slowly opened his eyes. "No," he said. "What do you want, child?"

Tommy ignored the "child" jab and crossed his arms. "You said there was running water. Can I get a shower? I haven't showered in fuckin' years."

Abruptly, Wilbur sat up straight and shot up from the seat, grasping Tommy's shoulders. "Right!" He facepalmed with a loud slap. "It didn't even cross my mind. We all smell like shit." 

Ranboo cocked an eyebrow. "Did you guys never bathe in rivers? When I- uh, was with Dre. . . He always made me go wash in the river."

"I could never find soap," said Tommy.

Tubbo interjected from the couch, "and I didn't care enough!" He scratched his head.

The group simultaneously winced.

Wilbur peeked out the window. It was dark. "There's a public showering system, but if I'm being honest I never liked using it. Especially in the winter. Wet hair isn't good." He patted Tommy's shoulder. "Tomorrow you can shower and then we'll hurry to Big Q's place for his fireplace, yeah?"

Ranboo piped in, "how will our sleeping arrangements work? There's a bed and a couch."

"Oh," said Wilbur, then promptly cursed. "Hadn't thought of that. Ranboo and Tubbo will share the couch, and then Tommy and I will share the bed."

Tubbo glowered then childishly stomped his foot. "Oi, why do you get the bed? Ranboo is fucking tall, there'll be no room."

Wilbur faltered, grasping at straws, before snapping back, "because I said so."

"Why can't Tommy take the couch?"

"Just sleep on the damn couch, dude," groaned Tommy, rubbing at his face. "Or I'll sleep on the floor or some shit. We've slept in worse conditions."

Ranboo took a step back. He always shied away from conflict, and whenever an argument broke out he always immediately went silent. Tommy always berated him inside of his brain, calling him a coward, but he wouldn't say it allowed. He glanced at Wilbur. Wilbur definitely agreed with him, by the look he gave Ranboo when he slowly tried disappearing. Wilbur spoke up, "Ranboo," he said, voice stern and booming.

Ranboo immediately shrunk back. "Ye- Yes?" 

"Do you care if you sleep on the sofa with Tubbo? It's a large sofa. It surely can fit you two if you squeeze together. You're close; why should it be an issue?" said Wilbur, eyes narrowing. "Please, voice your opinion."

Ranboo seemed to try to sink in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. "I don't mind either way," he squeaked.

Although Tommy agreed with Wilbur, this exchange rubbed him the wrong way - this attitude Ranboo showed at the moment resembled the boy they met a few months ago. The tall boy was still shy and reclusive, but he had made tremendous amounts of progress in coming out of his shell. 

"Ranboo hasn't done anything, leave him out of it," barked Tubbo.

Wilbur pointed his finger square in the middle of Ranboo's chest, knocking him back slightly. "Ranboo never, ever speaks his mind. It's always"-his voice rose in a mock imitation-"'oh Tubbo, whatever you say!' or 'okay, Wilbur, yes Wilbur!'" 

This time Tommy shrunk back in silence. He was no stranger to conflict, however he had no issue with Ranboo. On the other hand, he had no issues with Wilbur either - he even agreed with the man. 

Tubbo stepped in front of Ranboo's trembling form, slapping Wilbur's hand away from him. "You're scaring him," he growled lowly. "Fuck off, Wilbur. I'll sleep on the couch, but leave Ranboo out of it."

Wilbur opened his mouth to further the argument, most likely to scold and yell at Tubbo, but his furious gaze slowly moved towards Tommy. He promptly shut his mouth, navigating around Tubbo smoothly and grabbed ahold of Tommy's wrist; despite his hardened gaze and heavy steps, his hold on Tommy's hand was soft and gentle. Wilbur tugged Tommy with him as he picked up his guitar case and handed his backpack to Tommy, who numbly held it as he allowed himself to be dragged around like a ragdoll. He opened the door, shoving Tommy out as he scrambled to zip up his coat. Wilbur looked over his shoulder, spitting out, "take the bed. Tommy and I will be back at dawn." Then slammed the door shut, shaking the entire RV. He ushered Tommy down the steps, not looking twice at the RV. 

Tommy pulled up his hood in sync with Wilbur, however for entirely different reasons. It was no longer snowing and Tommy could spot the shining moon in the sky, despite the light pollution in the area; lanterns and campfires lined the streets, and neon signs hummed as they flickered weakly. Finally, Tommy came to his senses and ripped his hand from Wilbur's grasp. "What the fuck!" he griped. 

"I don't feel like arguing with children. Especially a 'yes man' like Ranboo." Wilbur kicked at a lump of snow, flying into the air as it sparkled in the moonlight like the stars in the sky. "C'mon. We'll find our own place to sleep tonight."

Wilbur grabbed onto Tommy's hand again, and he wanted to argue that he didn't need Wilbur to drag him around like some sort of dad, but the warmth of Wilbur's hand seeped into Tommy's own and he decided he would stay like this just for the warmth. 

It was silent save for the crunch beneath their shoes, faint footsteps, and laughter coming out of buildings. Manberg was rather peaceful - cold as balls, but peaceful. Tommy truly saw why Wilbur praised the establishment like it was some sort of god send. "Do you know where we're going?" hesitantly asked Tommy after a few minutes of walking. "I'm tired and it's cold."

"Stop complaining," said Wilbur. "We're close."

Tommy fell silent, simply admiring the scenery of the metal city as he was tugged into an alleyway to a series of steps that led downwards into the ground. Tommy gazed at it with wide eyes and childlike wonder, Wilbur hopping down the steps smoothly until they reached a wooden door. Wilbur whispered into Tommy's ear, "keep your head down and don't talk, alright?"

Tommy shut his gaping mouth and nodded mutely, fascination and curiosity taking over his desire to be a little shit.

Wilbur opened the door slowly, quickly grabbing ahold of Tommy's hand once more and pulling him even closer beside him to where they where nearly melded together. 

The inside mirrored Quackity's bar, in which there were walls lined with sheet metal and tables scattered about with candles in the middle, providing a dim and faint light. There was a man behind a bar up ahead where a man was cleaning off the counter. Recognition dawned upon Tommy; that was the man at the entrance that afternoon with the glasses. Wilbur looked at him and greeted him with the flick of his index and middle finger. 

The man's eyes widened, quickly adjusting his glasses before lazily grinning at Wilbur. "Hey!" he greeted, throwing his rag off to the side as he slumped against the counter. "Haven't seen you around in awhile. The 'Bloods' know you're here yet?"

"No," said Wilbur. "And I don't intend for them to know."

The man clicked his tongue. "Be careful. They'll find you out eventually."

"They won't," simply said Wilbur. "Got any spare rooms? You still owe me a favor, Slimecicle."

The man waved him off with a bashful smile, obviously feigned to play up a joke. "Oh, Wil, I told you that's just my stage name. When it's just us you can call me Charlie, remember?" He winked.

Tommy vomited a little in his mouth.

"Oh Charlie," playfully flirted Wilbur. "My handsome man. You're just as charming out on the stage as you are behind the counter. I know you're pretty busy with the arena and all that, but I know you keep rooms here for the competitors. Spare us one, perhaps?"

Charlie lowered his voice with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Wilbur, you sure know how to butter me up," Charlie leaned back with a chuckle and a stretch. "Lucky for you and your child here-"

"-not his child," muttered Tommy.

"-I have a spare room, my dear Wilbur. Follow me and I'll show you to your five-star resort."

Wilbur nudged Tommy with a small grin before flashing his I-Am-So-Handsome-And-Charismatic-Look-At-Me smile at Charlie and gestured grandly. "Lead the way, Charlie Slimecicle."

Charlie winked at him as he made his way around the counter and beckoned the two boys with a finger. He wore a simple button up and suspenders, which wasn't odd exactly but rather misplaced during the actual fucking apocalypse. They followed him down the path, the walls lined with doors every so often until he halted in front of the last door in the hallway. "Here you go, my dear friend."

"Many thank you's, Charlie," said Wilbur with genuine gratefulness dripping from his honey like voice. 

Charlie nodded. "Be sure to stop by again for a chat, yeah?"

Wilbur clasped Charlie's hand, shaking it firmly before opening the door, creaking loudly in Tommy's ears. "Anything for you, Charlie. We can even get a drink." Wilbur ushered Tommy inside the room. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," replied Charlie, waving as Wilbur ducked inside the room and shut the door behind him.

The room was strangely nice, and it was much warmer underground in this basement like place than upstairs in the cold wind and snow. It was a very simple room; there was a small table and chairs with a lantern sat on top and then there was a large queen sized mattress. It wasn't a whole bed, just the mattress. Wilbur immediately dragged himself to the mattress, flopping down on it with a groan face-first, guitar rattling around in its case. 

Wilbur chuckled, shifting up to slip the guitar case off.

"What is this place?" asked Tommy, looking around with fidgety hands. "It's not a bar. . . or an inn - I think. That nerdy looking guy mentioned competitors."

Wilbur winced. "Yeah. Definitely not a place for kids." 

"Well I'm here anyway," sighed Tommy, flopping down on the mattress next to Wilbur, bouncing the both of them. He wanted to pursue the answer to his questions further, but he was quite frankly exhausted and he wouldn't doubt that Wilbur just would avoid the question.

"Tommy?"

"Yeah, Wilbur?"

Wilbur turned to him, eyes deeply set with genuine concern. It almost gave Tommy whiplash. "Why did you attack Technoblade?"

"Doesn't matter. . ." Tommy trailed off, furrowing his brows and gnawing at his lip. Something about that sentence was off. Then, the realization slammed into his noggin'. He whirled to face Wilbur, hair flapping against his face. It smelt bad. "How do you know his name?"

". . . Quackity told me," replied Wilbur. 

Tommy narrowed his eyes. "Are you lying again?"

Wilbur threw his hands in the air. "Christ, Tommy! I learnt his name because I wanted to know why you just fucking attacked him." He grabbed one of Tommy's hands, but he snatched it away. "I don't want to fight. I'm tired. You're tired. We're tired. I just want to know what happened. I don't love you, Tommy, but-"

"But you care," flatly finished Tommy, rolling his eyes. "Yeah. Not the first time you fuckin' remind me." 

Wilbur ruffled his hair. "I truly do." He sighed. "I just would like to know what caused you to freak out like that. . . I've never seen you so- so-"

Tommy couldn't find the right words, so he simply dug in his pocket and slapped the photo of him into Wilbur's hand, shuffling his feet and picking at the dry skin around his thumb until it bled. He wiped the blood on his pants. 

"Oh Tommy," breathed Wilbur. "Why on earth does Technoblade have this?"

Tommy took a deep, shaky breath. "I think he killed my. . . my uh, my partner. Before you."

"Shit," hissed Wilbur through his teeth. He ran his hands through his hair, muttering every form of curse word in the book.

Tommy laughed awkwardly. "Uh, don't feel, uh, bad for me-"

Wilbur craned his neck, staring at Tommy whilst hunched over the yellowing photo. "It's not that," he said.

"Oh."

"I do feel bad, but-" Wilbur shook his head, looking back to the photo with another curse. "Tommy, who was the guy that took this photo to you?"

"I told you," insisted Tommy. "A partner."

Wilbur sighed, rubbing at his temples. "No, no, like was he family? Simply a friend? How long did you know him?"

Tommy groaned. "I didn't realize this was 'interrogate Tommy' night." Wilbur stared at him. "I met him right at the beginning of- of all of this. My parents got- got fuckin' mauled and before I was next. . . Sam saved me. He's my hero. We stuck together for a long time. He took care of me. He made sure I never saw any violence . . . he'd cut my hair. Feed me. Protect me."

Wilbur went quiet, and when Tommy spared him a glance, his expression was unreadable but it was akin to what could be described as absolute horror and guilt. "W- Wilbur?" Timidly said Tommy.

Wilbur jolted. "Sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to make you remember bad memories."

"It's been like . . . a year." Tommy shrugged, before giving Wilbur a weak smile and bumping their shoulders. "Now I have you, Big Man."

"We have each other," warmly responded Wilbur. He yawned loudly and dramatically, stretching and reaching over to pat Tommy's head. "It's been awhile since it was just the two of us, huh?" 

Tommy nodded. "It has. I kinda miss it," he admitted. "Even if it was kinda awkward at first."

"We haven't just talked in a good bit," murmured Wilbur, scratching the back of his head. Then, he sat up straight and it was like a light-bulb flashed over his head as he abruptly reached for his guitar case and yanked it over to him. He cracked Tommy a small, un-Wilbur-like smile as he ran his hand over the guitar case, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the rough fabric of the case. "I don't think I've ever introduced you two."

Tommy didn't point out how he was acting like the guitar was a person. 

"I think it's time you know her," said Wilbur, unzipping the case and pulling out the guitar. It hummed melodically as Wilbur brushed against the strings as he pulled the guitar out.

It was in pristine condition, which surprised Tommy but also didn't; Wilbur was absolutely anal about the guitar, and it showed. Not a single string was out of place and the wood of it was glossy and absolutely glowing. Wilbur smiled at Tommy as he swiped a thumb down it, the tune ringing out.

Wilbur winced. "She's a bit untuned," he said, then began fiddling with the knobs. 

"I did music too," softly said Tommy, watching Wilbur tune his guitar and thumbing at the strings every so often. "I played the piano. I wanted to start the guitar, too."

Wilbur looked up at him, eyebrows risen in interest. "Really? I played around with the piano, but nothing could beat my good ol' guitar." 

Then, before the conversation could further, Wilbur began softly strumming away. His calloused fingers expertly picked at the fingers, a sweet tune filling the room they sat in. It was relaxing, and it almost nearly served as a lullaby; Tommy wondered if Wilbur actually had any skill or if he just carried the guitar around with him. As the chords rang out like a bell, Tommy spotted cursive etched into the side of the guitar. He craned his neck and squinted his eyes to read the letters. 

Wilbur Soot

A last name. Tommy pulled his eyes from it. It didn't add much, but it was a bit of information Tommy chewed on gratefully, a man starved of Wilbur's life. Soot suited him; curt and rhythmic. Wilbur strummed the strings one last time, his tranquil expression fading as he placed the guitar back into its case gingerly, as if it was a baby in a cradle. 

"Thanks for showing me it," softly said Tommy. "You're really good, Big Man."

"Of course, thanks Tommy." Wilbur popped his shoes off, wiggling his socked toes and patted the pillows. "Let's sleep, alright?"

Tommy watched Wilbur scoot to the top of the bed, fluffing at his pillows as Tommy furrowed his brows. "Now what?" he asked.

"Hm?"

"We made it here. What do we do now?"

Wilbur looked at him incredulously. "What do you mean? You relax. You're safe here."

Tommy looked at his hands. "I don't like that," he said simply.

"I know it's uh- it's kind of an awkward change of pace, but you should be grateful we arrived here." Wilbur gave him a stern look. "Not everybody has the privilege of making it here. . . and if they do, not everybody has an older friend with connections to get you a place to stay. Some people sleep out on the streets."

"So we just sleep, eat, shit, and die?" 

Wilbur pulled his gaze away, yanking Tommy towards the top of the bed. "Take your shoes off." Tommy obeyed. "That's exactly what you're going to do, Tommy. You want to go out the walls again, risking death at every turn? You should know more than anybody else."

" . . . right. Good night, Wilbur."

"Good night, Tommy."

Due to the circumstances Tommy finds himself in, the once heavy sleeper ended up being able to wake up at the drop of the pin, ears constantly open and alert for any sort of danger or noise approaching; his eyes immediately flew open, adjusting to the darkness of the room, when the door creaked open and gently shut behind assumingly Wilbur, due to the lack of warmth on the bed next to him.

Tommy squinted, and sure enough there was a lack of a presence. Mentally, he debated whether he should let Wilbur leave and do his business - it definitely wasn't morning yet, he probably only slept for two hours tops - but on the other hand he just wanted to curl back under the sheets and sleep. It's been such a long time since he's slept in a warm bed that he wanted to fight his curiosity and let himself perpetually wondering.

But the idea of perpetually wondering sounded like hell, so Tommy clambered out of bed with a sigh and tugged on his dirty sneakers. He grabbed his coat and slipped it on, zipping it up tightly as the warmth encompassed him, replacing his blankets and warm mattress. He counted to five, ensuring Wilbur wasn't hanging around the door, before slowly opening it up and looked around outside.

The hallway was completely empty and dark as a cave save for the lanterns lining the ground, giving Tommy a small glimpse of vision. Keeping his steps light, Tommy hunched over as he slowly crept down the hall, looking around wildly; it was completely silent, not a single noise sounded save for his faint breathing and the rustle of his clothing as he moved. 

Tommy peered around the corner, eyes blowing up widely as he noticed Wilbur leaning against the front desk, murmuring something to Charlie quietly. Tommy remained the wall; he almost felt giddy. Tommy Danger Innit was on a mission - he hasn't been on one of those since Sam used to send him out to do chores. Wilbur usually kept Tommy beside him, even if he had to do dirty work such as gutting a fish or killing a zombie. 

Sam was very different from Wilbur. Wilbur didn't attempt to shield his eyes from blood, even something as simple as a shot rabbit. Sam tried everything he could to avert Tommy's gaze and distract him. He'd play games, he'd tell stories, he'd do anything to distract Tommy from the real world. Although he's incredibly grateful for Sam's attempt to preserve his innocence, he couldn't help but also be grateful that Wilbur desensitized him to the cruel world and taught him how to kick ass and take names. 

Wilbur pulled away from whispering in Charlie's ear, flashing him a stern look as he gave a small wave of two fingers. Tommy expected him to turn back and return down the hallway to get back in bed and then Tommy'd have to scurry down the hallway, but instead Wilbur meandered to the entrance of the underground facility and exited. 

Now Tommy's curiosity was fully piqued. He couldn't possibly be going to Tubbo and Ranboo; he'd wake Tommy up for that, and he was certain it wasn't morning yet. Tommy glanced at Charlie who immediately leaned against the wall and began snoring. That guy falls asleep like the speed of lightning, holy shit.

Tommy darted down the room, quiet as a mouse due to years of sneaking around, and gingerly clambered up the steps to greet the freezing cold air.

Fuck. He should've just ignored Wilbur and stayed in bed; it was cold as fucking balls. It greeted him unwelcomingly as Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets and crept up the steps to the surface. He was correct in which is wasn't yet morning, the moon was still high in the sky and casted a soft glow amongst the city of metal. Tommy glanced around before spotting Wilbur's form slink down the street.

He really looked shady, what with his hood over his face and his hands stuffed in his pockets like some sort of petty criminal. Tommy mimicked him by throwing his hood over his face to shield his ears from the cold and remained a few yards behind Wilbur, wincing every time the snow crunched beneath him.

Wilbur passed the RV Ranboo and Tubbo stayed in, which clued Tommy in that he really wasn't just going to check in on them. Wilbur then sharply turned into an alleyway, pace quickening expansively. Tommy spluttered as he scurried down the empty streets, hurrying to catch Wilbur's racing form. As he turned, Wilbur took another turn. Tommy groaned; why the fuck was this guy now running? Tommy hurried after him, still wary to stay behind, as his breath huffed into the air like cigarette smoke. 

After another turn, Tommy skidded as he scrambled back behind the wall of a building. There was a large building made from multiple train cars and boxes made from metal, towering high - much higher than any other building in the area - and Tommy wondered how everybody missed it. Tommy's gaze scoured it until Wilbur stepped to the side, then he noticed the sign etched with sloppy handwriting.

It didn't say much, it simply just said, "Church."

Wilbur hadn't said anything about being religious. Tommy scrunched his nose up; he personally believed in god before the apocalypse, but he hadn't thought much about religion after. Wilbur didn't strike him as a particularly religious man, but a memory scratched at his brain. 

Wilbur was talking about some sort of cult to Quackity, but he obviously didn't particularly appreciate them; why on earth was he entering the building that blatantly said church? As Wilbur disappeared inside the building, Tommy scrambled to follow him until something tugged the fabric of his shirt back and nearly throwing him on his ass.

"What's a kid like you doing out here so late?" they growled into his ear. 

Chapter Text

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. 

Tommy froze in his stance, the back of his collar gripped tightly as he stared helplessly at the building Wilbur had disappeared into; Wilbur warned him some of the people in the settlement were seedy at best, but he didn't think he'd end up getting snatched by one at god-knows-what-hour. Slowly, he turned his head and tried to look at the man out of the corner of his eye.

Due to the lack of sunlight, the man wasn't very easy to see however a few attributes caught his eye. Long, blonde hair curled around his pierced ears and trailed down to his shoulders. He wore a green and white bucket hat. Scruff decorated his chin. Tommy glanced downward. And he wasn't properly dressed at all for the snowy weather; he simply wore black pants and what appeared to be two hoodies. All in all he looked like just the fucking weirdo to snatch young teenagers at the devils hour.

"Let me go, old man," snapped Tommy, tugging away from the man's grasp. 

The man let go, hands held up placatingly as Tommy stumbled backwards and crouched defensively. His gun's cold weight pressed against him in its holster, a reminder of his protection and natural shooting ability. "Sorry mate," he said, awkwardly smiling at Tommy before scratching the back of his neck. "Didn't mean to scare you. Heh."

Tommy took a step backwards, glaring up at the man and scowling. "The fuck you want?"

The man clasped his hands behind his back, and despite his unassuming appearance and nonchalance, something about his stare unnerved the living fuck out of Tommy. It was icy and cold, eyes low lidded despite his warm smile and relaxed posture. "I was simply wondering what a kid was doing out this late. It's awfully cold, too; where's your dad?"

"None of your business," bit out Tommy. "Now if you don't mind me, I have some business."

Tommy spit right in front of the man's shoes to assert dominance, marching right past him. The man made no efforts to stop him, and Tommy didn't look back as he broke out into a sprint. Fuck whatever Wilbur was doing, there are some creepy ass people in the town. He retraced his footsteps, not yet covered again by the snow, and gave the RV Tubbo and Ranboo resided in an apologetic look. 

Eventually, he reached the boarding rooms once more, entering and immediately sighing at the warmth; the numbness to his fingers and cheeks faded as the warmth almost seemed to sting him in comparison. Charlie was still snoozing by the front desk, and as much as Tommy wanted to go snooze along like him and slip into his bed, any semblance of exhaustion has faded from his excursion. 

Time to fuck with shit and look around - what Tommy does best. 

Two hallways diverged on either side, one heading down to the rooms, and the other one was much darker so Tommy couldn't see as well down it. Despite every single sign telling him that, no he shouldn't go down the eerie hallway in a creepy establishment he doesn't know a lot about, he wasn't known for listening to that little voice in the back of his head. Curiosity defeated reasoning, and Tommy adjusted his holster before marching down the dark hallway. 

His footsteps hit metal flooring, clinking as he crept down. It was a rather long hallway, taking a sharp turn until he slammed right into a wall. He groaned, stumbling backwards and pinching his now most likely bruised nose. "Stupid fucking building design," he grouched, looking around. "A dead end? Really?"

There had to be more. Tommy felt around the walls, tapping about; it was all the same. He fell to his knees, crawling about like some sort of feral animal and felt along. His hand bumped into a loose piece of metal, moving with a quiet schwing. 

Bingo.

Tommy felt at it until he yanked at the edge, the metal pulling back into a hatch. There, at the bottom of a ladder, was a lit up room. What the fuck is going on? Tommy swallowed dryly, alarm bells ringing in his mind, before he clambered down and took in his surroundings. 

It was just a room. A normal fucking room.

That's underwhelming. . . might as well snooped.

Normally, Tommy would've mistaken it just for Charlie's bedroom but there was a noticeable lack of bed. Instead, where a bed would normally be, was a long ornate desk. The wood was chipping and it was stained, but it was sturdy nonetheless. A plush chair was sat behind it, neatly pushed in with a thin layer of dust coating it.

Nobody has been down here for a long time. 

Lining the walls was bookshelves, also coated in layers of dust that once Tommy went near, he quickly covered his mouth with his bandana to prevent anybody from hearing his sneezing. After his nose stopped twitching, he scanned the books; they were reasonably normal, mostly nonfiction, but none in particular caught his attention.

Tommy most nearly stopped looking, figuring this was just somebody's office and they hadn't come down in awhile, but he froze where he stood as his eyes fell onto a moleskin journal. He immediately snatched it and meandered to the chair where he flopped down on it. He coughed as dust and dirt flew into the air, and his fingers became coated as he flipped open to the first page of the journal.

Day One:

Today, I started the experiments for Case B35; Subject Three struggled quite a bit at the beginning, but after taking some of the dosage he seemed to have calmed down quite a bit. The first dosage we created seemed to have some sort of tranquility effect. I shall keep this in mind-

Tommy flipped to the next entry. This was just full of boring nerd shit.

Day Three:

Subject Three has been very ill. He hasn't left his room and refuses to even get up to eat; he ended up soiling himself and I had to give him the dose to send him to sleep. I had my assistant clean him off and get some new clothes. Once healthy skin turned pale and green and his skin has been peeling off. I am going to end this entry early tonight to monitor him some more. I am worried he will die like Subject One and Subject Two.

What the fuck kind of sci-fi, twilight zone, alternate universe shit is this? Tommy flipped through the pages in horror. From what he could tell so far, these were experiments on people. They were given dosages of some kind of drug and then they were sick. Tommy thumbed through a few more pages, skimming them all; it was mostly describing in detail how Subject Three was incredibly sick and wasn't feeling well.

Day Thirty-Six:

I am displeased to announce Subject Three passed away. He rotted right before our eyes, turning into an undead creature; I had one of my hunters shoot him down quickly. He shouldn't look at violence, though; he is much better made to be a scientist. It's a shame all he wants to do is play that guitar and run off. It's like he doesn't even understand we are in an apocalypse and we need to search for a cure. Time to send him off to look for a new subject.

Day Forty-Two:

It took us a few days, but we found our Subject Four. He's rather young, but he should do. Healthy, tall, and young - perfect for a subject. It's a shame 'T' had to kill his parents, but how could we pass up such a perfect subject? Something tells me he's the key. He refused to tell us his name, but that is no matter. To us he is simply Subject Four. Nothing more, nothing less. The most unique thing about him is his vitiligo, but it really shouldn't get in the way of the experiment too much.

Day Fifty-Six:

We had a break in. I'm writing this quickly for myself and any others who read this in the future; in the midst of it all, Subject Four was broken out. It was the one who wears the mask everywhere and his little cronies. They're young. They don't understand the weight of this at all.

Then, the entries ended. Tommy stared at the journal in his hands in a mixture of horror and shock, the weight of it heavy in his hands. Shakily and hesitantly, he shoved the journal underneath his coat; he knew it's a bad idea to take the journal, but something tells him it'll be in use later. He quickly started back up the ladder to the top and covered his tracks as he snuck quietly back to his room. 

Charlie was still snoring away.

Was he the one who did the entries? Tommy pondered, but something tells him Charlie wasn't even fully aware of the bunker beneath his establishment. Tommy slithered back inside his room, stuffing the journal in his backpack beneath all of his clothes and supplies, and popped off his shoes.

He curled beneath his blankets, slowing his erratic breathing and pounding heartbeat. He attempted to rationalize and reason on what just happened and what he just fucking read.

There were experiments on people for assumingly the cure for the zombies. Sounds great theoretically, until it seems like they were fucking dying. Then they found a new guy with vitiligo - isn't it interesting Ranboo also has vitiligo - and then there was a break in by a man with a mask and his cronies. And the entries stopped-

Tommy sat up in his bed, eyes blown wide in realization.

Ranboo. Ranboo was most definitely the boy described in the books. Tommy tugged at his matted strands, trying to calm his heartbeat and rapid breathing; if Wilbur came in, it'd be hard to explain why he was awake and freaking the fuck out. Tommy rested his face in the palm of his hands, taking deep shaky breaths as he rationalized the situation. If Ranboo was the one in the stories, that explains his gaps of memory. To add, it explains how he ended up with that group of psycho murderers - he did say they saved him.

By that logic, that means Dre and his group of cronies in a way were heroes. Tommy ran his hands through his hair with a frustrated groan. That doesn't explain why they decided his group of people, drilling Wilbur about his dad and then shooting Jack. 

The door creaked open, pulling Tommy out of his thoughts as Wilbur stepped inside. Wilbur jumped when he saw Tommy in a lit room and wide awake. Wilbur clutched his chest, taking a deep breath before chuckling. "What are you doing wide awake?"

Tommy swallowed dryly. "Uh. . . I had a, a nightmare," he lied.

Wilbur nodded in sympathy, chucking his coat and shoes off as he plopped next to Tommy on the bed. "Today was pretty rough on you," he hummed, fixing the wrinkles in Tommy's shirt dotingly. "You should go back to sleep. We only have a bit of night time left."

". . . Right," said Tommy, going to lay down before tilting his head and asking, "Where'd you go?"

"Had to piss," smoothly replied Wilbur, blowing out the candle. "Sweet dreams. Get some shut eye, Tommy."

Tommy didn't respond as he tugged his blanket up to his chin and desperately tried to ignore the information overload he just received. 

That dawn, as Wilbur told Ranboo and Tubbo, they made their way through the thick snow and marched right up inside the RV. 

The RV was evidently much chillier than the rooms underground, but a much larger space; they were greeted with loud snores, and when Tommy looked over, Tubbo and Ranboo were passed out on the bed with wide open mouths and tussled hair. 

Wilbur began loudly clapping his hands and began loudly singing, making a racket.

As the boys startled awake, Tommy's stomach twisted as he watched Ranboo wake up; does he tell Ranboo what he learnt or does he stay silent? Tubbo was dragged out of bed beside Ranboo, greeting pleasant good mornings and acting as if Wilbur hadn't stormed out in a fit of frustration the night before. 

"Morning, Tommy," said Ranboo.

Tubbo stared at Tommy with an unreadable expression. Tommy squirmed under his scrutinizing gaze and tore his gaze away to greet Ranboo. "Hey, big guy," he said. "How'd you sleep?"

Ranboo chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Tubbo wouldn't stop moving and then kicked me right in the stomach in his sleep."

Finally, after what felt like the longest minute of his life, Tubbo ripped his gaze away from Tommy and grinned whilst slapping Ranboo on the arm. "You're being dramatic. I flipped over like, three times."

Ranboo playfully slapped him back. "You're insufferable to sleep next to!"

Fuck. Tommy has to tell Ranboo what he learnt.

"I'm gonna fetch breakfast," announced Wilbur, grabbing the door knob with a wave. "Anybody want to come? Just going down to Big Q's bar."

Tubbo hopped up, eying down Tommy as he strode down to Wilbur. It was almost like he was a mind reader, figuring out that Tommy needed to talk to Ranboo. "I'll go, Boss man. I'm starving."

Wilbur was evidently taken aback, but he simply nodded and flashed Tommy a quick smile before ushering the younger male out and softly shutting the door behind him. 

Ranboo cleared his throat. "So, uh, where'd you and Wilbur go?"

Tommy gnawed at his lip. "Uh. . ." Visions and memories of last night flashed inside his brain, thinking to Wilbur disappearing in a church to the book heavy in his bag. "Let's take a walk. I feel stiff."

"It's cold out," protested Ranboo.

Tommy yanked at his arm, the gangly teenager nearly tripping flat on his face. "Get on your coat then. I don't want to sit around - I haven't had a chance to really look around."

"I guess it'd be good to look around," Ranboo mused as he shrugged on his coat. "Lead the way."

Tommy immediately burst out the door, looking around; now that it was morning, more people trailed down the streets. All matted hair and patched clothes, even in a settlement people looked roughened up and battered; Tommy beckoned Ranboo before walking down a random direction. 

"Shouldn't we tell Wilbur we left?" anxiously asked Ranboo. "What if he worries."

Tommy waved him off. "I don't care. Let 'im worry."

Ranboo grumbled something to himself, but he allowed Tommy to push ahead and start walking.

Tommy took a right, turning onto a less busy portion of the street and quickly looked around. He pushed Ranboo into a random corridor. His heart throbbed painfully, legs trembling as all of the moisture in his mouth seemed to vanish as he opened it.

"Hey, what is it?" asked Ranboo. "Why'd you pull me over here? It wasn't just to look around, was it?"

"Ranboo- I found, I found something." Tommy took a shaky, deep breath as his hands fidgeted from inside his pockets. "Like something to do with your memory loss."

Ranboo's eyes widened, but his gaze wasn't focused on Tommy; it was focused right over his shoulder, mouth trembling as it fell open. "Good to hear, but- but look behind you," he whispered, gaze refusing to tear away.

Tommy slowly craned his neck, tilting his body hesitantly with anxiety bubbling up inside him and crawling and tearing at the inside of his throat.

In the crowd, was a man with a familiar mask.

"Fuck," cursed Tommy. He wasted no time; he grabbed ahold of Ranboo's wrist and ran. "How'd he fuckin' find us?"

Ranboo ran along with him, his usual hesitance vanished as the weight of the situation came down on him. "I- I don't know!"

Time to run like the fucking wind.

Chapter Text

Cold, biting air soared by Tommy as his legs pumped him as fast as his malnourished, freezing body could; buildings whirred by him and all he could focus on was his burning lungs, crunching of the snow beneath his feet, and Ranboo’s panicked speech.

Possibilities ran through his mind, desperately brainstorming for a plan. Whenever things got tight, Tommy always came up with a plan - Tommy Danger Innit always escapes. It was suprising how large the establishment was; Tommy could run for what felt like ages and still not reach the end of the maze of sheet metal buildings.

Tommy looked over his shoulder, sparing a glance. Nobody was visibly following them but Tommy learnt the hard way how sneaky and sleazy those men back there were.

Abruptly, Tommy’s gaze caught onto a rusted ladder and immediately changed his course with a beckon to Ranboo. He quickly started up it, clambering onto the top of a metal box building. Ranboo came up after him legs wobbling on the unsteady building like a newborn deer.

“Can we even be up here?” whispered Ranboo.

Tommy ignored him, ducking inside the cut out piece of the metal that served as a makeshift entrance. Metal boxes used for ships weren’t known for their grand, large spaces and it was evidence inside of this rusted tower. There was a sleeping bag on the ground and another ladder led down to assumingly another room for sleeping.

Immediately, Tommy ducked back out again and looked around like a wild animal - a mere zebra searching for the hunting lion. Tommy scrambled down the ladder once more once he noticed nobody was following them, holding a single gloved finger to his lips towards Ranboo, who hesitantly climbed down after him.

Tommy crept down the streets, ducking into makeshift alleyways and following haphazardly created roads, covered in a dirty blanket of snow; the snow wasn’t even pretty. It was stained with brown and red, and Tommy would rather not know what the stains of orange and yellow were.

“Did he even see us?” asked Ranboo.

“Do you think I know your fuckin’ questions?” snapped Tommy, tugging at his strands of hair. Wilbur did the same thing. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to snap.”

Ranboo ducked his head. “No, it’s alright.” He fiddled with a loose thread of his gloves as they crept down the road in defensive positions. “Do you have anything to defend ourselves with, uh, just in case?”

Tommy felt at his holster.

It was empty.

“Fuck,” he swore, tugging almost violently at his hair until blonde strands came loose, tips stained with red. “I forgot my fuckin’ gun.”

Ranboo felt at his belt, offering up a military knife. “I have a spare one?”

Tommy snatched it, feeling only slightly relieved as he grasped onto the rough handle and slid the knife into his belt. “It’d work in a pinch. Thanks.”

“No problem,” nodded Ranboo. “I don’t know if he saw us or not.”

Tommy switched directions, making a sharp left as he sidestepped into a small deadend area, barrels stacked upon barrels and an abandoned firepit. He stepped over it, plopping down on a barrel as he wiped the sweat from his brow from his forehead. Ranboo hovered next to one of the barrels, hands clasped in front of him.

For such a tall guy he sure was awkward and shy. Even after all these months.

All of the running warmed him up, but now the cold was unpleasantly brought back to his attention. It really just ruined the whole experience. “You knew that Dre guy well, yeah?”

“Not at all,” said Ranboo.

Tommy kicked his legs. “Is his name actually Dre?”

“. . . No.”

“The fuck is it then? Why’d you just keep calling him Dre?”

Ranboo held his hands up placatingly. “You guys just kept calling him Dre and- and you never asked!”

“What’s his real name?” Tommy fiddled with the knife, calloused fingers running along the sharp blade as if tempting it to slice the skin open and redden his skin.

“His name is Dream,” said Ranboo. He stared intently at his boots, laces frayed and the ends caked in snow and mud. “When I was with him he wasn’t too terrible.”

Tommy flatly replied, “but he was terrible.”

Ranboo shook his head. “He wasn’t terrible to his friends or, uh, or to me really. I mean he wasn’t nice and was kind of a jerk but he never like, hit me or anything.”

Tommy arched a brow. It added up in the diary entries; why would Dre- Dream hit a kid after saving him. “Ranboo- I- What I brought you out here for . . . “ he weakly kicked his dangling legs from top of the barrel and lowered his voice to a raspy whisper. “I found something linked to your memories. We have to discuss this now. It’s important.”

“My memories?” Ranboo’s head snapped up, eyes focused intently on Tommy, searching his face desperately as if he was expecting him to expose a lie or tell him it was a joke. “Really?”

“I mean- I think.” Tommy specified. “I found- don’t tell Wilbur this by the way - me and him came to this place and he was talking to the place’s owner and the owner gave us a room. He was pretty nice, if I’m being honest- anyway, I looked around after Wilbur left in the middle of the night for some shady reason I didn’t ask about because then he knew I was snooping-”

Ranboo politely listened to Tommy’s rambles, allowing him to get sidetracked and jumble up his words, which Tommy appreciated. Wilbur would usually snap at him to get to the damn point. Tommy reminded himself to thank Ranboo for being a nice guy later.

“-and then I found this trap door and down the trap door was some kind of office. There was a bunch of books and I found this- this journal! It was full of experiments and stories about this guy who experimented on this kid with vitiligo. That has to be you, Ranboo, because he says he was saved by a masked guy. The journal is in my bag, but I’ll show you next time we’re alone.” Tommy finished with a deep, shaky breath. “Got all that?”

Ranboo stared blankly at him, eyes wide and mouth forming an ‘o’ as the gears turned in his head. “I- It’d make sense.” He nodded, as if affirming it more to himself than others. “Dream didn’t tell me a lot- if anything - and he just told me he saved me from some bad people. I don’t remember who any of the people are. . . .”

Tommy hopped off of the barrel with a light thump and placed his hand on Ranboo’s shoulder with a wavering smile. “If we find this guy, we can find out your memories and more about you!”

Ranboo stared at Tommy’s hand in surprise. “I-” He swallowed dryly. “Could we really . . . ?”

“Listen, Ranboo, we tell Tubbo about all of this if you want, and then we explore this shady ass fucking town?” Tommy lowered his voice even more, pulling Ranboo down to eye level so only the two of them could overhear what he was saying. “Wilbur’s hiding some shit. And I don’t know what. So we find out, and then get your memories. I have some of my own business in this town that I need to handle, so it’s two birds with one stone.”

Ranboo tugged back gently, smoothing the front of his sweater out with pinched eyebrows. “What business do you have?”

“Just this little thing called revenge,” simply said Tommy. “Let’s head back to the RV and hope Dream doesn’t see us before Wilbur starts freaking out or some shit.”

Ranboo nodded curtly. “Yeah.”

To say Wilbur was pissed when they returned was an understatement. The tall man was absolutely furious, shaking with rage and face screwed up like he just ate a lemon.

He didn’t even bother feigning happiness when he saw Tommy; he immediately stomped towards him - pushing Ranboo out of the way - and crossed his arms like some sort of dad would. “Where the fuck were you two?” He glanced at Ranboo. “You’d tell the truth. Where’d you two go?”

Ranboo opened his mouth to answer, but Tommy rolled his eyes so hard they could’ve looked at his brain and sighed loudly. “Just for a walk,” he said.

“We saw Dream.”

Tommy couldn’t have facepalmed any harder at Ranboo blurting that out. He wished he could disappear into the wall and run away; he hadn’t planned on telling Wilbur and figured him and Ranboo could sort their issues all on their own. Now Wilbur’s going to enter “Ultra Control Freak” mode.

“Who’s Dream?” flatly asked Wilbur.

“Dre- uh, Dream’s his real name,” supplied Tubbo. “Ranboo told me.”

“And you saw him?” gasped Wilbur, taking a step forward and began running his hands across Tommy’s face as if he was analyzing for injury. “Did he see you? Are you alright.”

Tommy slapped his hands away. “The fuck’s your deal man? We immediately left.”

Wilbur pulled away, pacing across the RV and pushing Tubbo out of his path, who scurried over to Ranboo and mouthed words quickly into his ear. “Fuck! He could’ve seen you guys come here.” He looked at Ranboo and hastily added, as if he was an afterthought, “you’re alright too, yeah?”

“. . . yeah.”

Good. Ranboo didn’t tell Wilbur about the journal. Tommy let out a breath he didn’t realize he held and leaned against the door to the RV. “What are you thinking about Wilbur?” Tommy picked at his nails. “I say if we run into the bastard, we just chop off his balls and feed them to him.”

Wilbur stared at him blankly.

Tubbo snorted and inched away once Wilbur whirled on him.

Wilbur rubbed his temples. “This is what I get for taking in a bunch of- a bunch of fucking teenagers. You’re like all fourteen!”

“I don’t know my age,” said Ranboo.

Wilbur pointed at him. “And I just know you’re fucking fourteen too.” He swatted the air. “You’re like moths and I’m a lamp.”

After a few minutes of deliberation, Wilbur flopped down on the couch and looked up at Tommy through tussled hair and deepset eyes. “Did you see anybody else?”

Tommy hesitantly sat down next to him. Wilbur inched closer until their legs touched. “No,” Tommy said honestly. “We ran off and hid in an alleyway. After a few minutes of waitin’ - not because I was scared or anything, just didn’t want to bruise the bastard any further - we came back here.”

“That’s good,” murmured Wilbur to himself. “Don’t go out again without me, got it?”

“Yes, one-hundred percent,” said Ranboo. “Sorry we left. I just wanted some air - I had to drag Tommy out.”

Wilbur flicked an eyebrow. “You dragged Tommy out?”

Tommy cleared his throat, squirming in his seat. “Yep,” he popped the ‘p.’ “It was all cold and shit - I didn’t want to go out.”

“. . . right,” slowly said Wilbur before rising. “I wanted to eat breakfast in here, but I don’t know if Dream saw you all in here. We’re gonna head back to good ol’ Big Q’s bar, right?”

“Will we be staying there?” innocently asked Tubbo, but Tommy narrowed his eyes at him. Even the most innocent of questions from Tubbo unnerved him; Tubbo was just a weird kid.

On a scale of most weird to least weird, Tubbo was definitely at the top. He would silently stare at Tommy for minutes on end or he’d be rambling about bees a mile a minute to a fucking tree. Wilbur would definitely be next on the list. He wasn’t necessarily weird, but he was definitely strange. After months of knowing him, the guy is still freaky as all hell. Ranboo was relatively normal, he just was a yes man who was frightened of his own shadow.

It makes sense, Tommy supposes, if what Tommy found in the journal is about Ranboo.

Wilbur sucked in air between his teeth. “I dunno. We’ll have to see, Tubbo.” He clapped his hands. “Chop chop. I don’t want to stay here any longer than I have to.”

The entire walk to Big Q’s was incredibly tense; it grasped tightly around Tommy’s throat, squeezing as he struggled to breathe. The cold clawing at his face didn’t help one bit, cheeks flaring right back up to a pink and fingers trembling as they entered into the bar.

What greeted Tommy first was the smell; it was a smell Tommy hadn’t smelt in a long while, and he didn’t miss it one bit.

Rotting corpses. Back of his throat burning, bile crept up but Tommy swallowed it back down with a choked gag and looked around wildly. Wilbur immediately stepped in front of the group, gun immediately pulled out of his holster.

“Didn’t we just leave here?” squeaked Tubbo.

The entire bar was a disaster. Cracked bottles decorated the ground, glass easily able to slice open a foot, and the tables and chairs were knocked over, snapped in half, or halfway across the room. Blood pooled beneath bodies, around four people were dead due to Quackity serving breakfast, bullet holes cleaning through their chests.

Ranboo whirled around, gagging and choking on his own vomit as he struggled to keep it down. Tommy nonchalantly rubbed his back, keeping his head forward. He’d been in the same position as Ranboo once before; seeing tons of dead bodies yet not able to do a single fucking thing about it.

Tubbo shakily approached one of the bodies, falling down to his knees as he hesitantly touched the corpse. They had already begun to rot, and they died no earlier than twenty minutes ago.

“Tubbo, step back,” said Wilbur. “They can turn any second. Step back so I can destroy the brain.”

“We- We were just here,” whispered Tubbo, eyes trained on the body.

Tommy huffed, marching forward as he latched onto Tubbo’s arm. “Come on. We don’t have time.” He avoided looking at any of the dead bodies’ faces. “Where’s Big Q?’

Wilbur flickered his gaze from Tommy to Tubbo’s crouched form. “That’s what I want to know.” He sighed. “Get Tubbo up. I’m going to find Quackity. Ranboo, follow me.” He wasted no time to confirm it with the rest of the group as he simply beckoned Ranboo to follow him as he began marching up the rickety, metal stairs.

Tommy knelt down beside Tubbo, who had taken fistfuls of the man’s shirt into his hands. “I just saw the man a few- a few minutes ago. . . he- he was drinking a beer and- and some sort of rabbit.”

“I know,” softly said Tommy. “But we have to go find Big Q, okay Tubbo?”

Tubbo shrugged Tommy’s hand off his shoulder. “Is this my- my fault?”

Tommy gnawed at his lip. It was highly likely that Dream or somebody aligned with him did this, but the reasoning for it drew blanks. Why on earth would Dream kill the people in the bar but not actually them? “No, it’s not your fault. We have to go, Tubbo.”

“. . . yeah,” said Tubbo with an awkward chuckle. “Can’t end up like I did back in the cabin, right Big T?”

Tommy smiled back shakily, grateful Tubbo came to his senses, and rose to his feet and clasped Tubbo’s hand to pull him up.

Then, Tubbo’s face screwed up in pain as he let out a screech.

The man had become the undead, biting right onto Tubbo’s foot and taking a chunk right out of him - shoe and all. Tommy instinctively let go of Tubbo’s hand, the boy falling face first onto the floor. The zombified man went to take another chunk out of Tubbo’s leg, and Tubbo let out another bloodcurdling scream.

Panic and adrenaline rushed through Tommy; finally, he snapped back to reality as he whipped his gun out of his holster and quickly shot the zombie twice in the head before tossing the gun to the side and dragging Tubbo away, liquid red dripping down his nose and mouth as his eyes were nearly rolling into the back of his head.

Most likely, Tubbo was screaming. He was probably screaming bloody murder right into Tommy’s ears, but he couldn’t focus on anything except pulling Tubbo away from the risen man and getting his jaws off of Tubbo’s foot.

Did Wilbur not hear the gunshots and screams? Why hasn’t he run down and helped them? He took Ranboo and ran off, very well knowing the risks. He was the one who preached to stick together in a group.

Tubbo crawled forwards, eyes wide open in morbid horror as his face was turned into a bloody red due to Tommy dropping his hand. Scrambling onto his behind, he looked down at his bitten foot and let out another shaky scream.

Tommy turned around and vomited up nothing, bile dripping down his lips.

And he thought he fixed that vomiting habit of his.

He wiped the bile off of his wobbly lip, and clambered over to Tubbo with realization and horror creeping up; his heart banged against his chest and his lungs burned as he took in frantic breaths. Tubbo was still screaming, shaking his head rapidly as he stared down at the now rotting foot.

Panic seared through him; he has to stop the bleeding. What does he do? Tubbo will die and turn in minutes - it takes about twenty minutes to turn, as seen from the man here - he has to fix the bite. How does he fix the bite? Tommy hesitantly reached for Tubbo’s foot, who pulled it away immediately.

Tommy ripped his gaze away from the foot. It was turning a sickly greenish black, rotting from the toes as the rot began spreading. An entire chunk was taken out of his heel, blood spurting out across the floor and messying his hands. His eyes shakily scanned the area, his mind screaming yet totally blank at the same time. All he could focus on was his erratic breathing and the thumpthumpthump of his heavy heart.

Then his eyes landed on an axe.

He’s seen it before with Sam. They found a man who was bitten on the forearm and Sam promptly shooed Tommy away. When he came back, the man was missing an entire limb and was passed out and bloody.

Although he passed out and nearly died of bloodloss, he didn’t. He survived.

Tommy knew what he had to do. Tubbo was going to die if he didn’t.

Swallowing dryly, mouth dry as cotton, he stumbled over to the axe and dragged it back.

Tubbo stared at the axe, face paling dramatically until it was a pallid white as he struggled to rise to his feet, but promptly falling due to the half-missing foot. “No!” he screamed. “Please, don’t kill me!” He crawled desperately until he ended up back against the wall.

“Please, Tommy!” He screamed. “Please! Don’t do this!”

Tommy’s grip around the axe trembled - can he really do this? He’s heart pounded, legs like jelly, as he slowly raised the axe above his head. Tubbo will die. This is for Tubbo. He has to save Tubbo.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

And the axe was brought down, digging in right above Tubbo’s ankle.

Whether the site of it or the screams of Tubbo twisted Tommy’s gut more, he couldn’t tell. The axe was dull and didn’t cleanly cut through Tubbo’s ankle. Blood spurted across the room, messying Tubbo and Tommy as he whimpered and cried out.

“Forgive me,” begged Tommy, eyes stinging and blurry from tears as he brought the axe down once more.

His foot had come off and Tubbo passed out, eyes rolling into the back of his head. His face was stained with blood and tears.

Tommy ripped his bandana off of him, tying it around Tubbo’s now missing limb and stopping the blood flow. “Please make it,” hoarsely whispered Tommy. After he ensured the bleeding would slow, he hoisted Tubbo into his arms and shakily made his way to where Wilbur and Ranboo went.

Once Tommy reached upstairs, he was surprised to see nobody was there. Ranboo, Wilbur, or Big Q - not a single one of them remained upstairs. The window was busted open, glass scattered across the floor, but besides that there was no sign of anybody even being there in the first place.

“Wilbur?” weakly called out Tommy. “Big Q? Ranboo?”

Due to his hands being full with Tubbo’s passed out, pale body, he couldn’t wipe his face off from the blood or tears. His clothes were stained with zombie gunk and blood - whether it was Tubbo’s blood or the zombie’s he couldn’t decide so he morbidly decided on both.

Tommy reluctantly stuck his head out on the window. It led out onto a balcony and down a ladder. At the base of the ladder was snowy footprints.

He can’t climb down this. Tubbo wouldn’t make it. Tommy turned around, quickening his pace as he stumbled down the metal stairs, heart pounding-

then, the stairs buckled beneath him.

With a cry, Tommy used his body to shield Tommy’s vulnerable body as he crashed to the floor, narrowly avoiding a particularly sharp piece of metal sticking out. Thankfully, it wasn’t a long fall, but sharp pain oozed from Tommy’s tailbone all the way up to his back.

The tears continued to stream down Tommy’s face. Desperation, pain, and frustration swirled inside him; he’s alone for a few minutes and he nearly kills both himself and Tubbo. The fucking stairs collapsed beneath him! Tommy analyzed Tubbo, pawing at his throat and wrist.

Babump. Babump. Babump.

Tommy let out a breath he didn’t realize he held. Tubbo’s pulse remained, although it was weak. He tightened his grip on Tubbo, squeezing the light boy as he shakily clambered out of the mess of fallen stairs.

Creeeeeaaaak. Thump!

A loud creak and slam of the front doors startled Tommy, wildly looking towards who just entered the bar.

Familiar, sharp eyes greeted him, pink hair long and flowing without the braid he saw before. His scruff was still there, but the frustratingly calm stature was missing; his eyes were wide and his mouth was agape slightly, exposing rather sharp teeth for a human.

Did this guy take fucking steroids or some shit?

“Get the fuck away from me!” shouted Tommy, stumbling backwards and nearly falling over the debris. “Stay back! I got a gun bitch.”

The man - wait, wasn’t his name Technoblade? Tommy gnawed at his lip, shaking so hard he could’ve fallen over from the sheer shakiness of his legs as he shrunk in on himself as Technoblade took a few slow steps forward, hands out and palms up.

“Are. . . “ he cleared his throat. “Are you alright?”

Tommy looked down at Tubbo and quickly flickered back to Technoblade, angling his body so Technoblade couldn’t stare at Tubbo anymore. “The fuck’s it to you? I told you to go away.”

Technoblade craned his neck to continue looking at Tommy. “I’m good at medical care. I can fix him.” He nodded to gesture towards Tubbo. “If you follow me.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “And how don’t I know this isn’t a fuckin’ trap?”

“You don’t.” Technoblade shook his head. “But if you don’t get him help soon he’ll die. So what will it be?”

Tommy dryly swallowed, looking down at Tubbo in his hands with strained arms. Tubbo was light at first - way too light for a teenage boy, has he always been that pale - but now he was weighing Tommy down. “. . . lead the way. No fuckin’ funny business.”

Technoblade wasted no time marching right up to Tommy and taking Tubbo from his arms and throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Tommy yelped, immediately racing towards Technoblade who had already turned around and began walking off.

“Give him back!” he barked. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving him,” flatly said Technoblade, stepping out. “Hurry. It’s cold and I don’t know if this kid will be okay much longer.”

Tommy grumbled to himself, put promptly stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed Technoblade. His hands were tied, he had no choice but to follow along. He just continuously reminded himself it was for Tubbo’s sake and he is saving Tubbo.

The path was familiar, Tommy thought as Technoblade’s heavy steps echoed in his ears across the white, snowy path. It hit him why once they turned onto a shadowed street in an alleyway. The familiar ‘Church’ sign stuck out.

This was where Wilbur went in and then he found that weird guy with the blonde hair.

Everything screamed at him to not follow and run off, but Tubbo was still limply passed out in Technoblade’s scarred arms, so he took a deep breath and quietly followed right behind him inside.

It was relatively normal inside. It looked no different than a normal church. Pews lined the walls with a scruffy, patched up rug rolled through the middle. At a front, however, was a small, raised platform. Technoblade slid Tubbo onto the platform before holding up a gloved finger to Tommy and pulling out a walkie-talkie.

He hasn’t seen one of those in awhile.

“Hullo,” he greeted. “Found some amputated kid. Can you unlock the latch? Don’t have my keys.”

Another british accented voice replied, “who?”

“I dunno. Some kid.”

The voice sighed. “Sure.”

A few seconds passed as Technoblade hoisted Tubbo up once more and a few thumps sounded from below Tommy’s feet.

Screech!

Tommy looked over to see a metal hatch in the floor flip open and a familiar blonde man peeked his head out. His eyebrows shot up once he noticed Tommy and then his mouth fell open once he noticed Tubbo. “Come in, hurry,” he said before his head disappeared from the ground once more.

Technoblade switched Tubbo to one hand as he started down the ladder underground. Tommy didn’t hesitate to follow; this would not only save Tubbo, but answer swarming questions in his mind about Wilbur.

The blonde man scurried ahead as they walked down a metal pathway; it was a bunker of sorts, filled with hallways and doors.

Tommy didn’t miss the large door with a large metal lock on the handle.

The blonde man led them into what appeared very similar to a medical office of sorts, with a raised table of sorts in the center. The man tapped it and Technoblade gingerly set the boy down onto the table.

The man wasted no time to analyze Tubbo, not even giving Tommy a glance. “This was awfully done,” he said.

“Fuck you,” snapped back Tommy, crossing his arms. “So is he going to die?”

“He will if I don’t get to work.” The man straightened up and offered Technoblade a small, weak smile. “Why don’t you show To- this boy to the dining area and get him some water?”

Technoblade shrugged. “Whatever you say Phil.” He waved as he immediately spun on his heel and meandered out of the office. “C’mon kid.”

Tommy remained silent until Technoblade reached a kitchen area. This whole underground facility was unlike anything he’s seen before and the tunnels seemed to go on forever, doors leading to every which way like a maze. “the fuck is this place?” asked Tommy.

Technoblade didn’t respond as he handed Tommy a bottle of water.

Tommy spun the lid off and quickly gulped, wiping the stray droplets of water as they dripped down his chin. After he finished the bottle off, he tossed it over his shoulder and crossed his arms as he narrowed his eyes at Technoblade, who kinda just stood there staring back blankly.

“Who are you?” Asked Tommy.

Chapter Text

When the words left Tommy’s mouth, demanding the taller man to tell him who he was, he wasn’t expecting a genuine answer. Perhaps one of snark, mysterious, shielding the man through a thin layer of lies and obscurity - but the opposite occurred.

“My name is Technoblade and this is my house,” the man simply said. No quirk of his lips or the twinkle in the eyes of a liar, it was entirely matter-of-fact.

Tommy leaned back in the rickety chair, squealing against the metal of the floor everytime he rocked on it. “This is your. . . house?” he echoed back. “Bit of a shit house, innit? The floors are rusted ass metal and it’s underground. I bet you got rats.”

“If I see a rat, I eat it.”

Tommy sucked in air between his teeth, grimacing at the idea of eating a rat. “Rats are fuckin’ disgusting, man.”

This time Technoblade’s face shifted, but it wasn’t one that was upset or angry; it was a change of pace, due to Wilbur’s secrecy and outrage at any sort of question towards his life. Instead, Technoblade looked borderline amused - crowsfeet gathering at the corner of his eyes and squinted. “They are.”

On the other hand, also opposite of Wilbur, he wasn’t entirely one for conversation. Wilbur, if in the mood, could ramble about nothing and absolutely everything for hours. Tommy isn’t one to talk, though, because he could become quite the motormouth as well. Silence fell upon them and Tommy abruptly rose from his chair with the screech of the metal floor.

“I’m gonna cut to the chase,” said Tommy, prodding a finger square in the middle of Technoblade’s chest. “How the fuck do you know Wilbur?”

“Wilbur?”

“Yeah. I know you fuckin’ know him so don’t lie to me.” Tommy crossed his arms. “I’m not fuckin’ dumb.”

Technoblade’s brows furrowed. “I wasn’t gonna lie. I know Wilbur.”

“An’ how do you know him?” prompted Tommy.

“Met him here.” Techno gestured to the area. “In L’Manberg.”

Well this guy is fucking vague as hell. He’ll tell you the answer to your question, but you have to ask a million questions to get any further elaborations; it was somewhat comforting, however, by the openness. It assured Tommy that Wilbur wasn’t doing anything horrible or immoral, right? Technoblade can’t be bad if him and Wilbur are open about their friendship, right?

Tommy scrunched his face. “How long have you known him? Since the beginning of all of this - and how did this place even start up?”

Technoblade sighed, clearing his throat as he pointed to the water bottle Tommy had thrown over his shoulder. “Can you pick that up? I don’t like litterin’.” Technoblade leaned against the kitchen counters. “I’ve known Wilbur for, I dunno, a few years. Before this shit began.”

Now that caught Tommy’s attention, and he paid no mind to Technoblade telling him to pick up his trash and instead raised his brows and lids in surprise. “You knew Wilbur before the zombies?”

“Sure did.” Technoblade pointed at the bottle again. “Pick that up, kid.”

Tommy obliged, placing it on the table before prompting Technoblade further, “you’re being vague, man. C’mon. Tell me more.”

Technoblade shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. Ask Wilbur if you want to know more.”

Tommy groaned. “Wilbur fuckin’ dodges the question.” He gnawed at his chapped lip, lapping at the blood that dribbled from tearing at the dried, scabbed skin. “He told me he knew you because of Quackity.”

“Oh, did he?” Technoblade grunted, almost a huff of amusement if listened to closely. “Definitely not because of Quackity. Me and him don’t exactly see. . . eye to eye.” Then he chuckled at his sentence, as if he said a joke.

Tommy didn’t ask about his ominous laughter. This guy was fucking weird - like everybody he meets these days. “What was Wilbur like?”

At that, Technoblade hesitated. He averted his gaze with a sigh before clasping his hands together in front of him and shifting his weight awkwardly. “I met Wilbur because I was old friends with his dad.”

Oh fuck. Tommy furrowed his brows, picking at the drying skin around his thumb as he thought back to the time, all those months ago, in the warehouse tied up by Dream, George, and Sapnap.

His heart throbbed when he remembered Jack’s lifeless face and Niki saving them and-

Focus, Tommy!

Dream threatened Wilbur because of his dad. If Technoblade knows Wilbur’s dad, then Technoblade should know more about Dream by that logic. Tommy mentally filed that into his mental filing cabinet and tilted his head curiously at Technoblade. “You must be old, because Wilbur is old,” Tommy settled on saying.

Technoblade huffed. “I’m only a few years older.” He raised a slit brow. If Tommy didn’t kinda hate this man he’d think he was a badass. “How old are you? Twelve?”

“Fourteen,” spat Tommy. “Don’t call me a fuckin’ child.”

“Don’t call me old then.”

Realizing this would turn into a petty spar of words and Tommy still needed information, he quickly switched the focus back on track. “So you knew Wilbur’s dad, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Was he like. . . what’s he like?”

Technoblade hummed at that before shrugging. “I dunno.”

Tommy groaned. “Fuck man. You’re like, the most unhelpful person ever.”

The smug smile that tugged at Technoblade’s scarred lips is what told Tommy more than enough of what he needed to know, so he simply switched the subject. “Why were you at Big Q’s bar?”

“I’m there often,” he replied with a shrug. “He hates me but it’s a nice spot.”

There was definitely more to the story and what Technoblade was entailing, but Tommy didn’t have the brain capacity to think harder on the subject. The picture of him that slipped from Technoblade’s pocket flashed through his mind, but currently he was under the care of Technoblade and his ally, Phil. Tommy was brash, but he wasn’t completely stupid.

He won’t push matters as heavy as Sam until he knows Tubbo is alright and he knows the whereabouts of Wilbur and Ranboo.

Wilbur.

“Fuck,” Tommy ran his hands through his hair and tugged harshly. “Do you know why Big Q’s bar was. . .”

A flash of something crossed Technoblade’s face; if Tommy didn’t know better, he’d presume it was empathy or akin to pity but he wasn’t entirely sure. It was nearly solemn, Technoblade dipped his head and shrugged. “I genuinely don’t know, kid,” he said. “I heard the gunshots, but they were your gunshots.”

“Most people head the other direction when they hear gunshots,” huffed Tommy.

“And I’m not like most people.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Don’t need to tell me that.” He shifted his weight, pursing his lips. “And you don’t know anything?”

Something told Tommy, and he’s not sure whether it was the hesitance or the flicker of Technoblade’s eyes to the suddenly interesting wall, that Technoblade wasn’t revealing the whole truth. Not a lie, but simply leaving out information. Technoblade cleared his throat. “No.”

Where was Wilbur? Why didn’t he come when he heard him and Tubbo scream? Tommy numbly sat down at his chair, ignoring how it shook slightly under his weight, and allowed the conversation drop. He lost his appetite for answers; it was obvious he wouldn’t learn anything insanely big or new.

The chair beside him was filled with Technoblade’s large form, elbows propped on the table and head resting in the palm of his hand. Technoblade sniffed. “You need a bath.”

Tommy snapped his head to face Technoblade with a sly expression on his face. “The fuck? Sorry I didn’t carry luxury soap around me,” he yelled. “Didn’t realize showers were available in a fuckin’ apocalypse.”

Technoblade snorted. “We have running water. . . kind of.”

“Kind of?” Tommy scrunched his face up. “But you have water? Wilbur said you got showers.”

“Well, we had showers. Running water runs on electricity, y’know.” Technoblade bit the inside of his cheek. “Power runs out.”

Tommy sighed. “Do you have water or not?”

“We have wells and well pumps,” informed Technoblade. “Nothing luxurious, but you can run yourself a bin of water and it’s better than nothing.” With that, Technoblade rose and Tommy was taken aback by this display of kindness; there were questions heavy in the air and Tommy had attacked the man just a few days ago, but here he was being offered care. “C’mon. We’ll get you a bath.”

Hesitantly, Tommy rose and lightly padded after him, wincing at the creeks of metal boards beneath his feet with every step. A part of him told him to refuse the bath, for he has no idea if this man has funny business on mind, but on the other hand Tommy was absolutely dying for a semblance of modern luxury.

The two entered a dimmed room, only lit with a candle, and a trough in the middle of the room with shelves of jars labeled with ‘animal fat’ and ‘oil.’ Tommy grimaced at the gross globs and pointed his attention to the trough; it was already filled with water.

“It’s cold,” warned Technoblade.

“How the fuck do you guys have this sort of technology?” asked Tommy. “And why isn’t everybody parading to L’manberg?”

Technoblade shrugged. “Communication isn’t exactly easy now, isn’t it?” He sniffed. “Just a warning kid. L’manberg seems like some sort of utopia at first glance, but it’s not.” Technoblade narrowed his eyes. “I hope if Wilbur has taught you anything, it’s that this place is a shithole even if you’re blinded by the restaurants and soap. Have a good bath kid. I’ll be with Phil.”

Before Tommy could even ask anything else, Technoblade turned and left.

That was ominous as fuck.

Tommy looked around, scanning the shelves; they were filled with similar array of things such as fats, oils, and ashes scattered. At the foot of the shelf was a woven basket filled with fabrics used as makeshift towels, presumably, and a small can labeled ‘soap.’ Reluctantly, Tommy grabbed the soap can and stripped his clothes.

Technoblade wasn’t kidding when he warned the water was cold; it was nearly as freezing as the outdoors. Tommy questioned whether it was healthy to bathe in water this cold, but the idea of no longer smelling like ass and cleaning himself of the blood was refreshing.

Tommy dunked his head underwater and immediately rose again, wiping his bangs from his forehead as water droplets dripped down his forehead. The water already began to brown upon stepping in; even after the bath Tommy won’t completely clean up. He was absolutely caked with grime and bacteria.

Soon, the dirt and blood from underneath Tommy’s nails vanished. The scabs scattered across his body were cleaned and disinfected. The mattedness of his hair faded, combing his hands through the dripping locks, and the brown molded into the remnants of blonde.

If only he had a toothbrush.

The fabric used as makeshift towels was scratchy and made Tommy’s feel all itchy. It left streaks of red on his newly cleaned skin, and he gave up on drying the rest of his body as he rubbed his hair dry and slipped back on his grimy clothes. The ends of his jeans were hovering above his ankles, cropped too short for his grown legs and his t-shirt was slightly too tight across his chest.

When did that happen?

After Tommy stepped out, he nearly jumped by spotting Technoblade hovering by the front door, arms crossed and gaze stuck on his boots. He craned his neck, pink hair falling in his face when he noticed Tommy. “You look better,” he said. “Some new clothes, maybe.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “I don’t get it,” he said.

“What?”

Tommy stammered, looking around and palms out in grand gestures as he looked for the right words to say. “All- All of this.” He swallowed dryly. “Why are you offering me help?”

Technoblade shrugged. “A friend of Wilbur’s is a friend of mine?” he offered.

“I’m not Wilbur’s friend,” simply said Tommy before he pushed past Technoblade. “I want to see Tubbo.”

“Lead the way then,” grunted Technoblade, hovering right behind Tommy.

Despite being rather unthreatening in personality, his large form looming over Tommy from right behind was rather unnerving. He could feel his gaze burn holes into the back of his head, singing his freshly washed strands. Tommy ran a hand through; it didn’t get caught in knots or grime.

Once the doors to the medical room were pushed open, Tommy inhaled a plethora of different scents of blood, disinfectant, alcohol, and rot. Dizzy with the smells, Tommy made an immediate beeline towards Tubbo’s passed out form on the table.

Mouth hung open and eyes fluttered shot, it was a welcomed change of pace from eyes etched in horror and face screwed up in terror. If Tommy ignored the blood stains and zombie muck all over his face, he could almost be described as peaceful. Tommy clutched onto the fabric of Tubbo’s jacket and resisted the urge to curl over his body and weep.

Tommy couldn’t bring himself to glance down at his missing foot for too long.

“Hey mate,” greeted Phil.

Tommy looked over, heart skipping a beat from Phil appearing out of nowhere. His gaze flickered up and down, analyzing the older man’s form; his long, blonde hair was tied back and his hands were covered in blood-stained gloves. He tore his gaze from the blood and focus on Phil’s face. Depsite his unassuming appearance and soft voice, alarm bells rang in his head whenever he looked at him.

“I remember you,” blurted out Tommy. He flushed at the outburst before hastily adding, “I ran into you one night. In front of- of- this church?”

Phil tugged off his gloves and tossed them to the side. “Ah, you were that kid.” He shook his head. “Care to explain what happened, now that I cleaned the leg and fixed your sloppy amputation work?”

Tommy bristled at that. “How dare you fuckin’ criticize me.” He grit his teeth. “You try handling your friend who just got fuckin’ bit.”

Phil immediately raised his hands and stepped back from the boy in a placating manner. “Sorry, sorry.” He emphasized his raised hands. “It’s a high stress situation. I see you’ve bathed.”

“I did,” said Tommy.

“Good,” Phil replied with a nod. “Can you explain how this happened?”

Tommy shrugged. “Tubbo and I entered Big Q’s bar and it was all fucked up. Bulletholes, dead people, and Big Q was gone. One of the wrong’uns grabbed Tubbo and bit ‘im, so I shot it and-” Tommy cut himself off, not caring to relive the moment at all. “And yeah,” he finished flatly.

Phil’s brows knitted together in akin to sympathy and Tommy immediately wanted to rip his face off. He didn’t like this guy one bit, but he was most likely a friend of Wilbur’s because Technoblade was. “I’m sorry,” softly said Phil. “Sounds very tough. . . were you, uh, by any chance, with somebody else? Technoblade hasn’t told me anything.”

“My lips have been sealed,” Technoblade confirmed, eyebrows lifting towards Tommy.

Tommy almost scoffed. If Technoblade thinks offering him a change of clothes and preserving his story earned his trust suddenly, he had another thing coming. “What’s it to you?” gritted Tommy. He wiped the imaginary sweat from his brow before sighing and quickly tacked on his answer, “yeah. My friends.”

“Wilbur. . . and the, the tall one-” Phil placed his hand a few inches above his head to indicate Ranboo’s height. “-right?”

“. . . yeah,” slowly confirmed Tommy. “You know Wilbur?”

Phil’s smile was deformed.

It wasn’t literally, Tommy should correct. There was nothing wrong with Phil’s appearance besides his sunken in eyes and scarred cheek, and his smile was perfectly white and handsome, but there was something about it that told Tommy he should turn and run. Although Technoblade unnerved him, Phil downright disgusted him.

“I do,” said Phil. “We’re all from L’manberg. We go back a long time.”

Tommy swallowed. “Yeah?”

Suddenly, he felt like a cornered rabbit. Two wolves were prowling, pushing and prodding his back up against the wall. Technoblade hung back and Phil remained a distance away, but something about their predatory gazes told Tommy a million times over that he should’ve just handled Tubbo on his own and searched Wilbur for just a bit longer.

Phil looked Tommy over. “Where are your things?”

“Wilbur has them,” said Tommy. It was the truth, and as much as Tommy wanted to lie over and over, he figured he could maybe get use out of the two if they were genuine. “Before you ask - I don’t know where Wilbur is.”

Phil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s a shame. I’d like to talk to him. We haven’t spoken in-” Phil turned to Technoblade with whisper. “-how long has it been?”

Technoblade hummed. “At least over a year.”

“Right.” Phil nodded and looked back to Tommy, whose hand was still gripped tightly onto the fabric of Tubbo’s shirt. He hadn’t even realized he was still holding onto him, and he slowly retracted his hand back to his side. “I hoped I could talk to him. . . every time I try to he manages to sneak away. That little bastard, yeah?”

“Don’t call him a bastard,” immediately snapped Tommy.

Technoblade tilted his head. “Say, Tommy, how do you know Wilbur?” When Tommy glared at Technoblade, he shrugged. “Sorry, kid. Just wonderin’ how somebody like Wilbur ended up running a babysitting business.”

“Go ask him,” growled Tommy. “Since you know ‘im so well.”

“He’s just curious mate,” softly said Phil. “We don’t mean to pry. We’re all just trying to get to know each other right? Wilbur is our mutual friend - and we haven’t spoken to him in forever! We just want an update.”

Tommy glowered. “Doesn’t matter because as soon as Tubbo wakes up”-Tommy jabbed his thumb at the entrance-”We’re getting the hell out of here.”

“Oh no you’re not,” said Technoblade.

“Huh?”

Phil shook his head. “Definitely not. He needs to adjust to walking with only one foot. We’ll need to find crutches somehow.”

“I can teach him,” protested Tommy. “I don’t need your fuckin’ help.”

Speak of the devil. As the words fell from Tommy’s mouth, he heard a hitch in breathing as movement rustling from beside him. Tommy turned away and immediately hunched over Tubbo’s form, looking into his fluttering eyelids. “Tubbo!”

“Give him space-”

Tommy looked over his shoulders and resisted the urge to spit on him. “Shut the fuck up,” he snarled. Then turned back to Tubbo. “C’mon, Tubbo!”

His eyes didn’t open.

“C’mon, Tubbo. We gotta go.”

Weight placed on his shoulder and Tommy immediately thrashed. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me!” He whirled on Phil, body instinctively shielding Tubbo. “He’s waking up and we’re leaving. You two are fucking creeps.”

“You’re only harming him,” argued Technoblade. “He isn’t going to wake up only, what, an hour after you chop his body part off?”

“Fuck. You.” Tommy’s eyes were icy with cold anger. “Don’t tell me what to do. I’m taking Tubbo and we are looking for Wilbur.”

Phil rested a hand on Technoblade’s shoulder. “Mate, whoever attacked Big Q is out there too. Who knows if you’ll be in danger.”

Tommy eyed Phil’s hand. It was almost as if he was holding back Technoblade, which wasn’t a pleasant thought at the idea of the man having to be held back from confronting Tommy. “I don’t care. Same logic can be applied to Wil. What if he’s hurt?”

“We haven’t even looked you over for wounds,” gingerly counterpointed Phil.

“How many times do I have to say I don’t care?” Tommy rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the help or whatever, but I don’t want your pity shit anymore.”

Technoblade rubbed his temples, attitude as if he was a babysitter dealing with a toddler throwing a tantrum. Tommy supposes hes throwing a temper tantrum, but everything was too much. He just wanted to go back in the warm RV, arguing over petty things like who got to sleep on the mattress or not. “I’ll back you a deal, kid,” said Technoblade.

Tommy stayed silent to prompt Technoblade further.

“You let Phil check your wounds”-he pointed to Phil-”And I’ll go check out the area for what happened, okay?”

“. . . No deal,” said Tommy.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” warned Technoblade.

“I’m done,” announced Tommy, turning around and wiggled his hands underneath Tubbo’s form. “Fuck you and fuck you, I’m leaving-”

Tommy had barely any time to react as his body was grabbed and pulled away from Tubbo, flushed tight against Technoblade’s chest as his arm stretched across his chest. Tommy yelled and hollered, struggling against him. “Stop yelling,” grunted Technoblade. “You’re so annoying.” He covered Tommy’s mouth. “You’re really overreacting.”

Tommy bit down as hard as he could on Technoblade’s thumb, breaking skin as the metallic liquid filled his mouth and began dripping down Technoblade’s hand. He expected Technoblade to let go and give Tommy enough time to flee, but the man didn’t even fucking react asides from a small, breathy curse.

“You’ll have to try harder than that,” smugly said Technoblade.

“Don’t tease him,” chastised Phil, striding over to Tubbo’s body and gently lifting him. “I’m putting- Tubbo was it? Tubbo to bed and then we can go look for Wilbur, alright Tommy?”

Tommy spit at Phil, but instead of landing right in front of his shoes, a glob of shiny saliva landed square in the middle of his face. It dripped down his nose satisfyingly and Tommy resisted the urge to cackle.

Phil swiped his sleeve over his face, pleasant and unassuming expression dropping like a mask. Chills shot up Tommy’s spine and he suddenly became very overwhelmingly aware of the situation he was in. What was the most grotesque, however, is how the small smile was still etched on his lips like a permanent decoration.

“Mate,” slowly said Phil. “It seems you do not understand the situation. Do not force my, or Techno’s, hand.”

Chapter Text

Blood turned to ice, the room felt as though somebody dumped ice water on top of him and blasted a fan on him. Shivers crawled up his spine as Tommy stared into the blue eyes of the man in front of him; Tommy was right - this man was deformed.

He wouldn’t let this man intimidate him. Tommy glowered and knitted his brows - still resisting the urge to the fact he spat square in the middle of the mans face - then allowed his hands to hang limply at his side. “Fuck you, old man.”

Like a night and day difference, Phil visibly brightened at the fact Tommy loosened his body language and let out the tenseness of a man ready to fight. “Mate, I took you and your friend in with the kindness of my heart . . . has anybody told you how ungrateful you’re acting?”

Tommy resisted the urge to spit and claw and bite, but the strong arm stretched across his chest and the other one around his neck gave him a pretty good idea on how well that’d work out. Tubbo still laid in Phil’s arms; his heart squeezed. “Sure they have,” grouted out Tommy.

“Then you haven’t been told enough,” said Phil. He shifted Tubbo’s body which was horrifingly light in the man’s arms and eyed Tommy down. “As promised, Techno will look around the area with you. Don’t repay us badly, yeah?”

Technoblade didn’t let Tommy go until Phil left the room, the choking air seemingly vanishing as soon as Phil disappeared down the hall. Tommy stumbled a few paces and Technoblade shot his hand out to grab Tommy’s shoulder, steadying him. “Don’t touch me,” he muttered. “I’m outta bullets, you got some?”

“I always do,” said Technoblade. “Hopefully you won’t need bullets. Let’s go.”

Tommy didn’t miss the cold one bit; the snow had calmed with spring coming any day now, however the biting cold hadn’t budged a bit. The ground remained frozen at his feet and his cheeks turned pink. Technoblade fixed the scarf wrapped around his neck and didn’t spare Tommy a glance as he began marching forward.

“Where are we going first, Blade?”

Technoblade grunted. “Blade?”

“You’re ‘The Blade,’” said Tommy with a curt nod. “Where are we searching?”

One thing about traveling with Technoblade were the stares Tommy received. Some creeped out by Technoblade’s unhuman like stature and form, others in confusion as to why Technoblade was walking around with some kid. Tommy made sure to stick his tongue out at anybody who stared too long.

“I want to ask some old friends of mine about what happened,” Technoblade replied.

“Who?”

Technoblade rubbed at his face in exasperation. “Do you ever stop asking questions?”

“No,” hummed Tommy. Technoblade slowed his pace as they arrived in front of another establishment. There was no indication of what it was save for the haphazardly hung sign that swung in the breeze with messy lettering that said, “Skep’s.” Tommy scrunched his brows together as he shot Technoblade a curious look, but he simply pushed open the doors and waltzed in.

Thankfully, it was much warmer. The inside mirrored Quackity’s similarly, except there was dart boards lined up on the wall and a pool table. Where they found a pool table was beyond Tommy, but it was pleasant to see a form of entertainment besides shooting zombies and drinking booze.

Another difference between Quackity and ‘Skep’s’ bar was the fact on how eerily empty it was. Quackity’s bar held several patrons (by several Tommy means three at the most) but this place only had the man behind the bar and another man at the stool holding a deck of cards in his hand.

The man behind the counter’s eyes widened when he saw Technoblade and he whispered something incoherent to the man in front of him. The man behind the counter then plastered on a big grin, dressed in a simple blue coat and black pants. “Technoblade!” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Listen, I don’t have the stuff yet but-”

“I’m not here for the money, Skeppy,” sighed Technoblade. “But if you’re eager to talk about that, be my guest-”

“No!” Skeppy blurted. “No, no. That’s fine.”

In front of Skeppy stood a man with a handful of cards, gaze soft and unassuming on Technoblade. Most of his face was covered with a black mask, only exposing his spectacles and a black hood covering his head. Even his hands were covered in black gloves; the identity of this man was completely covered.

“Hey, Technoblade,” greeted the hooded man. “What brings you here?”

Technoblade shifted uncomfortably once the hooded man spoke. “Hello. . .”

“Bad and I were just playing some cards.” Skeppy looked at Tommy. “Who’s the kid?”

“None of your business,” spat Tommy.

Technoblade butted in, “a friend of mine’s brother.” He cleared his throat. “That’s kind of what I’m here for. . . Did you see anybody go into Quackity’s bar this morning?”

Skeppy let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Why the hell would I look at Quackity’s bar? He’s kind of my rival, Techno.”

“. . . I saw somebody go in there,” quietly said Bad.

“Who?” Blurted out Tommy.

Bad shrugged. “I dunno. Sorry I can’t be much help.” He placed his cards down. “Full house.”

Skeppy swore and slammed his cards down. “God damn it!” He ran a hand through his hair and flashed Tommy a weak smile. “I hope you find whoever you’re looking for, sorry I can’t help.”

“Language,” chastised Bad, turning his body towards Technoblade and Tommy. “You know, I saw some people come into L’manberg who I’ve never seen before. Are they who you’re looking for?”

“. . . Go on,” Technoblade prompted, avoiding the question.

“I think they went towards the bar, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was by the front entrance this morning, and I saw them leave like, maybe an hour or so later.” Bad leaned back in his seat, arm rested on the counter. “They can’t be too far, I think. Try looking around.”

Technoblade narrowed his eyes at Bad, gnawing at his bottom lip before he slowly nodded his head and beckoned Tommy with a finger. “Thanks.”

Long legs carried Technoblade a few feet ahead Tommy, the younger struggling to follow behind as he scrambled after him. “Where are we going now?”

Technoblade tightened his coat around him. “Where do you think?”

“Huh?”

“We’re heading out L’manberg, where Bad said they were.” Although Technoblade’s were firm and determined, his gaze was clouded and his head seemed somewhere else. It was almost as if he was unsure about what he was doing.

On one hand, Tommy was excited to lose the eyes of scrutinizing and creepy people, the threat of fellow humans and the stench of booze and piss gone, but on the other hand he was perfectly fine with the lack of risk of any zombie coming near him again. With the protection of those around him, it was easy to forget they were in the midst of a zombie apocalypse.

Technoblade pulled out a communicator of sorts, tapping at it and slid it back into the pouch at his side. Tommy glanced at it curiously. “I didn’t know you could type on walkie talkies.”

“It’s not a walkie talkie,” Technoblade grunted, stepping away from Tommy who attempted a grab for the device. “It’s like a pager. It’s how I communicate with Phil.”

“A pager?”

Technoblade sighed. “Damn kids.” He stepped back towards Tommy. “Stay close. I’d rather not my reunion with Wilbur end in him pissed because I let his little baby get bit by zombies.”

Tommy went bright red in both frustration and embarrassment. “Don’t call me a baby, prick!”

“You’re just a little child,” hummed Technoblade, approaching a guard by the gate. “Hey.”

The boy raised his eyebrows. “Technoblade! You’re leaving again?”

Technoblade grunted. “Yeah. Get this gate open.”

The boy nodded and scrambled to open the large front gates, squealing sharply into Tommy’s ears and forcing his expression into a wince. They need to oil their damn entrance down. In Tommy’s opinion, it needs to be normalized to tell people to fix their shit, but in the midst of an apocalypse he’d rather not get his face blown in by a shotgun.

“Stay close,” muttered Technoblade in his ear. He didn’t heed his own words, for he immediately hurried ahead, strides longer than Tommy’s entirely body. Tommy squawked, and did a light jog to catch up.

“Slow the fuck down, tall ass,” snarked Tommy. “I’m a big man but you’re just freakishly large.”

Technoblade slapped his calloused hand in front of Tommy’s mouth. “Stop talking.”

Tommy licked it. Technoblade scowled down at him and pulled his hand away, but Tommy obeyed Technoblade and kept his mouth firmly shut as he pulled out the cold weight of his pistol.

When Wilbur first taught him how to shoot, he despised holding it. The sight of it set his soul on fire and caused his stomach to churn, but now it worked almost like a teddy bear. It calmed him and gave him reassurance; Wilbur taught him to shoot and he was a damn good shot.

“How good are you with that thing? I don’t like you waving that around,” hissed Technoblade through his teeth.

Tommy almost felt offended at the aspect of his skills being underestimated. “Better than Wilbur,” he settled on saying.

Technoblade scoffed. “That’s not saying a lot.”

And then he abruptly shot his hand out in front of Tommy, halting him where he stood and tugged him aside behind a tree trunk. “Stop. Don’t make a sound,” he whispered.

Tommy stuck his neck out, craning his head uncomfortably; L’manberg was in a large cleared out area in the middle of a spruce forest, thick and hard to navigate. Despite that, even though the thicket would logically be hard to push through, a hoard of zombies clambered on top of each other in a moshpit of dead.

“The fuck,” Tommy whispered. Technoblade pulled Tommy back.

The smell of rot slowly left Tommy’s nostrils as they headed the opposite direction of L’manberg; mangled legs and slack open jaws, teeth falling out and eyes hanging from their sockets, the sight will never not make Tommy’s stomach twist in a knot. Technoblade showed no disgust or displeasure, keeping the same apathetic expression on his face and devoid of any reaction. Tommy envied that.

“Whoever Bad saw is definitely down that path,” murmured Technoblade, breath hitting the back of Tommy’s neck.

“How d’ya know?” Tommy whispered back, hands growing clammy against the gun.

Technoblade pointed. “Usually they congregate where there’s sound. Something must’ve happened.”

Tommy shot up from his knelt position, twirling from behind the tree. “Wilbur-”

Then he was immediately choked by having his shirt collar yanked on, Tommy coughing and spluttering down his chin. “What the fuck?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” Technoblade rose to his feet with a groan. “Follow my lead closely. Don’t fuck up, or you’re dead.”

“Well thanks for the encouragement,” muttered Tommy as he trailed behind Technoblade’s careful steps. He crept up towards the herd slowly but surely, Tommy right on his tail, and Technoblade silently pulled a dagger out of a sheath at his side and jammed it right into the side of a straggler zombie.

Tommy grimaced at the mushy sound it made and Technoblade twisted the knife and kicked the now dead-undead creature to the ground. “C’mere,” he whispered as he went to his knees, taking the knife and slicing a cavity down the zombie’s chest. Guts and smoothie’d organs exposed to the air.

Tommy covered his nose, gagging from the sight of rotting internal organs. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Come. Here,” demanded Technoblade, dipping his hands into the blood and grime of the zombie.

Tommy hesitantly knelt down beside him, a faint idea of what was happening crossing his mind.

Wet slime and muck was wiped down the front of his shirt and Tommy almost screamed as his shirt grew wet and heavy. “You’re fucking disgusting,” Tommy hissed through his teeth.

Technoblade paid him no mind as he wiped all of the guts and zombie grime across Tommy’s body and even swiped it across his cheeks. The smell was almost overwhelming and left the world spinning around him. “What is this”-Tommy shoved the bile back down his throat-”for?”

“Joinin’ the herd,” matter-of-factly stated Technoblade before he began wiping himself down in zombie guts. “They can’t see well, but if we smell and sound like a zombie. . .”

“. . . we are a zombie,” finished Tommy.

Technoblade nodded. “Put that gun away. You’ll be fine as long as you follow me.”

Tommy swallowed dryly, rising on his shaky legs and slid his gun into the holster. He chanted in his mind that he can trust Technoblade because Technoblade has no reason to hurt him as he followed the man with his jello legs and labored breathing.

Groans and moans filled his ears as Tommy and Technoblade slowly assimilated into the zombie hoard, slowly following the crowd. Every time one brushed against his arm, he resisted the urge to cry out and run. Technoblade didn’t move an inch from Tommy, form right up beside him as they navigated down the woods.

“How far are we going?” whispered Tommy, wincing at how his voice cracked at the end and the shakiness of his tone.

Technoblade shook his head, holding a finger up to his lips. Tommy glowered at him, but hugged himself as he couldn’t decide whether he was shaking harder from nerves, adrenaline, or the cold.

Breath caught in Technoblade’s throat, nearly startling Tommy as he looked over at the man. “I know where they are,” he murmured to Tommy, slowly moving his finger to point ahead. Tommy followed where he pointed, and right up ahead was a railway station.

Tommy’s eyes widened, slightly quickening his pace at the realization. “C’mon then,” he whispered, body shaking in anticipation.

“Tommy,” lowly began Technoblade. “You have to realize these aren’t petty bandits.”

“They have Wilbur,” argued Tommy. “We have to hurry.”

Technoblade shook his head. “You don’t know they have Wilbur.”

“Wilbur wouldn’t leave me unless he was in danger,” whispered Tommy, voice cracking as gripped onto the lapel of Technoblade’s blood soaked coat. “He wouldn’t.”

Technoblade stared at him long and hard and Tommy stared right back. He wouldn’t back down when it comes to Wilbur. He has to save him and repay him for every time he has saved Tommy. Slowly, Technoblade’s resolve cracked and he cursed, gingerly taking Tommy’s grip off of his lapel. “I told Phil where we are earlier. Be on guard, alright?”

Tommy curtly nodded and pulled the gun out of his holster as they diverged from the herd and approached the train station. It wasn’t large by any means and it was rather run down, windows cracked and boarded up with wood. Metal scans were scattered across the entrance and Tommy certainly didn’t miss the large and dried red stain on the concrete ground.

Technoblade pulled Tommy so they were flush against the brick wall, Technoblade tilting his head and lowering his neck so he peered in through the bit of exposed window glass. His body stiffened beside him, but Technoblade’s breathing remained level and calm.

Tommy squirmed, fingers clenching and unclenching against the gun handle. “What is it?”

“They’re in there,” breathed Technoblade. “Wilbur and uh- your friend.”

Tommy attempted to push Technoblade out of the way to peer in, but he remained still and heavy as a statue. Technoblade glared at Tommy. “Stop.” He didn’t move his gaze an inch from the window. “There’s also a guy there.”

“Do you know him?”

Technoblade’s breathing hitched and Tommy knew he hit the bullseye. Technoblade hesitated before responding, “I know of him.”

“So you do,” Tommy decided. “Can I please look?”

“I- I don’t know if-”

Tommy nudged Technoblade aside, and he blatantly gave in by plopping to the floor underneath the window and scooting over to give Tommy room.

His heart nearly dropped into his stomach.

Dream stood behind Wilbur and Ranboo on their knees, hands tied behind their backs and cloth shoved into their throats and tied back as makeshift gags. His companions, Sapnap and George, were noticeably gone.

So they were dead, dead. Despite their wrongdoings, guilt crawled up in the back of Tommy’s throat and he resisted the urge to keel over and vomit.

Wilbur was eerily still where he knelt, eyes trained firmly on the floor beside him, blood dripping down his nose and both eyes swollen black and yellow. Ranboo contrasted Wilbur’s calm demeanor, eyes wide and panicke with his whole body shaking like a leaf as he looked around wildly like a corner bunny. Drool and spit dripped down the side of his mouth and his right eye was swollen to all hell.

“I told you not to look,” grunted Technoblade. “Still want to face this guy?”

Tommy knelt beside Technoblade, a new found fervor built in his chest. “Yeah.” He tightened the bandana around his neck. “I know this guy; that’s a dream. I wouldn’t be surprised if his buddies were around.”

“Dream,” mused Technoblade aloud. “I knew I recognized him; hard to tell with that mask of his. He never used to wear it.”

Tommy was curious about Dream’s own villain origin story, but at the moment the only thing on his mind was saving Wilbur and Ranboo. Any sympathy for Dream had vanished, and apparently any care Dream had for Ranboo had vanished as well. Tommy’s heart twisted at the fact Ranboo probably felt betrayed.

“When are we going in?” whispered Tommy.

Technoblade’s gaze swept the perimeter before his eyes blew wide and mouth fell open. “Tommy-”

Something hard knocked into Technoblade, throwing him to the ground facefirst with a loud crack as a tooth flew across the floor and onto the railway tracks. Tommy opened his mouth to scream, but somebody clambered on top of Tommy and pinned him to the ground.

“Techno-” Tommy went to scream, but hands were shoved into his mouth and he nearly gagged at the foreign intrusion.

On top of Techno as he struggled was a blonde man in a white hoodie, a surgical mask covering him up to the bottom of his lowlidded eyes. Tommy craned his neck to look at whoever was on him, but it was to no avail.

With a loud grunt, Technoblade rolled his body over and threw the man off of him, hands grasping for the knife at his side as he threw his arm out in a slicing motion. Hands gripped tightly onto his wrists, gun flying out of his hand as they were zip-tied together. The plastic dug painfully into his skin, blood threatening to pinprick.

A woman scrambled off of Tommy’s body, running up behind Technoblade who was focused on the hooded man and sweeped her leg out to trip Technoblade over. Technoblade buckled, but quickly rolled out of the way as the woman swung her knife down on him. His hair was caught, but Technoblade ripped his head away as a large chunk of his flowing, pink hair laid on the ground.

Tommy struggled against the ties, lifting the zip-tie to his teeth as an attempt to bite through but all it did was cause his mouth to ache.

Technoblade scrambled at his side for his holster, but the hooded man barreled into Technoblade and threw him onto the ground. With a loud thump that left Tommy wincing, Technoblade was slammed onto the concrete with a man straddled atop of him. The man held a knife up as Technoblade was pushing back against the dagger.

“Don’t kill him Punz!” shouted the woman. “That’s Technoblade.”

The hooded man - Punz, Tommy assumed his name was - looked over at the woman with eyebrows shot up. Technoblade took that as his chance as he gave the man one great push and scrambled back away from the man and pulled out his gun. He fired it once, a loud bang resonating through the area which surely alerted some zombies and the bullet went cleanly through Punz’s shoulder.

Punz cried out as he stumbled backwards and the woman pushed past Punz and made a dive for Tommy, lifting him up as he kicked against her grip and the familiarity of cold, steel metal pressed against his temple. Tommy’s body tensed up, immediately halting his struggle as his heart rapidly rattled against his ribcage.

Technoblade followed the woman’s lead in which he lifted Punz by the back of his hair, nearly ripping it out of his scalp, and pressed his own gun to the temple. Punz hacked and coughed, blood splattering against the pavement.

“Let him go and I let your pathetic cronie live,” ordered Technoblade, voice calm despite his labored breathing and bloody face.

The woman nearly smiled, teeth reddened and nose smashed in. Before anybody could respond nor react, a familiar male’s voice spoke from behind Tommy.

“Oh! Technoblade!” He crooned.

Dream.

Tommy resisted the urge to scream and yell at the familiar man as the woman turned her body to face Dream, thus causing Tommy to face the man as well. At Dream’s side, thrown to his knees, was Wilbur with a gun to his head as well.

“Wilbur!” Cried out Tommy.

Wilbur looked up at him, eyes dazed and unfocused as if he was confused about his whereabouts. The cold steel pressed into Tommy’s temple further as he glowered up at Dream. “The fuck did you do to him?” he snarled. “What the fuck?”

The woman sneered, but she stayed silent. The strong but silent type it seems. Tommy loved women, that was a fact, but this one he wanted to rip apart and blast her head off. There was something wrong with Wilbur; he was dazed and completely out of it and he was being used as this prick’s bargaining chip once again.

“Dream,” slowly said Technoblade. “Let Wilbur go and nobody gets hurt.”

“You’re not in any position to make demands.” Dream’s hand gravitated to the back of Wilbur’s head, hands digging into his hair and holding him up by the scalp. He dug his gun deeper into the side of his temple, yet Wilbur still didn’t react. “Tommy and Wilbur are both tied up.”

Technoblade scowled. “So you’re still the same bastard as you’ve always been. And here I thought you’ve changed.”

Dream shook his head. “I have changed. And here I thought you’d finally get out of fucking L’manberg, yet here we are. You’re not who I want.”

“Let. Tommy. And. Wilbur. Go.” Technoblade took a step forward, dragging Punz across the pavement. “Your business is with Phil. Not these two.”

“Techno, I’m not in the mood for this and neither are you. You know you’re cornered. Drop Punz.”

Technoblade’s gaze flickered between Tommy and Wilbur, licking at his chapped lips as his mouth repeatedly opened and closed.

Tommy shook his head, eyes wide and pleading. “Let him go,” mouthed Tommy.

Technoblade dropped Punz to the ground along with his gun and raised his hands in surrender.

Punz immediately threw Technoblade to the ground despite his gushing bullet wound and zip-tied Technoblade’s hands behind his back. “You fucker,” he hissed into Technoblade’s ear as he pushed him forward. His hand lifted to hold onto the wound. “Go inside.”

Dream led the pack inside the train station where Ranboo stood with-

“Bad?” spat out Technoblade.

Behind Ranboo was Bad, the hooded man Tommy saw in the bar just an hour ago.

“You led us here,” gasped Tommy.

Ranboo’s gaze snapped to Tommy and he began screaming behind the gag, frantically shaking his head as his words were muffled by the cloth. Horror was etched across his face and Tommy would do anything to pull out his gun and shoot Dream right in the fucking face.

Lined up, the boys were all kicked into a kneeling position with a person behind them. Dream was in the front, pacing back and forth like some sort of teacher during detention. Tommy would give anything to be in detention besides this.

This has to be some sort of nightmare. This can’t be real. He can’t be tied up again at Dream’s mercy; there were many more men than last time and there wasn’t Niki or Puffy to come save him. He couldn’t do anything but sit there and await his fate.

“What do you want?” demanded Technoblade. “What is the point in this?”

Dream didn’t respond as he knelt in front of Technoblade, digging in his pockets and patting him down until he pulled out Technoblade’s communicator. He glanced at Technoblade and despite the fact he was wearing a mask, Tommy could tell the motherfucker was smugly grinning. Dream tapped at the device and held it up proudly as a familiar voice rang out in the station.

“Oh, Techno, thank god,” Phil’s distorted voice rang out. “I was starting to think you were ambushed. Listen, after Tubbo woke up-”

Ranboo made a sound at the mention of his name.

“-and I got him some food, I did some looking around and-”

“-this isn’t Techno,” interrupted Dream.

Phil from the other end went silent. A beat passed before he slowly stated, “this is Dream.”

“You’re correct,” chuckled Dream, looking at his nails and combing his hand through his hair mockingly. “Techno is right in front me. Wanna say hi, Techie?”

“Fuck. You.”

“Potty mouth. Watch your mouth in front of, Daddy,” mockingly chastised Dream. “Now, Phil, you’re really hard to get ahold of. This is really the best I could do, y’know.”

Phil remained silent.

“Staying silent, huh?” Dream sighed. “Should I get Ranboo on the line? Oh, or how about Tommy? Wilbur could work too - that’s right; they’re all here. They’re wondering ‘oh, why has Daddy abandoned us.’”

“Shut the fuck up and share your bloody location.”

Dream tapped something into the device. “So you’re just cutting to the chase? I like that.” Dream dropped the device to his feet with a clatter. “Don’t be late.” To punctuate his sentence, Dream brought down his foot and smashed the device to bits. Once. Then twice. Then thrice. Pieces of plastic and metal flew and a spring hit Tommy’s knee.

Techno made a sound of disgust as he glowered up at Dream, hands struggling at the zip-tie. “I’m going to kill you. This is a major mistake.”

“Okay Mr. Blood God,” teased Dream, meandering to a crate and plopping down on it. “Now we wait. Let’s tell campfire stories!”

“Shut the fuck up,” groaned Tommy. He’d rather be shot than listen to Dream ramble on like a madman for an hour.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” grumbled Technoblade.

Tommy opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly the back of his head was grabbed and slammed into the ground. The whole world spun around him as the taste of metal filled his mouth and dripped down his face. Ringing filled his ears and before he could focus his vision again, he was slammed into the floor again. A voice hissed in his ears, most likely telling him to shut the fuck up, but he couldn’t focus at all.

He didn’t miss Ranboo’s screaming from behind his gag.

After Tommy’s world stopped spinning - although it was still blurry - he looked around to beside him and noticed Wilbur’s vision had gotten slightly less cloudy. Wilbur was struggling against his zip-ties as he stared wide eyed at Tommy, eyes moist and red.

“I think he needs another dose,” said the woman.

“Already, Alyssa?” groaned Dream. “He just got the damn dose.”

Technoblade grunted. “That’s what going into prison for drugs does to you. Shit doesn’t effect you one bit.”

Well, Tommy didn’t have time nor the energy to unpack the fact apparently Wilbur was in prison for drugs. Instead, Tommy shook his head and weakly protested, “don’t- don’t dr- drug him-”

Hands dug into the back of his scalp again and Tommy squeezed his eyes shut for his face to be slammed into the ground again, but all that happened was a hand flying across his cheek. Probably needed to keep him alive and not cause too much brain damage.

“Leave Wilbur be,” announced Dream. “I want him sober and aware for what’s about to occur. You know what, take off the gags!”

Alyssa was monotone and borderline emotionless as she hummed an ‘okay’ and untied the gags from around Ranboo and Wilbur’s mouth.

As soon as the slobber covered fabric fell from Wilbur’s mouth, his lips were moving a mile a second to Tommy. “Are- Tommy- Are you-” Wilbur shook his head, stammering and stuttering as he struggled to find the right words to say.

Tommy had no energy to respond as Wilbur slobbered all over himself, most likely numb mouthed and drowsy from whatever the fuck he was drugged. Thankfully, he didn’t have to listen to Wilbur’s gutwrenching moans and attempts of speech any longer for the front doors flew open.

There stood Phil, hands up in surrender and naked from any sort of weaponry. Tommy wanted to yell and curse him out, demand why he arrived in surrender and made no attempts whatsoever to kill these fuckers.

Dream hopped off from the crates. “Phil! My old friend.”

Phil remained silent, eyes lowlidded and expression downright murderous. If looks could kill, the entire station would be filled to the brim with dead bodies. His gaze flickered across the room, landing on Wilbur’s with soft eyes before focusing back on Dream.

“Knees,” demanded Dream and Phil immediately complied.

“Phil!” yelled Technoblade. “Why are you just listening to him?”

Phil remained silent.

Dream was downright giddy as he tied Phil’s hands behind his back and left him standing in front of the lined boys with a low expression and sealed lips. “Now, Phil, should I explain to this poor kids why they’re here or should you?”

Phil remained silent.

Tommy wanted to scream at him, but nothing came out except for a silent gurgle.

“I guess I will.” Dream’s arms spread wide as he paced up and down the station. “It seems these poor, poor teenagers were left out of the loop, especially Tommy, about who the fuck they were traveling with.”

Tommy pointedly avoided Wilbur, ice blue eyes trained on Dream’s pacing form as he did his ugly, stupid fucking villain monologue. Tommy bets he wears that mask because he’s ugly and never has had girlfriend before. Fucking prick.

“Phil, here, is what I’d like to call the mafia boss of apocalypses.” Dream placed a hand on Phil’s shoulder and he made no effort to shrug his grip off. “And he’s screwed me out of some shit”-Dream’s grip tightened onto Phil’s shoulder, fingers turning red with effort-”and lots, and lots of shit. But that’s not fucking all! Phil, Technoblade, and Wilbur - you’re murderers.”

This really has to be a nightmare. This can’t be happening to him. What did Tommy do to deserve this? He was only fourteen. He’s only fourteen. What did he do? He wasn’t that bad of a kid, right? He said please and thank you and did his homework and then he was nice to Ranboo and Tubbo and yeah, he cut off his leg, but Tubbo lived and-

“Tommy, breathe,” whispered Wilbur beside him.

Tommy didn’t look at him. He couldn’t listen to Wilbur; not right now.

“Phil, here, in the name of- of science killed my fucking sister.” Dream was now shaking in rage and fury, but his hand remained on Phil’s shoulder as if they were best of friends. “And tried to kill me as well. Not just me, but who- who knows how many people. And he sent his son and friend, Wilbur and Techno, out to do his fucking dirty work.”

“Wilbur is your son?” cried out Tommy.

“That’s what you got from the story?” screamed Ranboo incredulously.

Tommy tensed when the grip on his hair tightened, but nothing happened from his outburst. Tommy spared a glance and Ranboo was promptly slammed into the floor, blood smearing across the pavement as he face was rubbed into the ground. Tommy quickly looked away and ignored Ranboo’s cries.

“Techno, here, even killed Ranboo’s parents- he would’ve killed Ranboo too, if I hadn’t saved him!”

Yeah, what a real swell and pleasant guy you are, Dream!

“And, you, Tommy-” Tommy’s brows knitted together, staying silent. “-they fucked you up as well.”

“Huh?”

Dream clapped his hands together. “I did recognize you all the way back at the warehouse- yes, remember when you killed my friends?”

Tommy almost threw up again.

“I remember!” Dream shook his head. “We’ll discuss that later. . . but I did some digging and- well, you can’t blame Wilbur for this one sadly, he was already out of L’manberg by the time this had happened- but Tommy, you do know a man named Sam, right?”

“Keep his name out your mouth!” roared Tommy, struggling against his ties. “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!”

Dream’s voice could almost be described as sympathetic as he walked towards Tommy, kneeling down and taking his chin between his index finger and thumb. He ran his other hand down Tommy’s cheek and cooed. “You’re so young. It’s so sad what Phil ordered Techno to do.”

Tommy’s breathing hitched at the close proximity to the crazed, masked man.

“Tommy, you don’t have to blame yourself any longer,” whispered Dream.

“How do you know I-”

“Because I went through the same thing-”

Technoblade shook his head. “Don’t listen to him Tommy! This guy is fucking crazy. He’s trying to-” He was cut off with a loud groan as a leg swept out and kicked him in the jaw, another tooth flying out across the room as blood flew in the air like raindrops.

“I went through the same thing when that monster killed my little sister,” murmured Dream. “It’s okay. Because it’s neither of our faults.”

“He’s lying!” Cried out Technoblade, voice ragged and heavy. “He gave his sister-”

Tommy looked away, but he heard Technoblade cry out in pain once more as he was beaten again for speaking up. He spared a glance to Wilbur, but he was staying silent with tears streaming down his face and head shaking slowly. Dream tightened his grip on his chin and pulled him to face forward again.

“Technoblade killed Sam,” whispered Dream. “And Phil ordered it-”

Tommy’s world crashed down and spun around him at that moment as his heart nearly froze and palpitated. Sweat beaded at his brow despite the cold weather and his body trembled; blood dripped down his face and to his knowledge this could’ve entirely been imaginary from how beat up and bruised his brain is.

“Phil wanted young test subjects.” Dream swiped his thumb across Tommy’s cheek and in his muddled state he leaned into the touch instinctively, seeking out any sort of nurturing and paternal comfort he could receive. “But you survived.”

“You’re-” Tommy winced, trying to find the words in his foggy brain. “You’re-”

Dream softly shushed him, pulling bad and Tommy finally steadied his breathing. “It’s okay. You’ll get your revenge, too.”

“Tommy,” gasped Wilbur. “I- I swear I didn’t- I didn’t know-”

Tommy looked over at Wilbur, eyes wide and body trembling as the realization set in.

Phil was human experimenting and Wilbur and Technoblade were his partners in crime. The ones who’d go fetch subjects and kill their families to get the healthiest and most young subjects. Wilbur apparently left before Sam was killed, but the idea of Wilbur participating in the act of all sent Tommy keeling over and vomiting blood and bile all over himself.

“That’s- That’s enough Dream,” whispered Phil. “Stop. You can- You can kill them but please leave Technoblade alone.”

Wilbur gasped from beside Tommy and he couldn’t help but let out his own gasp; from Tommy’s understanding, Wilbur was Phil’s son, and for him to say that-

Dream threw his head back and cackled. “So Wilbur wasn’t lying when he said you didn’t give a shit about him.” Dream craned his neck to look towards Wilbur and chills crawled up Tommy’s spine. “Daddy issues to top it all off. Poor little Wilbur.”

Wilbur spat out a glob of blood on the floor.

“Wilbur lost the right to being my son a long time ago,” muttered Phil.

“Fuck you, he’s still your son!” cried out Tommy. “How could you just say that?”

Wilbur shook from beside Tommy. “Calm down, Tommy. It’s nothing I haven’t ever heard before.”

Tommy glanced at Wilbur, tears and blood and snot and every form of human liquid dripped down his face and messied his clothes. His display was almost downright pathetic, sniveling and eyes unfocused and red. Tommy’s heart squeezed and his lungs burned from his hyperventilation.

Dream knelt down in front of Ranboo. “You’ve been quiet. . .” He ran his knuckles gently across Ranboo’s face and he immediately jerked his face away. Dream grabbed his chin and pulled him back forward. “You were one of Phil’s favorites. You didn’t seem to react to his doses at all.”

Ranboo trembled, desperately trying to pull his gaze away from Dream, who gripped his chin so tightly Tommy was convinced his jaw was about to break. Ranboo stayed relatively silent save for an occasional whimper that crept in the back of his throat and squeezed out.

“Phil will really miss you,” Dream whispered, face so close to Ranboo that his mask nearly brushed against his nose. “And I think I will, too.”

Ranboo’s eyes, red and puffy, glossed over as fat tears streaked down. Ranboo softly shook his head, bottom lip trembling. It felt weird to see Ranboo’s face without a mask, open and emotional with matted hair and a scarred face. “You didn’t save me, did you?” Ranboo whispered, voice cracking.

“Ranboo, I did,” Dream whispered back. The moment almost felt intimate; a hero and the victim sharing a moment of open vulnerability and a display of wretched emotions. The truth spilt out after secret after secret was being unveiled. “I did save you. But not for the right reasons.”

Then Dream pulled out his gun.

Tommy screamed, and Wilbur from beside him couldn’t hold back his horrified screeches as the barrel of the gun pressed against Ranboo’s forehead, who frantically shook his head.

“No, no, Dream, please,” begged Ranboo. “Remember- Remember when we swam in the lake- and- and you- and Sapnap- and George-” Ranboo stumbled over his words, voice choked and gurgled as he struggled to remind Dream of some sort of shared memory between them.

“I do remember,” replied Dream.

Ranboo nodded. “See- See- Dream, I’ll do anything just-”

BANG!

A red splotch formed square in the middle of Ranboo’s forehead as the fear in his eyes slowly vanished, a white void devoid of any expression. Ranboo’s jaw dropped open as he slowly fell forward at Dream’s feet with a wet thump. Blood pooled around his head, and Tommy didn’t even realize he was screaming until he noticed the burning in his throat.

“Go to hell Dream,” growled Wilbur. It seems he had completely sobered up from whatever Dream and his little friends injected into Wilbur, brown eyes turned amber with fire and hatred up at Dream.

Tommy tore his gaze from Ranboo’s corpse and spared a look towards Phil; his face was completely blank and if you told Tommy he was simply waiting in line at the grocery store he’d believe you. Technoblade’s gaze was firmly on his knees on the ground.

When Dream strolled in front of Wilbur, Tommy’s breath caught in his throat: Dream is going down the line and killing every single person in Phil’s life to get back at him for killing his sister.

Dream turned around to look at Phil. “Look at that Phil, an innocent teenager- your favorite test subject is dead!” He cackled, dry and bonechilling. “How does that make you feel? All of your hard work and devotion gone?”

Phil remained silent, hardened stare right ahead.

Punz huffed. “He’s not even reacting, Dream.”

Bad shook his head. “I’m not even gonna correct all of the bad words that have been said in the past thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes? In Tommy’s mind, he has been sitting there for days.

“Out of everything, the language is what puts you off?” growled Wilbur. “Fuck you and burn and rot in fucking hell. Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“No reaction, Phil?” Dream craned his neck, strolling leisurely until he stood in front of Wilbur, who looked right back up in defiance. There wasn’t even a stretch of fear on his face, expression open and full of pure spite and rage. Tommy wasn’t even sure if Wilbur had taken the time to grieve Ranboo, he seemed so defiantly angry. “Maybe this will get some reaction!”

Suddenly, Wilbur was launched backwards against the wall with a yell as Dream threw him back.

“Wilbur!” screamed Tommy, bloodcurdling and gutwrenching. “Let him go you bastard-”

Punz came up right behind Tommy, hands gripping his shoulders as he borderline forced Tommy to watch his older brother figure be beaten to half death.

Dream held Wilbur down as he thrashed and yelled and screamed against Dream, absolutely helpless at his disposal as Dream pulled a knife out of his side and held it up to Wilbur’s eye and-

Tommy screwed his eyes shut. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This can’t be real. Any minute now he’s going to wake up and Wilbur is going to be beside him and Tubbo’s going to have both legs and Ranboo’s going to be alive and breathing and-

Wilbur’s scream brought Tommy back down from his mind, something Tommy has never heard rip from Wilbur’s vocal chords. It was nearly unhuman, bloodcurdling and so horrid it could freeze hell over. Tommy desperately steadied his breathing and rapid heartbeat, as he slowly opened his eyes once Wilbur’s screams calmed down.

Dream was standing in front of Wilbur, dagger dripping red. Tommy slowly dragged his gaze to Wilbur, head downturned as so, so much blood dripped down his face into his lap. Tommy screamed and struggled against his zip-ties, shaking his head desperately as he screamed for Wilbur.

Wilbur lifted his head and Tommy almost passed out right then and there from the sight; the entire right side of his face was bloodied and battered, where his eye should be was-

“Fuck, oh fuck,” breathed Tommy. “Wilbur-”

Dream tossed the dagger to the side, wiping his bloodied hands on the front of his pants. He turned to Phil. Phil’s body trembled, but he still wore that same fucking expression of apathy and indifference.

Tommy was correct when he thought Phil was deformed, but he was severely underestimating the man. No, he wasn’t a man; Phil wasn’t human. He couldn’t be human. Not when he watched a boy get shot, his friend tied up, and Wilbur have his eye gouged out.

Phil was a monster.

Chapter Text

Anger was an emotion Tommy was familiar with. Rage, vengefulness, fury, wrath - they were all things Tommy felt all too often. Anger towards Technoblade, bitterness towards his parents for not sticking around, frustration towards Sam for leaving him; it was sad to say that Tommy was an angry kid.

Despite all the rage inside his heart, he has never felt the downright hatred and resentment for any humans as much as he felt for both Dream and Phil at this moment.

Phil just watched his son’s eye gouged out and didn’t even bat an eye.

Wilbur’s face wasn’t even visible through the waterfall of red that covered his face, dark crimson blood dripping and pouring down in heaps that was too big of an amount to lose.

Perhaps the red wasn’t just Wilbur’s blood. It was the smokescreen of fury that clouded Tommy’s vision, casting a hot glow across his vision as he could barely hold back the absolute indignation and revulsion.

“You fuckin’ monster!” Tommy cried out, ripping himself from Punz behind him with all his might and barreled towards Dream sans hands. Any form of reasoning or logic had vanished; the only thing that ran through his mind was killing that motherfucker right where he stood.

Dream simply sidestepped away from Tommy, gleeful and bouncing in his step. Tommy stumbled, skidding across the pavement as he wobbled on shaky feet. Hands tied behind his back, Tommy ran forward again to charge once more but the air was stolen from his lungs at Punz grabbing ahold of him.

Before any more harm could be done to the teenager, Dream held up the palm of his hand to halt Punz in his violent ministrations. “Let him go, Punz. Look at him, he’s upset.”

Punz took a step back. “He’s violent.”

“Aren’t we all?” Dream retorted, beckoning Tommy with a finger as he stepped around the other blonde. “Aren’t we all?”

Punz went silent at that, slit eyebrow raised slightly in obvious disagreement. He shared a glance towards Bad and Alyssa who merely looked just as bewildered. Punz held up his hands in mock surrender and meandered back in the line, hands stuffed in his hoodie nonchalantly - as if he didn’t just bash Tommy’s face into the ground multiple times and watched a boy get fucking murdered.

Tommy spared a glance at Wilbur. Whatever expression he held underneath the bruises and blood, Tommy was sure it was disappointment; Tommy couldn’t save anybody, he was just some dumb kid who was now challenging the man in blatant authority. He was acting dumb and stupid and obnoxious, but the fire ignited refused to burn out.

With a loud, gutwrenching and throat burning cry, Tommy threw himself once again at Dream like a battering ram. If Phil and Technoblade weren’t human - monsters, even, both ravenous and uncaring, then Tommy wasn’t human either; but he wasn’t living. He was a tool adults used, using him to their benefit - even Wilbur.

It was a dance between Dream and Tommy. He’d sidestep skillfully while Tommy would stumble ungracefully and nearly bust his face in even more. An arena surrounded the two bloodhungry boys, eyes trained right on him; no matter Tommy’s relation to them, they all held the same chilling indifference.

The thought that zombies weren’t the true threat had crossed Tommy’s mind numerous times. Through the fact he’d been fucked over more often by humans than the undead creatures, Tommy couldn’t get it through his thick skull that the issue was the zombies.

It was no fucking zombie. It was the shitty adults Tommy found himself with.

Why did Sam leave him? Why did Technoblade kill the only person who cared for him? Why is Dream taking this out on Tommy? Why did Wilbur insist on dragging him into dangerous situations? Why is Phil just staring at him without a reaction when he showed him kindness down in the bunker? Why did Niki have to die? Why did Puffy stay behind? Why did Eret and Fundy leave him behind? Why did Ranboo have to get shot?

Why Tommy?

Squeezing chest, burning lungs, and stinging throat, Tommy threw himself at Dream until his legs were shaking and his body begged him to stop. Dream was giddier than a child on Christmas, simply taunting and playing around with him. If anybody was telling Tommy to stop, he wasn’t paying attention.

He had reached his limit. His sporadic and grieving, heaving heart told him to stop and his gelatin limbs had tripped him and threw him to the ground, scratching up his elbows and knees against the concrete. A foot landed in the square middle of his back, pushing his abdomen further into the dirt covered and soot stained concrete. Dream’s laugh was cruel and sharp, ringing throughout Tommy’s ears - a noise he’ll never forget.

Tommy craned his neck, cheek scraping against the pavement as he strained his eyes to look over at Wilbur, head ducked and hair mussled. It stuck to his cheek and his clothes were falling apart. As Dream dug his heel into Tommy, he couldn’t hold back the small, unmanly squeak that left his sore throat. Wilbur snapped up at that, and the bit of his face that Tommy could see was reminiscent of the last moments he saw of Sam.

Soft, yet rough hands placed themselves on Tommy’s shoulders and squeezed them gently. Tommy’s whole body shook, despite it being the middle of Summer and the harsh heat burned into his skin, he felt cold.

“Sam, stop it,” Tommy whispered. “I don’t understand.”

“There are some bad, bad people coming after us, okay Tom?” Sam whispered and despite the horror and anticipation etched across his face he looked at Tommy with softness and adoration he had never seen in an adult before.

Tommy grabbed onto Sam’s wrists that rested on his shoulders, gently tugging. “Let’s go, then. You don’t have to go. We can run away.”

Sam gingerly moved his hands to cup Tommy’s face. “You’re too young for this,” his voice cracked and Tommy’s heart stung.”I have to help my friends, Tommy. So just wait here, outside the building, and I’ll be right out, okay?”

Tommy scrubbed at his face. He didn’t understand what was happening or why Sam had to save these people Tommy didn’t evem know - he was right here in front of Sam, isn’t that enough? “Promise you’ll come back?”

Sam intertwined his pinky with Tommy. At the moment, when Tommy was merely twelve or so years old, he couldn’t catch the sad expression that swirled in Sam’s eyes, lip grimaced in a forced smile, but to him it was a man who could lift the moon and stars above. “I promise,” said Sam.

Then he turned and walked away.

Dark brown eye swirling with a mixture of emotions - both grief, anger, and utter hopelessness - eyebrows knitted together, mussled and slit with scars, jaw clenched in pain and face wet with every form of bodily liquid. Sam wasn’t beaten up when Tommy saw him last, but he shared the very same expression of grief.

Fingers gripped into Tommy’s matted, blood stained hair and yanked back as a sting of pain reverbrated throughout his scalp. Tommy cried out, hands tugging against the zipties that nearly drew blood from his pale skin. “You’re going to rot in hell for this, bastard-” before Tommy could finish, Dream pulled Tommy back so his body was contorted uncomfortably in a seal-like position, upper half of his abdomen bent back until he made eye contact with the boring holes of Dream’s mask.

“Then I’ll see you, Wilbur, Phil, Technoblade, Ranboo- all of you there,” softly whispered Dream into his ear.

Tommy always wondered what his last moments would be. He pondered it back when Dream captured him and Wilbur back with his former partners, but somebody was there to save him; nobody was willing. The only person Tommy could wrack his mind for was Quackity, but Tommy had no idea where he was and whether him and Wilbur were close enough for him to stick his neck at for. Technoblade was tied up and Phil was just fucking standing there.

Cold steel pressed into Tommy’s temple as he attempted to steady his thumping heart and swirling gut, the world spinning and blurred together as he glared into Dream’s mask. If he dies here, it’s not without a fight. Tommy spat blood and spit right in the middle of Dream’s mask and the man barely reacted, he simply hummed a small bout of laughter.

“It’s nothing personal, Tommy, you understand don’t you?”

Tommy swallowed, through dry and rough as he locked his wavering gaze onto Dream’s mask. “Fuck. You.”

Wilbur’s screams began filling his ears, the man realizing the position Tommy was in. Tommy couldn’t catch what he was saying, everything was so muffled.

“Dream?” A male’s voice interrupted and Tommy suddenly remembered there were other people besides Wilbur, Dream, and himself. Tommy remained still, ears straining as Bad spoke up. “We got company.”

Dream threw Tommy to the ground, Tommy letting out a pathetic cough as his cheek slapped painfully against the concrete. Dream turned away with a growl. “What?”

Tommy curled in on himself, knees tucked to chest. Throbbing pain shot through his body in intervals, locating throughout and he couldn’t even decide where hurt the most. He begged his eyes to focus as he flitted his gaze to watch Dream and Bad speak.

Bad jabbed his thumb to Punz who had taken station near the entrance to the building, eyes shot wide open and eyebrows up to his hairline. “We made a lot of noise. . . and there’s a whole hoard out. What do we do?”

Dream waved him off. “I don’t care about a bunch of-”

THUMP!

“-zombies,” weakly finished Dream.

“If I may speak for a moment, Dream,” slowly began Phil.

Tommy jolted at the sound of his voice.

“Who said you could even speak,” snarled Alyssa.

Dream held up his hand. “Phil’s a guest. What is it?”

Tommy glanced Phil over and his eyes widened: he hadn’t even realized Phil’s hands were also tied behind his back. He had thought he simply clasped them behind him. Tommy spared a quick, shaky glance towards Wilbur whose gaze was firmly trained on Tommy.

Wilbur mouthed something, but through the muddy vision, ringing ears, and aching body Tommy couldn’t decipher what on earth Wilbur had attempted to communicate. Tommy flickered his gaze back to Phil.

“More will come and they will break through the walls eventually. You know how some are. The abnormal ones and all that,” calmly said Phil. This was the Phil that was reminiscent of the scientist described in the journals: calm, calculating, and cool. “Badboyhalo and Punz are right to worry.”

Dream looked down at Tommy before nearly jumping at the sound of zombies slamming themselves against the side of the deteriorating building.

“Dream,” called out Punz. “There’s a fuck ton of them!”

“Shit,” cursed Dream. “Like how many?”

Alyssa strode to where Punz stood, and took a few shaky steps back with hands quickly rising to her mouth. “No fucking way. There’s gotta be hundreds.”

Dream shook his head, storming over to the group with heavy steps. “I don’t believe you,” he hissed.

Whilst the group had become distracted with the looming zombie threat, Tommy caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Technoblade was repeatedly throwing his hands from behind his back against himself, attempting to snap the zipties open.

A rustling noise filled Tommy’s ears and he quickly squeezed his eyes shut in reflex, mind jumping to the idea that Dream had returned to finish the job.

“Tommy,” a voice whispered. It was so soft, Tommy was convinced he had imagined it, but he forced his eyes to flutter open once more. His eyes were facing Dream, Bad, Alyssa, and Punz, who were hushedly discussing amongst themselves whilst the zombies moaned and groaned outside, throwing themselves against the building.

Tommy rolled over with a pained hiss through his teeth onto a knelt position, knees stinging as they pressed against the firm pavement once more. A gasp nearly slipped from his lips as he came face to face with Wilbur’s bleeding eye and bruised face, face sticking to his cheeks and forehead from all of the blood and sweat.

“Wilbur?” tentatively whispered back Tommy. “Go back to where you were what if-”

Wilbur shook his head, subtly tilting his head downwards. Tommy followed his gesture until he locked onto Wilbur’s freed hands, fingers wiggling. The breath caught in his throat. “How. . .?”

Wilbur gave Tommy a small, shaky grin; his teeth were stained red and one of his front teeth were missing completely from being slammed against the pavement. Tommy’s stomach churned, but he was sure he didn’t look much better. Wilbur held a finger up to his lips before scooting backwards and mimed his hands being tied back once more.

THUMP! THUMP!

“Fuck,” Dream cried out, clenching his hair and tugging at it.

“Dream, we have to get out of here- I- I don’t know how much longer the building will hold,” urged Punz. “Fuck these people. I don’t give a shit about your weird vendetta against them. We will die if we stay here.”

Dream looked around desperately, head turning between Punz, Alyssa, and Bad then to Tommy, Wilbur, Phil, and Technoblade. Tommy glared right at him, not tearing his gaze away for a single second as Dream and him locked gazes.

After what felt like hours, and the zombies groans only grew larger, a loud shatter echoed throughout the inside of the station. Dream was the first to tear his gaze away - and Tommy took that as a small victory - before Tommy followed the sound with his eyes.

A rotting, decaying hand had shoved through the window, bits and pieces of glass flying everywhere. Alyssa cried out, stepping away from the window as she wildly shook her head. “Fuck you Dream.” She began racing towards a pile of crates in the corner of the room, grabbing a bag and shoving things Tommy couldn’t make out into it. “We are leaving these people here and we are getting out.”

Dream shook his head. “You all are not leaving me. I still have business here-”

Badboyhalo threw his arms out, gesturing wildly at the window. “And you think those things out there care? Leave them to be zombie food.” Bad followed Alyssa to the crates, copying her movements quickly. “But if we don’t leave your petty revenge will be nothing.”

Punz shot Dream a sympathetic glance. “Sorry, Dream, but we have to go.”

Dream flung his hands up, middle finger flicked up towards his group who had began shoving supplies quickly into bags. “Fuck you all! See if I’ll ever help you again. Run like cowards. I have to sort shit out.”

The station fell silent save for the moans of zombies and the thumps of them throwing themselves against the building as Punz, Alyssa, and Bad hoarded supplies. Tommy looked around, noticing a ladder that led to the roof; that must be their escape plan.

CRASH

Squeals and cries filled the room as one zombie hurdled itself through the window, slicing itself against the glass as it flopped like a fish against the ground, dragging itself against the pavement. Phil stared down at it as it crawled towards his feet, expertly lifting his foot and stomping hard against the soft flesh of the zombie’s head. Decaying brain spurted across his foot and the ground.

Punz, Alyssa, and Bad quickly escaped the building, not looking twice back at Dream and the rest of the tied up victims as they made their escape. Zombies fought to enter the building, clambering atop of each other to fight whoever would eat their brains first. The smell of blood filling the air only encouraged their empty stomachs.

Suddenly, a snap resounded as Phil snapped the zipties on his wrists and whirled on Dream, who was scratching at the bare skin of his neck and ripping at the hair on his head. Dream’s jaw clenched as he whipped his gun out and pointed it at Phil. “How the fuck did you get out?”

Phil tossed the zip tie to the side. “You’ll need more than that,” he said.

Dream shook his head. “You have nothing. You may be the angel of death, but you still-” Dream trailed off as Technoblade came up behind him with his own gun. Tommy couldn’t resist the small woop that left his mouth after setting his eyes on Technoblade managing to escape the binds and turn the tables on Dream.

“What say we do with him Phil?” hummed Technoblade as if he was merely asking Phil what he wanted for breakfast.

Phil calmly pressed his forehead against the barrel of Dream’s gun with a smile. Tommy scrambled backwards slightly, jumping when he bumped against something solid. He hesitantly looked down, legs resting in something damp.

Ranboo’s body.

Tommy screamed and scrambled the other direction, feet kicking weakly as he propelled himself backwards with his desperate fling of his limbs. Ranboo shouldn’t be so still. So hard and cold. That shouldn’t be Ranboo. Ranboo should be beside him. Ranboo should be quietly laughing at Tommy’s jokes. Ranboo should be out fishing with Wilbur. Ranboo should be comforting Tubbo and listening to his stories.

Oh fuck. How is Tubbo going to react?

Once again, Tommy bumped into something hard and hands came down on his shoulders. Tommy cut off the scream that threatened to rise as he looked over to see Wilbur looming over him, vision blurred with the harsh sting of tears. “Wilbur,” Tommy said.

Wilbur didn’t say anything as he knelt down and cut open Tommy’s ties with a knife. Tommy didn’t question where he got the knife from as the sting of the plastic that dug into his wrists faded away; Tommy allowed Wilbur to massage at the skin of his wrists before he helped pull him to his feet.

Tommy couldn’t look Wilbur in the eyes as he focused his hardened gaze on Phil, Dream, and Technoblade.

“Should we bring him along for some tests?” chuckled Phil.

Technoblade dug the gun further into Dream’s hair. “Or we could tie him up and leave him for the zombies? Some bait for the fish.”

Phil grinned and Tommy felt Wilbur stiffen beside him.

Dream was stiff, yet trembled as Phil tentatively lifted his hands and took the mask from Dream’s face.

“You look just like her,” whispered Phil. “She was a better person than you could ever be.”

Dream snarled. His face was scarred to hell and back; a big fact burn scared covered the entirety of the left side of his face, and the right side was full of slits from knives and faint bruises. This was the face of a man who had seen hell and back and Tommy wonders if that’s his face, then what does his body look like? “Go to hell.”

“Soon, mate,” chuckled Phil. He stepped back from Dream’s gun, the weapon trembling in Dream’s tight grip. “I’ll see you on the other side, yeah?”

Dream opened his mouth, but he had no time to say anything before Technoblade swung his leg beneath Dream’s and tripped him to his knees. Dream choked and coughed as Technoblade pinned him to the ground and Phil shoved cloth down the back of his throat as a gag. The two men expertly tied him up, and Tommy couldn’t rip his gaze away from the sight.

It was almost therapeutic.

Wilbur stepped closer to his side. Tommy appreciated it.

Dream was like a roasted pig, hands and feet tied up so intricately and tightly that it’d be near impossible to come loose. He screamed from behind his gag, face red and angry as tears streamed down his raging face. Tommy instinctively took a step away and Wilbur followed his movements.

Technoblade gave one last kick to Dream, who began hiccuping and snotting behind his gag. It was a pathetic sight and if Tommy had the energy he’d be laughing and pointing fingers at him like a juvenile bully. Phil high fived Technoblade and Tommy quickly looked away; he wished Phil and Technoblade were also tied up and him and Wilbur could safely get away and pretend none of what happened had happened.

“Well, boys, let’s go.” Phil clasped his hands together. “Unless you wanna see the full course meal the zombies will be having?”

Wilbur didn’t say anything as he threw an arm around Tommy and quickly guided him away, the zombies thumps only growing louder.

“Wilbur, you need medical care,” whispered Tommy as Wilbur pushed him up to the ladder. “Can you climb?”

Wilbur gently urged him up the ladder. “Where’s Tubbo?” he asked instead.

Tommy stayed quiet and instead started up the ladder to the roof of the station. Technoblade and Phil followed behind and Tommy shoved the desperate pleas and screams of Dream behind his gag to the back of his mind. Like he didn’t just gouge out Wilbur’s eye and almost kill all of them.

Once they reached the roof, Tommy’s heart nearly stopped once they noticed the crowd of zombies. They crowded around the front, throwing themselves through the window and pawing desperately at the weakening brick walls of the establishment; they had escaped just in time. Dream would be eaten any second at this rate.

Technoblade propped his hands on his hips as he gazed out at the zombies, acting like he was merely admiring the scenery. He whistled lowly, sparing a quickly glance at Phil as he pointed downwards. “They weren’t kiddin’ when they said there was a lot.”

Phil hummed lowly from the back of his throat. “Yeah. I don’t like how this looks at all,” he turned around walking to the other end of the building. “There’s not a lot on the other side. If we jump down and run, we should be pretty clear while they’re focused on Dream.”

Technoblade looked over at Wilbur and Tommy. “Are you two fit to run?”

Wilbur finally spoke, scoffing as he glowered at Technoblade. “Of course I am.”

“He speaks,” deadpanned Technoblade.

Wilbur went quiet again, turning his head and simply tugging Tommy even closer into his side. Tommy didn’t like how cold he felt.

Phil glared at the boys. “Stop antagonizing him, Techno. You know how Wil gets.”

Wilbur stiffened and Tommy was two seconds away from saying fuck it and run from the two men without any help.

“Let’s go while they’re still occupied on Dream,” said Technoblade, clambering to the side of the building and dangling his legs off the edge. “If Tommy needs help, I got him.”

Tommy didn’t like the way Technoblade looked at him as his eyes disappeared from the edge of the building as he began climbing downwards.

Chapter Text

Escaping from the zombies was numerous times more simple than attempting to escape Dream and his cronies; Phil, Technoblade, Wilbur, and Tommy managed to keep a steady pace and managed to pump their legs long enough to scramble back into L’manberg.

The boy by the front gate gave Wilbur a curious glance at his eye, asking if he needed medical attention, but Technoblade simply stared him down and the boy’s mouth immediately closed. Blood stained the snow as their boots crunched against it as Phil and Technoblade led the two boys to the bunker.

Wilbur had stayed silent the entire trip back but would occasionally bump his shoulder against Tommy’s and crack him a small, shaky yet reassuring smile that would fill Tommy’s gut with a semblance of hope. He still didn’t like the gaping hole of redness and purpling bruises on Wilbur’s face, but the fact he still attempted to comfort Tommy was enough to encourage him.

Once they entered the bunker, they heard a loud thump and the sound of a boy groaning.

Tubbo.

Tommy perked at the sound of the boy; he hasn’t talked to Tubbo since he amputated his bit limb, and if he’s well enough to move around, then Phil helped him heal before he came to Dream.

Phil rested his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, Wilbur’s eyes firmly trained on the ground and visibly uncomfortable at the physical contact. “We need to rinse your eye out, mate,” said Phil. “C’mon.”

Wilbur shrugged his hand off with a sneer. “Like I need your help.”

Tommy gnawed at his bleeding lip, shooting Wilbur an apologetic glance. “Please Wilbur. It’s going to get infected and- and I don’t like how much it’s bleeding.” Tommy tried to communicate that he didn’t like Phil either but he cared more about Wilbur more, but he wasn’t sure if his eyes were communicative enough by the way Wilbur simply scowled.

It seems his reasoning reigned victorious, for Wilbur allowed Phil to guide him away to the same room Phil tended to Tubbo. Technoblade nodded to Tommy with a small grunt before following Phil with his heavy steps.

As soon as the men left Tommy’s sight, Tommy raced down the hallways to where he heard Tubbo fall onto the ground. He skidded to a halt, nearly tripping over a piece of uplifted metal ground, scrambling into a lantern lit room.

Tommy couldn’t stop the small gasp that left his mouth when he noticed Tubbo crawling on the ground, one leg kicking uselessly against the ground and where his foot once was wrapped tightly with bandages. Tubbo let out a small gasp of his own, breath catching in the back of his throat, and then quickly exhaled once he noticed Tommy.

Tubbo’s eyes shouldn’t have lit up as much as they did once he spotted Tommy in the doorway. He awkwardly scrambled onto his butt, grasping on the blankets of the bed and heaving himself up with a gruff groan. Tommy hurried to his side, helping him up and Tubbo quickly latched onto him.

“You’re back,” breathed Tubbo. “I’m so glad. Phil told me he- he had to go save you, Wilbur, and Ranboo and-” Tubbo shook his head, face full of genuineness and pleasant surprise.

Tommy couldn’t stop the wetness that stung at his eyes, taking one of his hands that he used to help steady Tubbo to quickly wipe the salty tears. “Sorry, got something in my eye,” he choked out, scrubbing at his eyes.

Tubbo hummed with a small nod, slowly lowering himself to sit on the bed and pulling Tommy down next to him. Tommy latched back onto Tubbo, despite him no longer needing Tommy to steady him; Tommy’s lips pursed in an attempt to hold back the onslaught of tears. “I’m so sorry, Tubbo,” Tommy said with the slight shake of his head. His body wracked and trembled with the exertion of holding back sobs. “I had to save you.”

Tubbo held himself back at an arms length from Tommy, but still kept the physical contact as he held his face directly in front of Tommy’s. Tommy averted his gaze, but Tubbo simply followed wherever he looked with a reassuring grin. This was nothing like the borderline cannibalistic boy Tommy met in the cabin in the middle of nowhere; this was the face of a boy who had gone through too much in too short of a time. “It’s okay, boss man.” Tubbo shook the end of his former foot. “I look pretty badass with all these battle scars, huh?”

Tommy laughed, wet and weakly as he scrubbed at his face desperately. “Yeah.” He swallowed dryly. “You’re so fuckin’ cool, Tubbo.”

“Where’s Wilbur and Ranboo?” Asked Tubbo, looking over Tommy’s shoulder out into the hallway. “And Phil? You know, Phil was kinda creepy at first, but he’s kind of a cool guy once you get to know him-”

“Tubbo,” interrupted Tommy. Tears threaten to spill again and the hopefulness and authenticity of Tubbo’s tender expression dropped with furrowed brows and gnawing lips. “I- I don’t know how to-” Tommy winced as his voice cracked and he slowly removed his hands from Tubbo as he dropped his face into his hands.

Tubbo placed his hand on Tommy and that was enough for Tommy to go into a fit of sobs and wracking convulsions of body rocking tears. “Tommy?”

Tommy shook his head, desperately wiping the hot tears from his face. “Sorry- they- they won’t stop coming-” Tommy took the front of his blood-soaked t-shirt and used it as a makeshift tissue.

Tubbo seemed to have just noticed his injuries, body stiffening beside Tommy. “Tommy- what are-” he lifted Tommy’s face, forcing him to look at him. “Those aren’t old bruises, are they?” He ran a finger gingerly across Tommy’s blackened eye. “Oh shit, Tommy, I thought this was old-”

Tommy turned his body away from Tubbo. “We ran into Dream.”

“Oh.”

Tommy took Tubbo’s silence as a sign to continue: “Dream- Dream kidnapped us and- and tied four of us up. Technoblade, Wilbur, me, and R- Ranboo. He called Phil over. He wanted-” Tommy’s trembling fists clenched until he dug red crescent moons into the palm of his calloused and scraped up hand. “He wanted revenge on Phil. So he- he just- he took his gun to Ranboo’s head and-” Tommy cut himself off with a hysterical sob.

“But Ranboo lived, right?” Tubbo stammered. “Right? He had to have. Tommy?”

Tommy couldn’t force himself to look at Tubbo, and he wasn’t sure what he expected Tubbo to react with. Perhaps tears, or a recreation of his reaction to his uncle. Denial, borderline insanity, crazed with grief. None of that happened. Tubbo fell incredibly silent, the only sound coming from him was the whistle of his nose. After a few beats, Tommy craned his neck and forced himself to face Tubbo.

His jaw was agape ever-so-slightly, eyes widened like the moon as he blinked a couple of times with brows knitted together. Tubbo’s voice cracked as he searched for the words to say, stammering and spluttering. “Dream. . . killed Ranboo?”

Tommy nodded, fearing for if he said any words he wouldn’t be able to choke them out.

“And. . . “ Tubbo swallowed. “Is Wilbur okay?”

“He’s alive.”

“That’s. . .” Tubbo took a shaky breath. “Good.”

Tommy nodded.

“That’s very good,” said Tubbo again.

A thick blanket of silence fell upon the two boys, and Tommy was left anxiously picking at the skin around his nails. Tubbo was taking the news too well and Tommy felt as if he was in the same room as a ticking timebomb. In the distance, if Tommy tuned in his ears and strained, he could hear Wilbur’s voice echo through the halls and maybe even Technoblade or Phil retorting. Tommy lapped at the blood on his lips; his body ached and he was so, so sore and he wished he could just lay down and Wilbur would play his guitar for him.

“Why?” Tubbo’s voice pulled Tommy out of his head and he nearly jumped at the sudden intrusion.

“Why what?”

Tubbo stared at his hands, fingers picking at each other until they bled. Tommy watched. “Why did Dream. . . you say he did it to get at Phil, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Tubbo glanced at Tommy. “Why?”

“I’m. . .” Tommy swallowed. “I’m not sure if I’m entirely sure, Tubbo.”

Tubbo slowly nodded, eyebrows screwed together and eyes squinted in thought. He nodded once more before speaking up again, “was he a necessary sacrifice?”

That took Tommy aback. “P- Pardon me?” he stammered. Had he heard that right?

Tubbo sat up straighter, turning to face Tommy. “Was his death useless?” Tubbo took a shaky breath. “Or in the grand scheme of things, did it allow you and Wilbur to escape?”

Tommy wracked his heavy, aching and muddled brain for the memories of the ordeal that just occurred for no more than an hour earlier; the moans of the zombies, the blood pooling on the floor, and Dream snotting and screaming from behind his gag was still so incredibly fresh in his memory. Ranboo was the first to die, and if Tommy hadn’t attacked Dream because of his death, he prolonged everybody elses’ deaths and provided them time to escape. Ranboo’s body and scent of metallic blood only provided as bait, as well. Despite the morbidity of it all, Ranboo was a sacrifice all in all.

“Yes,” breathed Tommy. “He did. He. . . he indirectly saved us.”

Tubbo let out a sigh, body relaxing eversoslightly as he turned his head from Tommy back to the suddenly interesting wall. “That’s good.”

“I guess.”

“I can sleep easy knowing that he had some meaning.” Tubbo swallowed. “He told me that, you know.”

Tommy scrunched his brows together. “What?”

Tubbo scooted back on the bed, back hitting the wall as he pulled his knees to his chest, head resting on his knees and tilting his head to face Tommy. His matted hair fell in his eyes, covering up the grieving expression that swirled in his gaze that only caused Tommy’s chest to squeeze and stomach to churn. Tommy scooted back along with him, sitting so close that Tommy could feel his body heat radiating off of him. “Ranboo and I talked. A lot.” Tubbo chuckled humorlessly, rubbing the back of his neck with a bleeding thumb and fingers from picking at the skin. “We even talked about how we’d die.”

Tommy took a sharp inhale through his teeth, but remained silent and allowed Tubbo to speak.

“I said I hadn’t though much, but I’d like to go out a heroic way. Saving my friends and all that. Looking like a badass with a hundred zombies on me while I told you all to run.” Tommy let out a small snort at that and Tubbo flashed Tommy a weak smile. “Silly, I know. Romanticizing shit like- like this is what sometimes helps me through the day. Ranboo said he didn’t care how he died, as long as he made a difference somehow before he died. I think he’s- he’s happy wherever he is. Whether it be heaven, hell, or in between - I think he’s happy that whether small or big, that- that somehow his death made a difference.”

Tommy looked away, eyes trained on a scuffed mark on the wall. His throat tightened and felt like somebody took their hands and squeezed as he was repeatedly sucker punched in the gut with every word that fell from Tubbo’s lips. Tommy cleared his throat, mucus gathering as he nearly started weeping once again. He has to be the big man: stay strong for Tubbo! “You-” Tommy’s voice cracked. “You think so?”

Tubbo nodded curtly. “I know so, Big T.” Tubbo clasped his hands together as he stretched out his legs. “You and Wilbur escaped, after all. I’m- I’m happy you’re alright.”

A weight had seemingly lifted from Tommy’s shoulders at the realization; Tubbo knew Tommy feared his reaction to Ranboo’s death, yet he stayed calm and logical throughout the horrific news he received. Not only for his own sake, but for Tommy’s as well - this was Tubbo’s way of letting Tommy know he’s not mad that Ranboo died and it wasn’t his fault.

Tommy grasped Tubbo’s hands, holding them up to his face as he forced Tubbo to grab ahold of his scarring cheeks and bruised face. Tubbo froze up at the contact, always one to be a bit hesitant for physical affection, but Tommy couldn’t hold back the surge of emotion that rose up like a geyser. “Thank you Tubbo,” whispered Tommy, Tubbo’s hands quickly becoming wet from Tommy’s rainfall of tears. “Thank you so much. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tubbo whispered back, voice finally cracking and giving away from his blasé attitude. “I forgave you already.”

“Thank you.” Tommy’s voice was hoarse, scratchy as the words struggled to climb out of his mouth.

As if he sobered up, Tommy awkwardly handed Tubbo’s hands back to him and scooted away and took deep breaths as he attempted to calm his ragged breathing and thumping heart. “Sorry, big man,” Tommy said, wringing his hands together. “You should be the one being comforted.”

“You need to get those cuts fixed up,” replied Tubbo, dancing around the question. He gnawed the inside of his cheek before abruptly scooting off the bed and hopping onto one foot. Tommy immediately scrambled to the edge of the bed, but Tubbo pushed him back again whilst his other hand gripped onto the side of the bed for support. “Phil left his med kit in here. Lemme fix you up, boss man.”

Tommy opened his mouth to argue, but the words sucked right back into his mouth at the firm stare Tubbo gave him. He firmly shut his mouth, watching Tubbo hop over to a metal table on the other side of the room and wheeled it over to the bed side. Tommy grimaced as he pointedly avoided looking at the bloody heap of bandages attached to Tubbo’s foot. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Like an absolute motherfucker. I have never been in so much pain,” flatly responded Tubbo; it was so deadpan and monotone Tommy almost though he was being sarcastic, but Tommy took once glance towards the blood stained bandages and he decided Tubbo wasn’t being facetious in the slightest.

Tubbo messed around with some of the supplies in the tray and normally Tommy would’ve argued some more, but he was so incredibly exhausted and achey that he found he had no energy to argue with Tubbo as he dumped a bottle of alcohol on a rag and began rubbing. Tommy winced. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“I have an idea,” Tubbo hummed.

Tommy decided he had no use in fretting and simply ignore the stung of the alcohol as his cuts and bruises were cleaned. “You’re gonna need a lot of plasters,” whispered Tubbo.

“I know,” whispered Tommy back. “I’ll look super cool with all the battle scars though.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Tubbo’s hot breath hit Tommy’s face, fingers delicate as Tubbo cared for Tommy’s wounds. He still hurt like a bitch, but something about being cared for so gingerly caused a warmth to bloom in his stomach. Every so often, Tubbo would intake a sharp breath of air and shakily exhale, and Tommy wondered if Tubbo was imagining that he was taking care of Ranboo’s wounds instead of his. That Tubbo wished Tommy was the one to get shot; they were never nearly as close as Ranboo and Tubbo were. Wilbur had ensured that by unintentionally creating a divide between all of the teenagers.

Perhaps Wilbur hadn’t even created that divide and Tommy is just looking for somebody to place the blame on. Tommy and Tubbo were miles apart. Their upbringings were probably completely different; Tommy barely knows anything about Tubbo before the apocalypse - nobody wanted to bring up his uncle and risk him having another meltdown.

“All . . . done,” quietly announced Tubbo, placing a blood stained rag back on the tray and scooting it away. “I’ll let Phil handle the rest of you. I don’t wanna fuck anything up.” Tubbo punctuated his sentence by plopping down next to Tommy on the bed.

Tommy lightly ran his knuckles against the plasters and bandages on his face, wincing at the sensitivity of his wounds. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Tubbo scooted back against the wall next more and patted the spot next to him.

Tommy scooted back next to him. “Did you ever think you’d end up here?” Tommy cleared his throat. “Cleaning wounds and uh- foot- footless and all . . .”

“Well, you’re the reason I’m footless-” Tommy winced and Tubbo flashed him a cheeky grin, eyes dancing with mischief. “-but I used to play a bunch of zombie games. Sometimes I’d fantasize killing a bunch of ‘em and then being the hero.”

Tommy chuckled. “Me too, Big T. I’d be so cool with big muscles and have a bunch of hot ladies hanging off my arm because I’d impress them with my gunmanship.”

Tubbo giggled at that and Tommy isn’t sure if he had ever heard Tubbo laugh before. He decided he liked it. “Were you the-” Tubbo interrupted himself with a fit of giggles. “-were you the ladies man at your school?”

Playfully, Tommy rolled his eyes. “Of course I was! Look at me.”

“My mistake.” Tubbo blinked. “School. That’s. . .”

“The idea of going to school seems so surreal,” finished Tommy.

Tubbo exhaled through his nose. “For real. Honestly, as selfish as it is to say, it’s one thing I’m grateful for in all of this. No more fucking school.”

Tommy chortled at that, clasping a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. I didn’t hate school, but it definitely wasn’t the highlight of my day. I would’ve rather have gone home and played Minecraft or some shit!”

Tubbo’s eyes widened, looking over at Tommy. “You played Minecraft too? It was like, my life! It’s a shame these zombies don’t burn in the day.”

Tommy’s eyes glowed, heart singing and stomach kicking about excitedly. “I loved minecraft! I played it constantly - my mum used to yell at me because I’d sneak out of bed at 3 A.M. to play it.”

Tubbo went red, eyes flitting away. “I got grounded so many times because of that. . .” Tubbo kicked his legs out, bouncing slightly against the bed. “I just got grounded a lot in general. I wasn’t a bad kid but. . . I was dyslexic and all and the school didn’t wanna deal with that, y’know?”

“Yeah. I know,” Tommy sighed. “Tubbo?”

“Yeah?”

“You think. . .” Tommy licked at his chapped lips, throat seemingly dry as he landed his shaky gaze on Tubbo’s bright eyes and red cheeks. “You think we would’ve been friends before all of this? If circumstances were different, you think we could’ve?”

Tubbo flashed Tommy a small smile, reaching for his hand in a rare show of sincerity and authenticity; he was rarely one for shows of physical affection, but Tommy supposed near death experiences change a man. “Tommy, I know we would’ve.”

Tommy’s heart squeezed painfully at the possibility of what-ifs and maybes. “Yeah?”

Tubbo’s grin grew, exposing missing, yellowing teeth and red gums. “Yeah! We’d have sleepovers everyday-”

“-and stay up playing minecraft-”

“-and we’d eat so many snacks and sweets!”

Tommy laughed. “And then Wilbur would chew us out for eating so much!”

Tubbo rolled his eyes. “Then by that logic, he’d be chewing Ranboo out too!”

Tommy shook his head. “No, no, Ranboo would be telling us we shouldn’t be sneaking up to play minecraft-”

“-but he’d join in!”

The two boys fell into a small fit of giggles, bunched together in hushed tones and bright eyes. For a split second, Tommy almost forgot the weight of the situation they were in; just a few hours ago, Tommy was tied up and beaten until he was bloody. Wilbur was down the hallway with a missing eye, surrounded by his crook father and a mysterious man named Technoblade. It almost shocked Tommy how quickly him and Tubbo were able to take control of the situation and navigate it to something much lighter.

As the faint lantern light flickered across Tubbo’s bright face, casting a warm glow across his shining eyes that were absolutely glowing with humor and his lips curled back into a rare grin, Tommy decided at that moment he would fight the world to ensure the same thing that happened to every other person would never happen to the family he had now.

Never.

Chapter Text

Dark shadows casted across Tommy and Tubbo’s forms as they hunched over on the bed for what felt like hours, hushed whispers filling the room as they distracted their aching bodies and broken hearts with mindless chatter and stories of the could-be’s and the what-if’s. For a split second, Tommy forgot about his and Tubbo’s injuries, the noticeable lack of Ranboo in the room, and Wilbur’s missing eye.

His legs and arms stung as he rose to his shaky feet, Tommy’s body burning as he stretched out and held his hand out to Tubbo. Tubbo gratefully clasped his hand as he helped Tubbo rise to his feet. “Let’s see how Wilbur’s doing,” murmured Tommy, wrapping his arm around Tubbo’s waist as Tubbo slung his arm around Tommy’s shoulders. “You alright Big T?”

“I’m fine,” grunted Tubbo. “I still have a leg, you know.”

Tommy opened his mouth to argue, but Tubbo had driven his gaze forward and was leaning to the exit so Tommy simply stilled his tongue and carefully navigated Tubbo down the hallway.

As the two boys limped down, voices began to fill the air and ears. It was noticeably Wilbur, who was spouting off about something Tommy couldn’t catch with several curse words Tommy couldn’t even fathom existed. Tubbo glanced at Tommy with furrowed brows and separated lips whilst Tommy merely shrugged back at him.

The voices fell silent once Tommy and Tubbo approached the entrance to the medical room, the men obviously hearing Tommy and Tubbo’s awkward and clunky footsteps. Before Tommy or Tubbo could heave the door open, it flew open in front of their eyes and nearly whacked Tommy in the face. Technoblade stood in the entrance, face blank and eyebrow raised.

Tommy waved with his free hand before pushing past Technoblade, Tubbo awkwardly bumping into Technoblade’s form as he barely budged an inch.

“Wilbur!” cried out Tommy once he spotted Wilbur sat on an uplifted bench.

Before the apocalypse, his mum’s appendix ruptured and had to have surgery to get it removed. She was perfectly fine afterwards save for some stomach pain and a bad memory, but Tommy remembered sobbing that his mother would die and he has to see her off into surgery. This moment was incredibly reminiscent, as Tommy instinctively let go of Tubbo to rush at Wilbur’s form; he had many qualms with the older male, but he was not eager to chew him out and for now would allow himself to be happy that Wilbur was decidedly alive.

Tommy barreled at Wilbur, nearly bumping him off and paid neither Phil, Tubbo, or Technoblade’s stares any mind. Wilbur let out a small ‘oof’ but quickly clasped his arms around Tommy and squeezed. Tommy couldn’t remember the last time he had hugged Wilbur - the first time they met was burnt in Tommy’s mind - and he clutched so tightly onto Wilbur’s blood soaked jacket that the fabric could’ve ripped.

Wilbur balanced his head on top of Tommy’s nose digging into his knotted locks and breathing in deeply as he used one hand to stroke the hair at the nape of his neck, cradling him like a baby, and the other one wrapped around his back. Tommy hadn’t even realized he was crying, body rattled with sobs, until Wilbur was softly shushing him.

“It’s okay, Tommy,” Wilbur murmured and Tommy felt himself relax. “I’m okay. You’re okay.”

Tommy shook his head. “Tubbo and I left you and- and Ranboo alone-” Tommy’s stomach churned at the memory, and he simply dug his face further into Wilbur’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault.” Wilbur pulled his head back from Tommy, pushing him gently back until blue eyes met brown. Tommy allowed himself a better look at Wilbur and he let out an exhale he hadn’t realized he held; the gouged eye was covered with bandages and wrapped around his head. The scars and cuts have been cleaned, and the nastiest part about his appearance were the bruises and the blackening of his eye. “See? Phil fixed me right up.”

Tommy didn’t miss how Wilbur said Phil’s name like it was some form of curse word, poison dripping from his lips as soon as it left his mouth. Tommy craned his neck from Wilbur’s grasp, eying Phil who had sat Tubbo down on a chair and was now whispering into Technoblade’s ear. Once he noticed Tommy was staring, he straightened himself out and offered a small smile to Tommy. Tommy scowled back, grip on Wilbur only tightening.

“You’re right, Wilbur,” slowly said Tommy.

“Of course I am,” said Wilbur back.

Tommy narrowed his eyes, ripping one of his hands from Wilbur as he pointed accusingly at Phil. “It’s this motherfucker’s fault.”

Phil took a step forward, and Tommy’s world spun around him as he flinched back uncontrollably back into Wilbur. Cold silence swirled in the air, grasping onto Tommy’s throat and he suddenly remembered the callousness of the hatted man in front of him.

“Tommy, you don’t know Wilbur at all, do you?” And the words that left Phil’s mouth were so soft and sickly sweet that Tommy could’ve keeled over and vomit; it was condescending as all hell and it caused Tommy’s cheeks to flare up and body run hot like lava. Wilbur stiffened up behind him, gripping tightly onto Tommy’s shirt.

Tommy knitted his brows together, lip curling back in a sneer. “You fuckers all keep saying that to me, but it’s you who have done more harm than Wil ever has.”

Technoblade played with a hangnail on his finger, demeanor calm and tranquil as if they all hadn’t experienced hell just a few hours ago. “You’re both right.” Phil gave Technoblade a betrayed glance, who simply shrugged. “I dunno man. You could’ve help a little Phil, C’mon. But, Tommy, listen to me for once when I say Phil is correct in his assessment on Wilbur.”

The metal of the floor rang like a shrilling bell as Wilbur scooted off of the bench and pushed Tommy to his side. Calloused hands never once left Tommy’s shoulder as Wilbur glowered at the men in front of him, free hand clenching and unclenching repeatedly. “What? Because I don’t let you manipulate me like everybody else in this god forsaken city? When I told you L’manberg is a shitty establishment that’ll only get shittier, it seems like my assessment was correct. Aren’t you two supposed to be ‘helping humanity?’”

Tommy spared a glance at Tubbo, whose eyes were wide as saucer as they flickered between everybody’s forms. Tommy gave Tubbo a small, curt nod and a brief smile to calm the other down, tension laying thick like a blanket across the group.

“I am,” slowly began Phil. “You’re childish! Haven’t you ever heard the ends justify the means, Wil?”

“Should we really be letting the addict who shot up his veins tell us about moral superiority?” dryly laughed Technoblade. “Wilbur, do we really need to go down this rabbit hole again.”

“Whoever Wilbur was before all of this doesn’t matter!” snarled Tommy. “It’s who he is now.”

Wilbur didn’t even spare Tommy a glance, he simply squeezed his shoulder gently. “Calm, Tommy. They’re not wrong. But I’m not wrong either. These two - Tommy, as soon as my eye is healed, we are leaving. I don’t want to be associated with them.”

“Oh hush, Wilbur, you’re just as crooked as the rest of us - how many people did you steal from their families because Phil promised he’d get some weed to-”

“Continue that sentence and I will make you regret you were even born, Technoblade,” growled Wilbur.

Technoblade laughed, loud and mocking. It bounced against the walls and it filled Tommy’s ears pleasantly as it sent chills down his spine. “Wilbur, I know you; you’re one of the worst fighters I’ve ever seen in my life. You think you could take me?”

“Keep talking and I will,” snapped Tommy, shrugging Wilbur’s hand off of his shoulder. “I dunno much about your business and what you’ve gotten up to and shit but- but I know one thing and that’s you’re a murderer.”

“I would like to say-” Tommy snapped his gaze to Phil. “-that Technoblade and I are the reason you three boys are even alive. So please carefully rethink what you’re going to say in the next few minutes, yeah mate?”

Tommy fell silent before inching away from Technoblade back to Wilbur’s side.

“That’s better,” hummed Phil.

“Don’t fucking threaten him,” barked WIlbur. Wilbur pulled Tommy flush against his body once more. “Tommy, don’t listen to that gross ass old man. He’s just an asshole. He won’t land a hand on us.”

Phil shrugged. “I won’t, but I can’t say the same for the zombies right outside the L’manberg walls.”

Tommy bristled. “Is that a threat?”

“Of course it is,” huffed Technoblade. “Use your brain cells for once, kid. You don’t understand the gravity of your situation in the slightest.”

“And you wonder why I fled L’manberg.” Wilbur nearly shook with anger, face redder than the blood spilt from his veins. Tommy pressed himself as far as he could into Wilbur as an attempt to console the older man.

Phil threw his hands in the air. “You’re the one who praised this place as if it was built by God him fucking self. For fuck’s sake Wilbur, you’re a grown ass man. You’re more childish than Tommy.”

“Not a child,” quickly muttered Tommy.

Nobody paid any mind as the men continued arguing amongst themselves. Technoblade rolled his eyes. “Phil, can’t you see Wilbur wants us to fight? To make us look bad and make him look like the kind one who took in some kids.”

“What the fuck-”

“Don’t lie, Wilbur,” huffed Technoblade. “We both know that your little superiority complex led to you to take in a bunch of kids- you hate kids! Before all- all of this shit you constantly talked about how much you hated children and how you wouldn’t ever marry a woman who wanted kids.”

Wilbur opened his mouth, but no sound left. Technoblade bulldozed through him, words cutting deep into his skin like knives. “You’re not even equipped to handle children. How you handled Tommy? Shit, Wilbur, it’s a wonder the kid is even alive. Like some drug addict like you would care for children.”

“What the fuck, Technoblade?” Wilbur pushed Tommy from his side and to behind him, but Tommy pushed back so he could witness the events unfolding in front of him. “Who I was doesn’t matter. You’re- You’re scaring Tubbo.”

Tommy’s gaze flickered to Tubbo. Tubbo didn’t even look scared, just incredibly uncomfortable; he opened his mouth to respond, but Wilbur shot him a stern glance and Tubbo firmly shut his mouth. Tommy folded in on himself, dirt encased nails scratching at his arms anxiously as the fight seemed to grow. Phil was just watching it. Watching his son fight one of his friends. He just kept that same blank expression. Tommy wanted to tear it off and force Technoblade to watch - just as he did to Wilbur.

Technoblade zoomed forward, hands latching around Wilbur’s wrist as the other male cried out and attempted to yank his wrist away. Wilbur was tall, much taller than Technoblade, but he was no match for his strength; he was meek compared to Technoblade and it showed. Technoblade grabbed ahold of the sleeve of his sweater and coat and pushed up the sleeve.

Scars littered his arms like stars in the sky; they were quite unlike any scars Tommy had ever seen in his life. Those weren’t scars from bites of an animal, scratches, or the cut of a dagger - they looked like sharp jabs into his skin from, if Tommy didn’t know any better, would be from needles. Wilbur snatched his bare arm away, quickly rolling down his sleeve and pointedly avoided everybody in the room’s gazes.

Technoblade took a step back, gaze stern and hardened on Wilbur. He flickered to Tommy. “Do those scars of you stickin’ needles in you-”

“Shut up,” bit out Wilbur. “Shut the fuck up, Technoblade.”

“And when you were having your little withdrawal symptoms- remember that night, Wilbur?” Technoblade scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose with the small shake of his head. “I thought you were going to die. Phil was worried sick to death. You worried him for no reason.”

“So that’s what this is about,” whispered Wilbur.

“You don’t ever know what anything is about, Wilbur.” Technoblade flicked his finger square in the middle of his chest and Tommy wanted to grab it and break it, but no words could formulate in his mind. He resisted the urge to throw a tantrum and attack Technoblade, but everything felt so numb and as if he was witnessing this from third person. “You were completely fine exchanging innocent lives for some drugs, Wilbur. What happened to your anti-killing campaign then? What happened to your oh-so strong moral compass? Face the facts, Wilbur, you’re just as fucked up as the rest of us. Get your head out of your ass, or somebody will finally take care of these kids better than you.”

“Wha-” Wilbur scrunched his brows together, finally snapping his gaze to Technoblade. For the first time, his gaze betrayed something other than indifference or anger: he looked betrayed. “What- What are you implying?”

Phil finally stepped in, gently reaching for Technoblade and squeezing his fur coated shoulder. “Boys. Let’s stop fighting, yes?” He massaged at Technoblade’s shoulder soothingly and Tommy didn’t miss the way Wilbur glared at Phil’s hand like it slapped him in the face. “Wilbur has done many bad things, and still does, but so have we Technoblade. Do not pick and choose.”

Technoblade’s gaze softened when he glanced at Phil. “Sorry, Phil. Still can’t get over when- when he ended up in prison and all.”

A loud, dry and painful sounding wheeze sharply broke through the tense air of the room. Everybody snapped their gazes to Wilbur, who was about ready to double over as tears streamed down his face. The laughter didn’t cease, his whole body shaking with roars of guffaws. Wilbur wiped at his face after a few beats, ignoring Tommy clutching at the sleeve of his jacket, and shook his head in disbelief. “I was right about this.” He pointed at Phil and Technoblade, finger bouncing between the two. “Favoritism.”

“Favoritism?” quietly echoed Tommy.

“I’d have thought after your own son leaves because of it, you’d get that shit through your thick skull, old man,” said Wilbur. “Turns out I was wrong.”

Phil’s hand didn’t leave Technoblade’s shoulder, rubbing and thumb swiping across his collarbones. “Wilbur.”

“No, no, I’m right. You’d rather protect Technoblade than your own son. I get it. I’m a fuck up and can’t do anything right and I never have been able to. I get it. And Technoblade would fight the world for you. He would. He would. I wouldn’t.”

“I would,” hummed Technoblade.

“Wilbur,” murmured Tommy sympathetically.

Wilbur looked down at Tommy, gaze softening before he looked back towards Technoblade and Phil. Wilbur’s words left them silent, eyes hardened and jaw clenched, lips pursed as if they ate something sour. “I’m a fuck up. And I’m selfish. And I’m arrogant. And I’m all that shit and yeah, I have done some fucked up shit for drugs- but I wouldn’t betray my family.”

Phil huffed. “You already have, Wilbur.”

“No,” whispered Wilbur hoarsely. “You’re not my family”-Wilbur beckoned to Tubbo, who quickly darted around Phil and Technoblade’s large forms to barrel into Wilbur’s side. It was the first time Tommy had ever seen Tubbo and Wilbur in such close proximity-”These kids are. They’re good kids. Gooder than you’ll ever be. And now, these good kids and I, are fucking leaving.”

The two men were left speechless as Wilbur threw his arms around Tubbo and Tommy, quickly leading the two boys out of the bunker and up the ladder and through the church that only served as a disguise. They walked through the snow. They walked through the cold. Tommy was warm, however, because of the pride that swirled in his gut for Wilbur and his warm body pressing into him. Tubbo had a small grin as he dragged his footless leg along, barely even paying any attention to it.

Silence filled the air save for the distant chatter and the crunch of melting snow beneath their battered shoes, steps heavy with years of pain and exhaustion building up over time.

Today, however, was a win.

Wilbur guided the two boys along, and despite the exhaustion evident on his face, Tommy had a feeling Wilbur was just a bit proud of himself as well. Tommy grew to know Wilbur well over the years and he knew when the man felt victorious.

“Where are we going, Wilbur?” hoarsely asked Tubbo as they trudged through the snow.

“Home,” he replied.

“Home?” questioned Tommy.

“Home home,” chuckled Wilbur, fondly squeezing the two boys even closer. “The RV.”

Tubbo groaned. “Don’t make me sleep on the couch again, Wilbur.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” gently responded Wilbur as the boys arrived to the front. “Can’t you believe we were just here this morning?”

“Feels like a decade,” sighed Tommy as Wilbur unlocked the door and ushered the boys inside. They crowded inside eagerly and quickly, excited to get a chance to lay down and relax after a long day of stress and pain.

Wilbur leaned against the door as it shut, slowly falling to his butt and knees curled to his chest. His head rested on his knees, hands rising to knit in his own hair and tugging gingerly at the mess of brown curls. Tubbo rested himself on the couch, knees curled underneath him as the nub of his leg stuck out beneath and Tommy found himself crouching in front of Wilbur, sat opposite and leaned up against the kitchen cabinets.

“I’m sorry, boys,” whispered Wilbur after a few beats of silence. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what, Boss man?” Asked Tubbo. “You haven’t done anything, have you?”

Wilbur shook his head. “I haven’t been a very good. . . a very good. . .”

Tommy cracked Wilbur a small smile. “A big brother?”

“Big brother?” echoed back Wilbur. Wilbur lapped at his chapped lips before cracking a small smile back. “That works, I suppose. I don’t love you two rascals or anything, but I-”

“Care about us a lot?” weakly finished Tommy.

Wilbur nodded. “Exactly.”

“And we care a lot about you back,” announced Tubbo. “A lot, a lot. I was worried sick about you two when Phil suddenly left. He got this call on this walkie-talkie type thing and he just raced out the door without a word.”

Wilbur eyed Tubbo’s leg. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been at Phil’s place. You’d be somewhere safer. And you’d-” Wilbur turned away from Tubbo. “Phil told me about- about your foot. I’m sorry.”

“I was being stupid. I shouldn’t have gotten so close to a dead man,” murmured Tubbo.

“And I’m sorry about Ranboo,” Wilbur continued. “I knew you were close.”

Tubbo didn’t respond to that one. He simply turned his gaze away and looked right ahead at the cracked mirror that hung haphazardly above the kitchen sink that didn’t even work.

“Where did you two even go?” asked Tommy. “Did you ever find Quackity?”

Wilbur shook his head. “We found footsteps and followed them. We entered this building because the door was left open. . . In hindsight, it was stupid of us.” Wilbur bit at the loose skin of his nail. “Ranboo was caught first. He told me to run, which was-”

“Sounds just like him,” weakly interjected Tubbo.

“He was trying to act like some sort of hero. Of course I tried to help him but- but my memory gets kind of hazy after that.” Wilbur’s hand trailed up to his neck, rubbing at the side of it. “They injected me with- with something and then I regain consciousness to Technoblade and Tommy tied up next to me. The rest is. . . History, I guess.”

“At least we can have matching missing body parts,” dryly chuckled Tubbo.

Wilbur held up his fist to Tubbo and they lightly bumped their fists together.

Tommy averted his gaze. Normally he’d make a joke, but his body ached too much and he felt like that crossed the line a bit too far. Not when the wounds are, quite literally, still fresh. Wilbur noticed, ever the observant one, and reached over the squeeze Tommy’s knee. Just as Tommy looked over, Wilbur rose to his feet and limped over to his guitar case that still was laid on the bed. He plopped down on it and patted the spot next to him. Tommy scrambled over, greedily claiming the spot.

“Don’t think Tubbo has ever heard me play, has he?” Wilbur smiled gently at Tubbo.

“I haven’t,” he confirmed.

“You reckon it’s time?” chuckled Wilbur, sparing a glance at Tommy.

Tommy flashed a grin at Tubbo. “You think you’re ready, Big T?”

Tubbo leaned forward, hands gripping into the arm rest of the couch eagerly. “I’ve never been more eager! Serenade me!”

And when the three boys grouped together later on in the night on the bed, one big clump of bloody clothes and matted hair, nobody made a remark on Wilbur’s shuddering body and wet face that dampened the sheets and pillows around them. Instead of commenting, Tommy simply pressed further into Wilbur’s side and Tubbo reached over to squeeze Wilbur’s hand. When Tommy’s sniffling tears and Tubbo’s snot joined the wet sheets, Wilbur didn’t make a comment either; one arm threw over Tubbo and the other found it’s way into Tommy’s knotted hair and stroked gently.

Chapter Text

“Are we staying in L’manberg?” tentatively asked Tommy from his seat on the couch a few feet from Wilbur, who was attempting to start a fire with some wood and a lighter inside of the former oven. He kicked his legs in annoyance at Tubbo’s distant snoring. “I dunno if I like this place anymore.”

Wilbur spared a glance at Tommy, gnawing at his bottom lip before quickly turning back to the weak fire. It had been a few days since the incident with Dream inside of the abandoned train station had occurred, and Tommy had thought that Wilbur would want to leave L’manberg, spite of his flipping attitude on L’manberg. He’d sing its praises one second and the next he’d be cursing out every citizen to exist in the establishment.

“I don’t know,” murmured Wilbur.

Relations with Wilbur had shifted ever since the incident as well; Wilbur was never cruel or mean to Tommy, and despite the first night of holding him close, Wilbur was hesitant to touch Tommy or spare more than a few words amongst them. He treated Tubbo with the same level of hesitance: kind, but distant. Tubbo and Wilbur had never been close, but Wilbur was never this level of distance - even when they first met.

This distance wasn’t to be confused with disappearance. Wilbur never let the boys out of his sight. His eyes constantly flickered to the boys and looked them over when he thought they weren’t looking. In the middle of the night, Tommy didn’t miss Wilbur’s shaking form or him rising to simply stare at the two. If Tommy was being honest, it was unnerving as fuck. The only time Wilbur ever left the two alone was to go outside to smoke or take a piss, and even then he’d force the boys to stand around the corner.

At those moments, Tommy remembers a distinct conversation between him and Tubbo.

Smoke filled Tommy’s lungs, scratching at his throat and constricting. Tommy waved his hand frustratingly, pushing Tubbo over to the side so his lungs wouldn’t be attacked with second hand smoke. “Oi, dickhead,” snapped Tommy to Wilbur, who was leaned up against the RV and breathing out dancing swirls of smoke. “You’re giving me lung cancer.”

Wilbur didn’t even look at Tommy as he slowly lowered the cigarette from his lips with a sigh. “Then go a few paces away-” Before Tommy could move to leave immediately, Wilbur immediately grabbed his arm between calloused, bloodied fingers. “Where I can see you, alright?”

Tommy felt as if he was in elementary school once more. He was visiting the park and his mum chastised him for straying too far, face flushed and pink as his mum told him to always stay in sight right in front of his friends. Wilbur always thought of him as a child.

Until it fit into his desires, that is.

“Yeah, yeah,” sighed Tommy, slapping at Wilbur’s hand. “Let me go.”

Wilbur complied, free hand now stuffed back inside his coat pocket. He turned forward again, eye glossed over and expression completely devoid of any sort of emotion. His eyepatch only gave Wilbur a further sense of anonymity and mysteriousness. Tommy glared at him when he was sure Wilbur wasn’t staring at him through his peripheral vision and tugged Tubbo a few paces over until he was sure Wilbur couldn’t listen to their conversation.

“Oh thank god,” whispered Tubbo. “I wasn’t sure how much more smoke I could inhale before I ended up with an asthma attack.”

Tommy kicked at a moist pile of snow; it was barely even snow - it was mostly liquid and brown and more mud flew into the air than actual snow. One of the first signs of spring around the corner, and as much as Tommy thanked the gods for it, Wilbur simply grimly shook his head and told Tommy that meant zombies could move faster. Tommy called him a cynical dickhead and left the conversation at that. Wilbur wasn’t fun to talk to lately.

“I think Wilbur once told me he had asthma,” said Tommy. “But that was probably a lie too.”

Tubbo’s face softened. “You’re still thinking about what everybody said back in the station, aren’t you?”

Tommy threw his arms in the air, indignation and frustration bubbling up in his chest and it took all he had to not start yelling right then and there. “Of course I am!” Tommy ran his hands through his hair and took a deep, shaky breath. “You try sleeping after one of the only other adults that cared for you in his life had his fucking eye gouged out in front of you.”

Tubbo went silent, gaze studying Tommy and scrutinizing. Tommy nearly squirmed, staring right back in Tubbo in ornery passion. Tubbo then pursed his lips before slowly responding, “you think I don’t think about it either? Wilbur is part- part of my family too, Tommy. Not just yours. I feel betrayed too, you know.”

“Sorry,” immediately replied Tommy, guilt washing over him and sending his stomach swirling and twisting uncomfortably. He couldn’t help but flicker his gaze to Tubbo’s crutch and his missing foot; he knew Tubbo recognized his discomfort when he stared down at it, but Tommy couldn’t stop himself from nearly vomiting at the sight. It still sent his world spinning around him and bile threatening to rise. “Sorry. I’m just- I’m-”

“We’re all on edge,” said Tubbo. “Think  about more than yourself.”

Tommy went silent at that, merely shifting his gaze to Wilbur’s frozen form. It felt like that cigarette was forever glued to Wilbur’s lips. Tommy took a shaky breath. “I just have so many questions.” Tommy shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know how to bring it up, Big T.”

“I think Wilbur knows more than he lets on,” Tubbo whispered with narrowed eyes.

Tommy didn’t respond. He let the weight of Tubbo’s words hang in the air, matching eye to eye with the growing humidity and let it weigh on his hunched over shoulders and cause his feet to drag against the ground whenever he walked.

Tubbo’s right, but how far was this assessment correct?

“Did you kill Sam?” blurted out Tommy, then immediately regretted the words had left his mouth as a weight slammed down on him from the weight of the tension in the room.

Wilbur froze in his ministrations, fire attempts seemingly forgotten as he stared at the pathetic, flickering flame in front of him. Tommy almost thought Wilbur didn’t hear him and had seemingly frozen up for no reason, however his ragged breathing and slow turning towards him sent Tommy’s blood into ice and his heart nearly stopping.

Without waiting for a response any longer, Tommy rose to his feet, RV shaking slightly from the abruptness of his action. Tommy looked over at Tubbo’s sleeping form; he was always a heavy sleeper and he merely rolled over with another loud snore. “Did you or did you not kill Sam?”

Wilbur opened his mouth and closed it repeatedly like a fish; his uninjured eye widened almost comically, pupils dilated and looking so incredibly un-Wilbur-like it nearly gave Tommy whiplash. Frozen, unable to scramble for an answer, and near horrified - that wasn’t the Wilbur Tommy knew. The Wilbur Tommy knew was assured, decisive, and didn’t take shit from anybody. The Wilbur that was frozen with widened eyes that was behaving near pathetic, that wasn’t the Wilbur that robbed a family then pointed a gun at a fourteen year old’s head upon meeting.

Tommy wonders if Wilbur is still keeping track of all of the days of the apocalypse or if that was merely another lie. Simply a random number he had pulled out of his ass.

After a few beats, Wilbur’s voice was dry and scratchy as it left his mouth, leaving Tommy straining to hear. “I didn’t,” he rasped. He gently shook his head as he peered up at Tommy from his knelt position. It felt so incredibly wrong for Wilbur to be the one looking up at Tommy. “I swear- I swear to God, Tommy, I didn’t-”

“Are you religious?” retorted Tommy.

Wilbur lapped at his chapped lips. “I-”

“I don’t care,” interrupted Tommy. “That was rhetorical.”

Wilbur was smart enough to remain silent and for that second Tommy was grateful for the person Wilbur was. He knew when to stay silent and when to speak and he usually knew what to say, charisma oozing from him. At the moment, hair matting and a bloodied makeshift eyepatched tied over his eye with a weak voice, Tommy wondered if everything Wilbur ever fronted with was a complete lie.

Dream was right. Tommy didn’t know Wilbur.

“Tell me, Wilbur, did you know I was- I was Sam’s? I was his kid? His companion? His partner?” Tommy willed away the tremble in his voice, but he couldn’t resist the raw emotion and raspiness that escaped with every word. “Did you? Don’t fucking lie to me.”

Wilbur shook his head. “I didn’t. I swear- I swear to every power in existence, I swear on my life, I swear, I swear. I didn’t know. Tommy, I promise you, I didn’t know until recently-”

“But you knew that out there, your- your fucking family had stolen a kid’s family from him?”

Wilbur fell silent and Tommy knew he was right.

“Who else has died because of you, Wilbur? Who else? How many kids were stolen by Phil and Technoblade and- and you because of your sick agendas?” Tommy saw red. He didn’t care if he woke up Tubbo or the entire god damn settlement of L’manberg - all he wanted was some answers for once in his fucking life. “Tell me!”

“I didn’t do any of it,” insisted Wilbur. He hesitated before hastily adding, “most of it.”

“Tell. Me.”

“Do you want the full story?”

“The fuck do you think?”

Wilbur babbling was pathetic sight to see and Tommy resisted the urge to take the butt of his gun and ram it into the side of Wilbur’s temple to silence him. Did he really care about what Wilbur had to say, or was he simply angry and had hoped Wilbur begged for forgiveness? Or did he secretly want Wilbur to admit to it so he could have somebody to blame besides himself? Maybe he simply wanted Wilbur to deny everything and scoop Tommy into his arms and tell him nobody would hurt him ever again.

“D- Dream didn’t lie about everything. I was in prison. For drugs. But I never had hurt anybody in my life nor did I go in repeatedly - it was a first time offense for heroin. I was in there for- for a year tops. Phil, my dad, was in the cancer research business. He was renowned.”

Curses and swears rose up in Tommy’s throat; he wanted to yell Wilbur that he didn’t give a fuck about his sad backstory and all he wanted was the answers to his questions, but he couldn’t force the words out of him. Tommy hadn’t even realized he had sat back down on the couch, eye level with Wilbur’s distraught expression and babbling lips, moving at the speed of lightning as he spluttered out explanations and excuses.

“Techno was a long time friend of Phil. If I’m being honest, I don’t know Technoblade all that well. I don’t know what lies Technoblade and Phil have told you. Or even if they told you anything at all - I don’t hate Technoblade, but the man has no sense of morality. If Phil demands blood, Techno demands blood. Phil demands the heart of a lamb, Techno receives the heart of a lamb; that’s how it works.”

“So Technoblade doesn’t have a mind of himself,” mused aloud Tommy quietly.”

“I had recently gotten out of jail and Phil was trying to find a way to pay me back into university- I was a drop out, I wanted to be a musician - and that’s when. . . uh. . . it happened.”

Tommy couldn’t stop himself from quietly asking, “where were you when it happened?”

Wilbur blinked, taken aback and blatantly not expecting Tommy to calm down enough to prompt further questions and answers. “I was at home watching TV. Phil came home in a rush with Technoblade and demanded we escaped at like three in the morning. The next morning the news reported the incidents across the country.” Wilbur lapped at his lips, eye glossy. “To be honest, I didn’t see a lot of the damage. Phil had a bunker. It was where L’manberg is now. . . where, uh, where were you?” Wilbur then hastily added, “if you don’t mind my asking.”

“I was at school and we were put under lockdown when my state had our first outbreak. When we just thought they were individual incidents and all.” Tommy gulped, memories rushing by in his mind that he hadn’t thought to in forever. “My parents came and picked me up. Smart decision. My entire school was infected by the end of the next day.”

“I’m glad they picked you up,” softly said Wilbur.

Tommy scowled. “Continue your story, bitch.”

“Phil had connections. He was a well connected man, that’s a fact. He and Technoblade never let me in on a lot of information - or maybe they did and I was too high to understand what was going on.” Wilbur bit at his nails until they bled and Tommy gently tugged his hand from his mouth without a word as the crimson liquid dripped down his fingers. “I needed that shit. Badly. I don’t remember too much, but Phil started doing trades; L’manberg was established in what seemed like over night and was established as a safe haven. It was, in a way. I still think L’manberg is safe if you stick to the right alleyways, but Phil started it as an ulterior motive. Getting guinea pigs.”

“Guinea pigs?” parroted back Tommy.

Wilbur curtly nodded back in confirmation. “Guinea pigs. Human guinea pigs - Phil wanted a damn cure and he’d stop at nothing for the cure. Technoblade ended up doing his dirty work. I’m unfamiliar with the logistics and what happened during everything exactly, but I know it wasn’t pretty. I never even saw most of the victims, I promise! One day. . . I guess Phil bargained with the one guy. Once again, I swear I didn’t know the logistics - I think Dream was friends with Sam. Or something. Dream’s sister was traded along with some drugs. . . and Phil ended up getting attacked by Dream’s friends and Sam for some kid. I guess it was. . .” Wilbur trailed off, and Tommy didn’t need him to finish to know he was referring to Ranboo. “In retaliation, Technoblade was sent to kill Dream. . . and-”

Tommy cut him off. “And you swear you weren’t aware of it?”

“Tommy I swear to fucking god I wouldn’t ever have killed somebody for drugs. I’m selfish and arrogant and I was a fucking druggie but I never would’ve killed somebody for them. I’ve stolen. I’ve lied. I’ve betrayed people - but I’ve never killed a person without reason.” Wilbur reached for Tommy’s hands and he couldn’t help but allow Wilbur to cup Tommy’s hands into his own. “I left L’manberg. Without telling Phil and he ended up ransacking my entire house and sent a whole search party for awhile. I got rid of the drugs and- and everything. I was a changed man.”

“Then why did you come back here, Wilbur? With- With children?” demanded Tommy.

Wilbur hesitated, absentmindedly swiping his thumbs over Tommy’s calloused palms. “It’s safer than out there. Tommy, I did it all for you-”

Tommy finally took his hands back, pushing Wilbur away from him with his foot, and Wilbur remained in his pathetic knelt position as Tommy rose to his feet. “No the fuck you didn’t. I don’t care about your sob story anymore. You hurt me. You hurt Tubbo. All you do is hurt people.” Tommy reached over Wilbur’s shoulder for his coat and threw it over his arms, sending Wilbur the nastiest look he could muster. “I can forgive you someday, Wilbur, but not today. I’m going out. Follow me and I’ll fucking kill you.”

Just as Tommy hovered in the door, he glanced at Wilbur. “I don’t love you Wilbur,” he sneered. “I just care.”

SLAM!

The RV shook as Tommy fled the RV, slamming the door as hard as he could behind him and he knew Wilbur was cursing that out. Butterflies bit at his intestines inside of his stomach and Tommy couldn’t help but feel giddy; it was his first major victory against Wilbur and he truly did love and care for the man - perhaps he was in his teenage angst arc, but the satisfaction of him being slapped in the face with his own words overtook any logical thinking in Tommy’s head.

If it was a month ago, Tommy wouldn’t have committed the same actions sheerly due to the cold air. Now, although it still left his fingers and cheeks pink, it no longer bit him and left his whole body shaking like a leaf. Tommy tightened the bandana around his throat, covering up the scars along his neck and the faint growings of facial hair.

Is that how long he’s been in this? He is growing up, peach fuzz decorating his jaw and cheeks instead of baby fat? Tommy shuddered and he couldn’t tell whether it was at his own thoughts or the chill in the air. The worry that Technoblade and Phil would find him remained at the back of his mind, but all he could focus on was the slap of mud against his boots and the raggedness of his burning lungs.

He’ll return by dark.

Chapter Text

It was the first time Tommy had seen the sun in months. Grey clouds loomed over the population for months on end, casting dark shadows and furthering the sharp chill in the air that left Tommy’s hands numb and his lungs burning. From behind white balls of fluff - Tommy thought clouds were cotton candy when he was very young - rays began to peak out and shine across Tommy’s pale and bruised skin.

Being outside in a settlement that only seemed to hurt Tommy was a bad idea, but he supposes he can’t sit inside in fear huddled next to Wilbur forever. Wilbur isn’t forever. Tommy isn’t a complete idiot; he knows people are temporary and merely provisional. It’s been seen time and time again - Sam, Ranboo, Niki, Fundy, Eret: all of them. Whether they died or left, eventually people leave.

It’s not a complaint, but a fact of life.

Tommy grabbed a handful of muddy grass and tossed it weakly across the street from where he sat on a makeshift bench, metal beer containers stacked underneath a plank of wood. It creaked eversoslightly under Tommy’s weight, but due to the twist of hunger in his gut and weakness whenever he walked a few feet, he doubted it’d break underneath him.

His shoulders roll in a shrug, hands slowly crawling up his own arms in a shaky self-hug, a shallow attempt to self comfort. He didn’t need Wilbur. He didn’t need Tubbo. He didn’t need anybody. He’d survived years without Wilbur; if he wanted to, Tommy could march out of L’manberg at this very second and abandon Wilbur and Tubbo. Escape the potential abandonment in the future, escape the lies and the empty promises - Tommy didn’t know anything and Wilbur’s entire story could’ve been forged.

Human experimentation? Drug trades? Human trafficking? Tommy shuddered and gently clawed his dirt caked nails up and down his coat-covered arms. All they did was scratch at the roughened fabric, running along stains of blood, mucus, vomit, and god knows what other sort of liquids covered his clothes.

Tommy should’ve known to have doubted Wilbur. He was so desperate to cling onto human connections and contact that even despite the alarm bells ringing shrilly in his mind, Tommy just followed behind Wilbur. Even after he told Tommy he should steal from a group of survivors. Even after he allowed Tommy to get captured by Dream, George, and Sapnap. Even after he’d leave in the dead of night to disappear god knows where. Even after he lied time and time again and hid things from him. Tommy didn’t even know the man’s full name until only a short while ago.

Tommy scrunched his eyes together tightly, fighting back the constriction of his dried throat and the squeezing of his rapidly beating heart that wouldn’t stop rattling against his ribcage. His eyes stung, oh how they stung, but Tommy continued to rub at them and wipe away any form of threatening wetness. Big men don’t cry; Tommy is a big, strong man who doesn’t need any adult. He’s around fourteen years old - that’s practically an adult!

Familiar memories washed over Tommy’s mind, clouding the negative thoughts that weighed his body down and pushed him into the soil of the earth. Fond memories. Wilbur teaching him to shoot a gun as he fondly called him a natural. That very first night he met Wilbur in which he saved him from that one zombified little girl and allowed Tommy to fall into his chest with a body convulsing with wet sobs. The first time Tommy was captured, where Wilbur promised Tommy that nobody would hurt him. When Ranboo, Wilbur, and Tommy met Tubbo and dined at his cabin in a thick, tense silence in which Wilbur fed him extra scraps under the table because he knew Tommy was much too skinny and hungry.

“Fuck,” whimpered Tommy, hands digging into his hair and tugging so hard he thought the strands would break loose and bleed. He bit his tongue and cursed aloud once more, a familiar taste of iron filling his mouth. Tommy desperately wiped at his mouth and cursed. He can’t even sit down in his own thoughts without somehow fucking himself over.

Tommy flickered his gaze up. L’manberg wasn’t densely populated by any means, but every so often a person would walk by and their stares would lock for a few seconds. Tommy would immediately look away, but it was nice to remember that there were numerous other survivors on the planet. Perhaps just as lonely as Tommy was.

“Tommy?” a voice stammered.

Tommy jolted in his seat, knees nearly folding up to his chest as he threw himself to his feet and nearly stumbled into a faceplant. Tommy turned, hand scrambling to his gun like it was muscle memory before he relaxed at the sight ahead of him. It was just Tubbo.

“Wilbur let you leave?” asked Tommy incredulously, eyebrow raised. “And- And how did you find me?”

Tubbo shrugged. “I just walked out the door. Wilbur was kinda freaking me out, to be honest. He just sat on the edge of the bed mumbling to himself.” Tubbo stretched his arms out nonchalantly and Tommy could see the gears turning in his head - Tubbo was just waiting to say what he came out for. “I overheard you and Wilbur talk.”

Ah, there it is.

Tommy sighed, plopping back down on the bench with a small crack in the wood and Tubbo hesitantly followed suit. It bent only slightly under their weigh and Tommy wasn’t sure just how sad of a sight that was; five years ago, the wood would’ve cracked under their weight if they were normal teenagers. “Did’ya?”

A nod. A pause. Then another nod, as if Tubbo was confirming to himself as well. Tommy eyed Tubbo’s coatless shoulders and he quickly shrugged his own coat off and shoved it into Tubbo’s lap. “Stay warm,” murmured Tommy.

Tubbo blinked. He opened his mouth to most likely argue, but he instead silently slipped the warm fabric over himself as he drowned in the stained article. “Thanks, Big Man.”

“No problem,” muttered Tommy. He eyed a rock that stuck out of a small lump of melted snow as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. He could make eye contact with a stranger, but with people he knew it felt as if he was being held at gunpoint. “Big T,” he slowly tacked on.

“I think you’re in the right,” declared Tubbo. “But I don’t think you should’ve stormed out.”

Tommy huffed. “I didn’t storm out.”

“You kinda did.”

“Whatever,” muttered Tommy. “Did you come out here to lecture me on slamming doors or is there something else you want?”

Tubbo hummed. “Well firstly, I wanted to check up on you. I don’t like you out here all alone anymore than Wilbur does. You’re reckless.”

Tommy didn’t reply to that. He didn’t feel like starting up an argument with the only other person who ever seemed to be remotely on Tommy’s side. Tubbo took that as his sign to continue his monologue, “remember when we first met? In that cabin? I was all alone for awhile, you know. Had to shoot my uncle. Have you ever killed a living person, Tommy?”

Tommy shook his head.

“Lucky.” Tubbo’s breathing hitched and Tommy prayed Tubbo wouldn’t break down or something, despite knowing Tubbo was much stronger than Tommy in that regard. “You, Wilbur, and Ranboo-” Tommy didn’t miss how Tubbo’s voice cracked at Ranboo’s name. Tubbo said Ranboo’s name like it was some sort of treasure and if his name left his lips it’d be just as bad as abandoning him; his name was a pearl in Tubbo’s sea of words and Tommy couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. “-were like angels. Lights in my tunnel of darkness. Especially you, Tommy.”

That took him aback. Tommy blinked. “Me?” he stammered back in disbelief.

Tubbo gave Tommy a small, bashful smile. “You were a bit uncouth about it all, but you really snapped me out of my own head. I was aware of how crazy I was. I just figured if I denied it all-”

“-it wouldn’t be true,” quietly finished Tommy. He picked at a loose piece of flesh along the cuticle of his thumb. “Yeah. I went through the same thing once. I think we all have.”

“Yeah. We have.”

Tommy shifted. “What’s the point of this conversation? You’re goin’ somewhere with this, aren’t you?”

Tubbo bumped his shoulder into Tommy’s. “I just want you to know how much you’ve done for the world around you. Even if you’re reckless and vulgar and borderline insufferable-”

“-gee, thanks-”

“-you’ve done some good. And I think Wilbur would agree with me. I don’t think Wilbur is bad either. I think he’s good.”

Tommy stared at his battered shoes. When was the last time he got a new pair? The bottoms peeled whenever he walked, slapping against the bottom of his soles with every step. “This is your way of convincing me to come back to the RV.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“You can think of it like that,” said Tubbo. “But that’s not really it.”

“Do you think we could run away?” Tommy switched the topic abruptly, still refusing to look Tubbo in the eyes or even land his gaze remotely in his direction. He couldn’t. Not at this moment. “Just- Just leave L’manberg. And never come back. Nobody would be able to find us. Not Technoblade, not Phil, not Wil- Wilbur.”

Tubbo didn’t respond.

“I think about it. A lot,” continued Tommy. “I also think about how different my life would turn out if I never met Wilbur. I wonder if he lied to me. A lot. And how much of what he’s said to me was a lie.”

Tubbo remained silent and it grated more against Tommy’s ears than if he screamed and hollered and carried on right into his ear canal. “The first night we met, he abandoned me after pointing a gun to my head. Right afterwards, he saved me. I think that kinda sums up the relationship. He fucks up and then he saves me and we both just agree that makes it okay. But does it really make it okay?” Tommy took in a shaky breath, willing his voice to stop wavering and cracking every other word. “I just don’t know anything and I hate not knowing so, so much. I just want everything to stop. I want to be in bed on a Sunday morning while the lawn mowers are waking me up at 7 A.M. I want to stay up at a sleepover playing video games until the sun rises. I want to talk about the cute girl in my science class to my mates.”

“Me too, Tommy.”

“I wanted to get my driver’s lisence someday. Get my first girlfriend and we can become high school sweethearts and all. I wanted to get a phone and post to Instagram and have everybody comment underneath. I wanted to graduate from school and head to University. I wanted to see the world, Tubbo. I wanted to not fear my fucking life and-” Tommy paused. He took a deep breath. “I want to be alive.”

“You are alive.”

Tommy shook his head. “None of us are alive, Tubbo. You remember Ranboo? Apparently we’re all fucking infected. It’s just biding our time.”

Tubbo hummed. “I didn’t think you’d be such a pessimist.”

“And I didn’t think you’d be such an optimist,” fired back Tommy.

“I think of myself as more of a realist,” corrected Tubbo. “And I think you’re thinking childishly right now. I mean, I miss the same things. I told Ranboo that after this all ends, we’ll get married.”

Tommy chuckled. “You wanted to marry Ranboo?”

Tubbo shrugged. “It’d be good for taxes.”

“That’s true,” said Tommy.

“You feel better now?” asked Tubbo.

Tommy nodded.

Tubbo stood up and outstretched his hand to Tommy. Tommy clasped it into Tubbo’s as Tubbo heaved him up to his feet and nearly fell back as his crutch slid against the mud. “You’re getting quite good with that thing,” said Tommy as he pointed at the crutch.

“I’ve had some practice,” said Tubbo. “If I had a wheelchair I’d like to learn tricks with it.”

The first thing Tommy noticed upon returning to the RV with Tubbo were rough and calloused voices, burning with emotion and bitterness dripping from every word. It wasn’t an argument, but it’d be best to walk carefully from what Tommy could tell from the tone and strong diction used.

Tubbo murmured something to Tommy that he couldn’t quite catch nor did he quite care as he swung open the door. He didn’t give a shit if Wilbur was talking to somebody, he wanted to go eat and lie down and pretend he didn’t just have a sappy heart to heart with Tubbo on beer containers during the fucking apocalypse.

“Quackity?” blurted out Tommy once his gaze locked onto the two discussing figures. “You’re alive?”

The two men completely dropped their tense statures and biting expressions as they turned to face Tommy and Tubbo, who were now awkwardly hovering in the doorway as the two boys were torn between entering or turning around and leaving Quackity and Wilbur to their business.

“Were you two about to kiss?” spluttered Tubbo, expression full of blunt bewilderment and naive curiosity, but Tommy could see the mischief dancing in his eyes that made Tommy want to keel over in laughter.

Tommy gently bumped shoulders with Tubbo. “We are children, Wilbur, please do not do any funny business in front of us.” Tommy used his shoe to not-so-nonchalantly reach back and shut the door behind them. “But Big Q! Good to see you my man.”

Quackity blinked, surprise and shock decorating his features. Tommy had expected him to look worse for wear, especially due to the conditions his bar was left in, but he showed no bruising or injury that was out of the ordinary. In fact, he looked good. His hair was neatly combed back into a strangely clean beanie and he had shed his battered button up for a spotless tracksuit. It was almost as if he had been traded for a brand new Quackity. “We had only met once before,” Quackity said. He blinked again before shedding a small smile. “But it’s good to see you, too, Tommy. Wilbur being a good big brother?”

“No,” said Tommy. He looked at Wilbur, who hadn’t looked at him once. He was either staring at his feet or staring at the space right behind Quackity’s ear, eyes flickering between the two spots as if he couldn’t decide which one. Guilt churned in Tommy’s stomach for a second. “Kidding. It’s a joke. Haha.”

“I had heard about what happened.” Quackity took a step forward towards Tommy and Tommy instinctively took a step back. Quackity’s eyes widened a fraction before he gave Tommy a small, sympathetic smile before stepping back to his original position. “My, uh, condolences.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. He didn’t dislike Quackity nor had he had any reasons to distrust him - like Quackity said, they had only met once before and that ended in Tommy getting into a bar fight with Technoblade; however, Quackity was likeable and Tommy wanted to like him. Tommy just couldn’t stop the alarm bells ringing in his mind and his heart slamming against his chest repeatedly, a strong sense of dread washing over him as Quackity’s scarred eyes landed on Tommy’s form. Quackity wasn’t physically strong by any means and even Tommy could beat him in a fight, but power oozed from him and it made Tommy wonder just how much Wilbur was involved with this man whose entire aura was sleaze and corruption.

However, despite all of the immorality that stank from Quackity, his sympathy felt genuine.

Tommy cleared his throat, body stiffening uncomfortably after he realized he had spaced out in thought and all eyes were settled on him - except for Wilbur’s - and he gave Quackity a small grin in return. “Thanks. Sorry about your bar.”

“What does con-dull-uh-senses mean?” asked Tubbo.

“He’s sorry,” Tommy quietly replied.

Tubbo twiddled his fingers together, fingers incessantly tapping against one another as if his hands were piano keys as he pursed his lips together, all chapped and blood red. “It’s okay. We can all match now - except for Tommy.”

Quackity chuckled dryly. “Me and Wilbur especially, yeah?”

Wilbur glowered at Quackity. “I’m not sure how much I’d like to be associated with you, Big Q.” His tone was light and airy, words phrased entirely as a joke, but from his stiff stature and the tenseness of his jaw - Tommy knew better.

“Why are you here?” Asked Tommy, navigating around the two men and throwing himself on the couch; actions phrased entirely nonchalant, but Tommy’s eyes were wide open and he refused to allow his body to fully relax as long as a near stranger remained in his home. “Not that I’m like, totally excited to see you here Big Q.” Tubbo followed Tommy to the couch, moving his legs that were stretched out over his lap and leaned back.

“I’m just here to discuss some things with Wilbur,” smoothly responded Quackity. “Adult business.”

Wilbur huffed with a roll of his shoulders in exasperation. “Don’t baby him. Tommy deserves to know what we’re talking about.”

“I wasn’t babying him,” snapped Quackity, cool and collected facade immediately vanishing upon any form of criticism or attack. “It is adult business.”

Tommy was taken aback; he wasn’t sure if Wilbur was using Tommy as a weapon to poke and prod at Quackity’s buttons or if Wilbur genuinely believed Tommy should know. Tommy settled on continuing to laying back and simply listening.

“Tommy is almost fifteen years old. He’s seen enough for a child; he’s mature enough to know our conversation,” declared Wilbur, arms folded over his chest. His jacket had been shed to where his sweater underneath was exposed; sleeves rolled up to his elbows, arms decorated in burns, scars, and blood, and the occassional hole decorated the polyester.

“I never said he couldn’t, now did I?” lowly responded Quackity. “You always purposefully misconstrued my words. Always have!”

Wilbur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to snap.” Wilbur shifted his weight, gesturing to a duffel bag at Quackity’s feet. “Stress. You, uh, you know how it is - let’s go back to our former conversation, shall we?”

Quackity visibly relaxed. “That’d be preferable, yes.” Quackity placed one palm flat against the counter and another one propped on his hip, body relaxed after the tension began to fade after Wilbur’s apology. “I came here with a proposition Wilbur - not to fuck you over.”

“Seems like you are,” said Wilbur before hastily adding, “in my perspective.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” said Quackity.

Wilbur’s eyes glinted. “Finishing? Oh, Quackity-”

Quackity scrambled forward and slapped his hands on Wilbur’s mouth with a nervous laugh. “Jesus fucking Christ, Wilbur, not in front of kids!”

Wilbur shoved Quackity from him gently, wiping at his mouth as if Quackity’s hands were diseased and infected him from a simple touch. “They’re big boys,” he chuckled.

Quackity rubbed at his temples with a groan. “This is why our partnerships never worked out well. You just fucked about constantly!”

“My apologies, my apologies. Please, do go on. I insist, Big Q.” Wilbur leaned back against the back driver’s seat nonchalantly as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his baggy black pants.

“Right.” Quackity swallowed. “I really don’t - or ever have - intended to fuck you over, Wilbur. I care aboy you, y’know? Always have. I came here to offer some more help.”

“Help?” echoed back Wilbur. “Help.”

Quackity slowly nodded, filled to the brim with condesencion. “Yes, Wilbur, ‘help.’ I know you dropped out of university or some shit and we haven’t done much reading the past few years but-”

“Don’t patronize me,” sharply interrupted Wilbur, words cutting into Quackity’s like a knife. “Get to the point.”

“I’ll help you get out of L’manberg.” Quackity grinned shakily at Wilbur. “Again. Like a few years ago. It can be just like old times, Wil!”

“And for what in exchange?”

“Can’t I want to help my old friend?” Quackity pouted. “I do favors for you all the time. You were so excited to see me a few days ago - what happened?”

“Shit.”

Tubbo chimed in, “pepto bismol helps!”

Simultaneously Quackity and Wilbur turned their heads to Tubbo to shout, “shut up!” and promptly cause Tubbo to shrink back in the couch as if it was invitation for the furniture to suck him in.

Tommy most nearly shot up to yell at the two men, but Tubbo threw his arms down on Tommy’s legs and turned to face Quackity. He shook his head and gave Tommy a small, reassuring smile. Tommy sighed and leaned back again, but made sure to flip Quackity and Wilbur off when the two men became more focused on each other once more.

“I thought your joke was funny,” whispered Tommy.

“I wasn’t joking,” whispered back Tubbo.

“Be honest with me, Quackity. I know why you’re leaving L’manberg - your entire bar was trashed - but why would that involve us?” Wilbur persisted.

Quackity gnawed at his lip. “Multiple reasons, I guess.” Quackity rubbed the back of his neck. “Selfish ones, too, if I’m being honest.”

“We’re all selfish,” said Wilbur.

“It sucks going out alone,” began Quackity.

“Ever the clingy one.”

“And I know Phil and Technoblade fucked you two over as well. Those men have fucked me over more times than I can count,” Quackity sighed, rubbing at his face and for the first time in the entire discussion, Tommy could truly recognize the exhaustion on Quackity’s face. “Christ, Wilbur, they fucking ransacked my entire bar. The only reason I’m alive is because I went out to take a piss!”

“TMI,” muttered Tommy to himself.

Quackity adjusted his beanie despite the fact it hadn’t moved an inch. His fingers held a slight tremble. “I’m tired of them fucking me over. I know you’re not like them, Wilbur, so you’re free to tag along. I don’t think you want to stay here either. It’s especially not safe for those two kids, you know Phil and Techno-”

“-stop,” interrupted Wilbur. “I have to stay here.”

Quackity froze in his ministrations and blabbering mouth. “Huh?” Quackity rubbed at his ears. “Did I hear you right? Wilbur, last time you left you blabbered on about how much you despise”-Quackity’s fingers turned into quotations-”’this fucking shithole.’”

“And I do.”

“So why are you staying here?” Quackity threw his arms in the air. “And risk those two kids in danger?”

Wilbur averted his gaze so it rested on Tommy; the first time Wilbur willingly looked at the boy for the first time in what felt like hours. Tommy squirmed underneath, feeling heavily scrutinized, but quietly thanked the gods that Wilbur finally was acknowledging his existence. “Who said they have to stay?” quietly responded WIlbur.

Tommy froze. “Huh?” he stammered.

“Wilbur. . .” trailed off Quackity. “You-”

Wilbur turned his gaze back to Quackity. “I have unfinished business here. With Technoblade, Phil - the entirety of L’manberg. It reeks of corruption here. This entire fucking city is built on blood and the death of innocent people at the hands of those two.” Wilbur’s body trembled, face red and eye glossed over. “Tommy and Tubbo can’t stay here. I thought this place would have changed - it hasn’t.”

Realization dawned on Quackity. “You planned on dropping them off on me from the very beginning didn’t you?”

Wilbur shuffled his feet. “Not exactly. Not the very beginning.” Wilbur sucked in a sharp intake of air. “Quackity, I hate you.”

“Gee, thanks, Wilbur!”

“But I trust you,” Wilbur finished. “You’re sleazy, corrupt, and honestly even after a shower you smell bad.”

“This isn’t what you should be saying to somebody you want to watch your boys,” Quackity said.

“But you’d be able to just - just watch Tommy and Tubbo until they’re a bit more grown.”

Tommy couldn’t handle this anymore; he threw Tubbo’s legs off of him and rose to his feet abruptly. He shoved Quackity to the side, the lightweight male knocking into the cabinets with a small yelp. Without thinking twice, he grabbed ahold of Wilbur’s sweater and yanked him downwards to facelength. Wilbur averted his gaze, even refusing to look Tommy in the eyes even at eyelength. “What the fuck, Wilbur?” he shrieked, spittle landing on Wilbur’s face. “What the fuck are you thinking?”

Wilbur still refused to look at him. That eyepatch was near taunting Tommy and he resisted the urge to rip it off so Wilbur, in some way or another, would have to pay attention to him. He shook Wilbur and that’s when he knew Wilbur was somehow punishing himself because he was letting Tommy manhandle him. In no other universe would Tommy be able to toss Wilbur about like a ragdoll. “Wilbur, answer me!” he demanded. “You’re gonna kick Tubbo and I out of L’manberg and leave us with Big Q? How long have you been planning this?”

Wilbur’s voice was gurgled and choked with emotion and Tommy wanted to simultaneously slam his fist again Wilbur’s already beaten up face and throw his arms around him at the same time. “Since that night in the inn. When I played the guitar for you.”

Tommy’s world crashed. His fingers, red with how tightly he grasped onto Wilbur’s frayed sweater, trembled as his grip weakened with every beat of realization. Tubbo was behind him, saying something into his ear, and Quackity was hovering right over his shoulder, but they were no different than flies buzzing about at that moment. Tommy swallowed; all of the moisture in his throat and mouth had vanished as if somebody shoved cotton down his throat. “You’ve been wanting to get rid of me that long?”

“Dream solidified my decision,” whispered Wilbur. He still didn’t look at Tommy. “You don’t know me Tommy and you never will. No matter how much of my backstory I spill to you and no matter how many nights we spend together - you don’t know me.”

“What the fuck?” Tommy’s voice shook with a melting pot of rage, betrayal, and confusion. “I do know you”-he shook Wilbur in emphasis-”you’re Wilbur Soot. You’re over six foot, you went to jail for drugs, you sing yourself to sleep when you think nobody’s listening. You’re- you’re caring. And you’re smart. And- and-”

Wilbur gently placed his hands over Tommy’s and Tommy couldn’t stop the tears rushing down his face at the sheer softness of the action. Wilbur had never touched him so gently, filled with adoration and kindness. “Tommy, I’m not saying I regret taking you in. I think, and this is the truth, we will always meant to be like-”

“-like brothers?” weakly proposed Tommy.

“Like brothers.” Wilbur unwrapped Tommy’s fingers from around his sweater and gently pulled them away as he rose again to his normal height. “No matter what universe we’re in Tommy, I will always be like your big brother.”

Tommy coughed, snot and tears mixing together as they dripped down his face. He desperately scrubbed at his cheeks and eyes. “You’re really just leaving me? You’re selfish.”

“I am.” Wilbur nodded.

“And ugly.”

“That, too.”

“And- and I bet your lungs are black.”

“They sure are,” hummed Wilbur, hand running through Tommy’s hair and smoothing the locks sticking up down. “You’ve opened my eyes, Tommy. This morning when I spilt my story to you.”

Tommy didn’t say it aloud as he simply allowed Wilbur to pet him and coo small, meaningless and emotional phrases to him. This is how Wilbur worked and he should’ve expected it, but as Tommy’s heart burned alive and his stomach churned and threatened to push bile up the back of his throat, his mind screamed at him.

If Tommy didn’t yell at Wilbur this morning, would he still be sent away to Quackity? Is this entirely his own fault? Has he fucked up again and forced somebody’s hand into betrayal?

After a few moments of sniffling and Wilbur smoothing Tommy’s already smoothened hair, Wilbur held Tommy back at an armslength as Quackity brough his hand down on Tommy’s shoulder with a gentle squeeze. Tommy threw his hand off with an immediate roll of his shoulder. Quackity didn’t attempt to touch him again. “Wilbur, I can’t say I entirely expected this,” said Quackity.

“I shan’t expect you to,” hoarsely replied Wilbur, straightening up and taking a step back from Quackity. “This is my one last attempt of maturity. To finally do the right thing. If anybody’s right about anything, it’s that I can’t take care of kids.”

“I think you’re doing the right thing,” softly replied Quackity and Tommy wanted to slam his foot down and scream that Wilbur’s just acting selfish. “I’ll take them somewhere safe. I’m thinking of heading to Europe, see if they’re doing any better over there.”

“Do whatever you think is best.” Wilbur shifted. “I already packed their things.”

Wilbur smoothly moved past the boys, Tubbo weakly reaching out to grasp Wilbur’s sweater but barely grazing by, fingers slipping past the fabric as Wilbur tugged out two backpacks. They were barely filled, most likely stuffed with a single change of clothes and some snacks. Tommy knew they had run low on supplies despite residing in an establishment.

Just as Wilbur set the two backpacks down next to Tommy and Tubbo’s hunched over forms, he cupped his hands around Quackity’s ear as he leaned in to whisper something. Tommy strained his ear, barely able to capture even a syllable, but he was able to catch the last three words of his sentence as he pulled back.

“. . . gone by midnight.”

Quackity nodded in understanding, thrusting his hand to Wilbur’s chest. Wilbur glanced down in surprise before he clasped his hand with Quackity’s, shaking their hands curtly but their gazes held a faint warmth that told Tommy that Wilbur regretted whatever shattered their most likely close relations. “I won’t let you down Wilbur.”

Wilbur smiled broadly as he turned to Tubbo. “It was lovely having you along for the ride, Tubbo.”

Tubbo gave Wilbur a wet smile in return. “You two, boss man. It’s been hell of a ride. I never liked rollercoasters, if I’m being honest.”

Wilbur rustled Tubbo’s hair. “You’re a smart kid, Tubbo. You’re good. Better than I. You’ll be just fine out there.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Tubbo as Wilbur retracted his hand.

Wilbur laughed at that. “Who do you think you’re talking to, Tubbo?”

Tubbo rose shakily, clasping onto Wilbur’s bicep as he grabbed his crutch and leaned against it. “It’d be nice to see the world again for a change.”

Wilbur gently patted Tubbo’s back as to not knock the much smaller boy over. “Atta boy!”

As Wilbur turned to Tommy, Tommy turned his head as he simply grabbed ahold of his backpack and threw it over his shoulders. Wilbur grasped onto Tommy’s shoulder, attempting to force him to look at Wilbur. Tommy allowed it, but he mustered up the nastiest glare possible. “I will never forgive you for this,” he growled, words dripping with poison.

“I’ll never expect you to,” said Wilbur.

“Never,” repeated Tommy. He allowed the words to hang in the air before he took a step back from Wilbur. “See you later, Wilbur.”

Tommy adjusted the straps of the backpack as he glanced at Quackity and Tubbo. They hovered by the door. Quackity gave Tommy a small smile of sympathy before he turned to Wilbur. “You really need us to leave immediately?”

“Please,” was all Wilbur responded with.

“You stay safe too, Wilbur,” said Quackity. “Like Tubbo said: don’t be stupid.”

Once Wilbur had remained completely silent, body wavering slightly as his eyes followed the group’s movements as they reached to open the door. Quackity and Tubbo slipped out first, which Tommy supposes makes sense - Tubbo had never completely liked Wilbur; he appreciated the man but Tommy isn’t sure if Tubbo had ever completely forgiven Wilbur for the fact he was inadvertently the cause of Ranboo’s demise.

Tommy hovered in the doorway, hands digging into the door handle. “Maybe in another life?” he said quietly.

Wilbur’s nose whistled as the air was completely silent, devoid of even the rustling of the wind or the faint crunch of footsteps in the distance. “I’ll see you later, Tommy.”

Tommy shut the door.

Chapter Text

Leaves rustled with every movement the group of boys took, the soft mud-turned dirt and small patches of snow slapping against their shoes. As the sun began to set, casting a soft, orange hue across their pale and bruised skin, the chill in the air grew. Despite spring crawling forward and Tommy eagerly welcoming it, the cold had latched on and its claws were still dug in.

Tommy had taken in a small satisfaction from which he was obviously a burden on Quackity; the older male would hold his finger up and shush him whenever they reached a meadowed area or a former populated patch, the threat of the undead ever present. Tommy, in childish retaliation, would make sure his steps were even heavier than normal. If Quackity told Tommy to pause in his movements, Tommy would continue marching forward. It was the little things in pissing Quackity off that brought Tommy great satisfaction; maybe if he tried hard enough, Quackity would turn around and march Tommy right back.

Upon leaving the grand walls of the establishment, one of Tommy’s first attempts in getting away from Quackity ended in the man tackling him and forcing Tubbo, the footless one, to help hold Tommy to the ground until they were certain he wouldn’t run back in.

Quackity’s breath smelt putrid as his cheek dug into Tommy’s own, face pressed against moist soil and one of his arms landing in a mixture of mud and snow. He flailed uselessly, and perhaps his assessment of being able to overtake Quackity was false, in which the man held his own rather well against Tommy.

“Kid”-Quackity took in a sharp intake of air as he craned his neck in a week dodge from Tommy’s free arm that swung backwards in a weak slap-”this is for your own good. Trust me. I thought Wilbur was off his rocker, too.”

It eventually ended in Tommy growing tired of his face being smashed into the dirt and as the moon threatened to rise at any second, Tommy would rather not spend the night at a makeshift camp in the middle of the woods. Quackity’s satisfied expression as he rose to his feet only made the boy want to turn around and race back to L’manberg even more, but he felt bad whenever Tubbo insisted they took a break for his body was aching due to the crutch digging into his arm and his leg acting up every so often.

Quackity sat down and told Tubbo about how his eye still hurts sometimes and Tommy took that as a sign to tune out of the conversation, guilt tugging at his heart and swirling like a tornado in his brain.

“Can we take another break?” wheezed Tubbo. “I haven’t walked this far on crutches in forever.”

Despite all of the man’s red flags, Tommy appreciated the sympathy Quackity showed towards Tubbo as he nodded and gestured to a small clearing in the forest. “It’s growing dark and we’re about two hours from L’manberg, we can rest.”

“I hate you,” Tommy told Quackity as they chose their camp spot.

“You shouldn’t,” simply responded Quackity. “I’m gonna be your sole protector from now on. I promised Wilbur.”

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, like promises mean shit.” Tommy shook his head. “How long you think this little group is gonna last?”

“Keep talking like that and not for much longer,” huffed Quackity.

“Good,” said Tommy and silence fell upon them once more.

Tommy’s mind was racing with thoughts towards Wilbur. If he wasn’t so damn exhausted he probably would’ve keeled over and curled up as his body wracked with tears, but the idea of crying in front of Quackity again sounded much too embarrassing. Tommy resisted the urge to lean against Tubbo and fall asleep right there as Tubbo hobbled over to a spot to sit, Tommy two seconds away from following him. Tommy glanced out of the corner of his eye to catch Quackity staring out to the woods, fiddling with the satchels at his side before moving to leave their makeshift camp. Tommy halted in front of him, stopping his ministrations and plans.

“Now that my flight risk is gone”-Quackity winced at the not-so-long ago memory-”can you tell me what the fuck Wilbur told you before we left?” questioned Tommy, blocking Quackity as he attempted to venture out to the forest to collect materials for a fire as Tubbo panted from his makeshift log-bench.

Quackity ducked his head and attempt to manuever around Tommy who had promptly side stepped in front of him. “If he wanted you to know, he’d tell you,” snapped Quackity after a few awkward and silent beats of him attempting to get past Tommy’s insistent form.

“Wilbur told me he’d stop lying to me and he broke that promise.” Tommy folded his arms across his chest. “Please, Big Q.”

The scarred man’s resolve had begun to crack, and for a millisecond Tommy figured that Quackity wasn’t that bad of a guy after all, as Quackity’s brows knitted together in sympathy and his lips began to purse. Quackity took a small step back, calloused hands wringing incessantly in deep thought as he threw a small glance at Tubbo. Tubbo was leaned back, eyes fluttered shot and Tommy was almost convinced the boy had passed out before Tubbo flickered his eyes open again and stared blankly at Quackity and Tommy as if he was asking, ‘who are you staring at?’

“If I-” Quackity swallowed dryly, palms out placating. “If I tell you, promise you won’t do anything stupid?”

Tommy flicked an eyebrow. “Really?”

Quackity laughed awkwardly, twirling a strand of thin black hair absentmindedly around his pointer finger. “Yeah. Okay. Stupid question.” He shuffled his feet. “Wilbur, uh, is planning to destroy L’manberg.”

Tommy blinked, almost unsure if he had an auditory hallucination. “Pardon me?”

“I thought I was hearing shit,” confessed Quackity. “But knowing Wilbur, that crazy bastard, he’s definitely serious. He, uh, said he’s gonna burn L’manberg to the ground and tear down the walls tonight and then he’s going to kill Phil and Technoblade.”

“Tear down the walls?” echoed back Tommy. “How on hell is he going to do that? They’re huge.”

Quackity’s shoulders rolled back in a lazy shrug, and if it weren’t for the concern etched into his face his lazy movements could’ve been mistaken for nonchalance and indifference. Tommy’s heart hammered inside of his chest, ringing out in his skull and Tommy took in a deep, shaky breath. “Quackity?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going back,” Tommy announced.

“Yeah?” Quackity rubbed at his face. He looked exhausted. “To L’manberg?”

“I am,” he said.

Quackity took in a deep breath, averting his gaze before murmuring something quickly to himself in spanish as if it were a prayer. “You’re not gonna let Wilbur do that, are you?” he asked softly. “And I’m not gonna be able to stop you, am I?”

Tommy flashed Quackity a small, shaky smile. “Glad to hear we’re on the same page. Took a lot less convincing than I thought!” Tommy pushed past Quackity, whose gaze was filled with confliction and jaw tensed up so tightly he looked as if he’d crack a tooth. “Tubso!”

Tubbo jolted, eyes shooting open and looking around wildly as he grasped at darkness for his clutch. “Wh-”

Tommy knelt in front of Tubbo. “You with me?”

Tubbo blinked. Once. Twice. He furrowed his brows in confusion. “For what?”

“We’re going back to L’manberg, we’re saving Wilbur,” he informed Tubbo. “He’s not in his right head and all. We gotta stop him. Quackity won’t stop me.”

Tubbo looked over Tommy’s shoulder to Quackity who was leaned up against a tree. His foot tapped against the ground, splashing a small puddle as it dripped down the bottom of his pantleg. Quackity paid it no mind as he stared at Tommy with, if Tommy didn’t know any better, almost heartbreak. Heartbreak for what, Tommy didn’t know.

Tommy didn’t know a lot of things.

“Saving Wilbur?” echoed Tubbo.

Tommy nodded quickly, grabbing at Tubbo’s hands and yanking him to his feet, thrusting the crutch into Tubbo’s chest as it dug into him unpleasantly. Tubbo gently pushed Tommy away from him, movements stuttering as he clutched onto the crutch and stumbled a few inches. “Tommy, we can’t go back,” Tubbo said.

Tommy scrunched his face together. “Huh? We’re going back right now. Quackity’s letting us.”

“I heard what Wilbur told Quackity. Back in the RV - Wilbur’s crazy, Tommy. It’s best we stay with Quackity for our own safety,” insisted Tubbo. “This isn’t safe.”

“What?” stammered Tommy. “We have to help Wilbur. He’s our family.”

“And Wilbur sent us away. It’d be best if we listened to him.”

Tubbo might as well have sucker punched Tommy in the gut. “I don’t understand,” he rasped out, voice thickened with sudden realization and emotion. His brows glued together, lip wobbling. “Wilbur would’ve helped if you were in his situation.”

“Well, I’m not,” simply said Tubbo.

Tommy’s hands flopped at his side, unsure whether he should force Tubbo along with him, stay, or go without Tubbo. He swallowed dryly, a chill crawling up his spine as a particularly cool breeze rustled the flora and fauna and tickled his skin. “And you want to stay with Quackity?”

Tubbo slowly sat back down on his log, fingers absentmindedly picking off chips of wood, the splinters threatening to bead blood from his fingertips. “For the mean time.” Tubbo sighed. “Tommy, you’ve become one of my best friends but . . . I can’t risk death. Not yet. I told Ranboo some things before he died-”

“-it’s always about fucking Ranboo-”

“-and he said he wanted me to do everything he couldn’t. I plan to honor that.”

“But I’m your best friend,” protested Tommy. “You just said so.”

Tubbo shook his head gently. “But unlike Wilbur, I don’t break promises.” Tubbo looked at him with an expression akin to pity and shame washed over Tommy. “Why would I save a man who will probably fuck us over again? I’m not angry at him nor do I wish ill will - I’m being logical, Tommy.”

“Is this-” Tommy’s fingers jittered, teeth clattering slightly - whether it was the chill or the nerves and adrenaline coursing through his veins, Tommy couldn’t figure out - as he struggled to push the correct words up and out his throat from his swirling and twisting gut. “This is. . .?”

The ‘goodbye’ was left unsaid, but both Tommy and Tubbo knew what the blonde said. For the first time the entire conversation, Tubbo’s expression twisted in regret and akin to grief, and it was perhaps the first time Tubbo showed emotion so openly and willingly to Tommy. It only punctured his lungs further, leaving Tommy gasping for air as his legs trembled like jelly. “This is goodbye,” softly - but not weakly - confirmed Tubbo.

“Do I have to say it?” Tommy’s voice cracked and he simply allowed it. He didn’t bother to hide the grief and raw emotion in his voice. “We’ll survive. We’ll save Wil and- and we’ll run and we’ll go to Europe. Or- Or Mexico. Or Africa. We don’t have to stay here. We can find a PC and- and boot it up and-”

Tubbo sniffled and Tommy was worried for a second the boy would burst into tears as well, but he simply scrubbed at his moist eyelids and the shining droplets immediately disappeared as if he had slipped a mask on. “You know we can’t, Tommy,” he said.

Tommy gnawed at his wobbling lip. “I’ll miss you,” he settled on saying, instead of attempting to argue further. Once Tubbo has made his mind up, Tommy knew he couldn’t argue any further. Ranboo will always hold priority to Tubbo, no matter how much Tommy wanted to whisk Tubbo away, dead or alive Ranboo will be Tubbo’s number one. “A lot.”

“I’ll miss you too,” whispered Tubbo. “It doesn’t have to be like this, but I don’t think either of us will change the other’s mind.”

Tommy opened his arms to Tubbo, but Tubbo merely shook his head with a sad smile. “If we hug, I might not let go,” Tubbo admitted with a small crack at the end. “Go, okay? Before it’s too late and this is all for nothing.”

Tommy took a few stumbling steps backwards, curses and cuss words slung at Tubbo inside his mind, betrayal swirling in his gut; Tubbo was correct and Tommy hated it. Tommy despised the truth yet the idea of being lied to filled him to the brim with dread. “I’ll see you later, Big T.”

“See you later, Tommy.” Tubbo gave him a small, two-fingered salute. “Stay alive, alright? Ranboo doesn’t want to see you just yet!”

Tommy flashed him a small, shaky smile as he saluted back. “I don’t plan on it, big man!” Tommy allowed himself to drink in Tubbo’s hunched over form; his messy, brown hair that always seemed to cover his eyes, the knobby knees and pointed elbows, the softness of his jaw and the scars decorating his pale body.

It’s for the best.

Quackity remained silent throughout the entire conversation and for that Tommy was grateful as he finally turned to the older man with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Goodbye to you too, Big Q. Thanks for. . . trying, I guess.”

Quackity chuckled. “Wilbur would be having my head for this.”

“It’s alright, big man,” Tommy said, waving his hand. “For the greater good, yeah?”

Quackity dug into the duffel bag, tossing a few things towards Tommy as he juggled the items about like an acrobat and nearly dropped everything to the ground. Quackity flicked his eyebrow up in amusement, but simply allowed Tommy to analyze the containers thrown at him: bullets, a med kit, and a pack of cigarettes. Tommy looked up at him in curiosity, holding up the packet of cigarettes between shaking fingers and Quackity simply let out a guffaw at it. “I’m a minor, y’know!”

“Bah, you’ve seen enough for any adult these days.” Quackity waved him off. “They’re for Wilbur.”

“So generous,” teased Tommy. “Thanks.”

“Get going before the man burns himself alive. Good luck Tommy; you’re a good kid,” Quackity bidded.

Tommy waved goodbye as he sorted out his supplies, taking off in a run. He didn’t need directions nor did he need any further help - he traced his steps and knew exactly where L’manberg was.

Orange and black filled the sky, smoke traveling through the air in large, great gusts that danced and cackled in the night sky like a mischievous child. The world rushed and turned on its ever turning axis, completely unawares that hell had landed on earth and clawed its way upward; demons and devils had risen with the sheer amount of flickering orange flames. Any chill that bit at the air had surely vanished, the flames hot and seering into Tommy’s skin as he approached the settlement.

With fists clenched tightly, nails digging into the battered leather gloves Tommy dug from Wilbur’s bag one day, his heart pounded and hammered inside of his body like the metronome to a fantastic symphony; the conductor was directing both the blazing flames in front of him and in his heart and for a split second Tommy felt as if the flames beckoned him. Tommy felt as if he could waltz through the fire and rebirth himself into it like a phoenix; he resisted the urge to allow the blazing hellfire to encompass him, feeding him the warmth he had been begging for years.

The settlement was up in spitting flames, swirling into the night sky and lighting it up like grand, big fireworks. If it weren’t for the bile rising up in Tommy’s churning stomach and his jaw nearly lowered to the ground, it was almost beautiful the way the flames casted a vibrant glow across the land.

As Tommy neared the site, the crashing waves of anxiety seemed to have vanished; Tommy’s heart was still and despite the heaving and burn of his lungs from the rising, black clouds of smoke - he was calm. The only thing that ran through his mind was Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur. Moans and groans filled his ears and for a split second Tommy had assumed it was people in danger, but as Tommy skidded to a halt in front of the ruined gates to L’manberg, he noticed the gashed in holes and the toppled over walls like a chopped down tree in a forest.

Wilbur had opened the gates for the undead to stake their claim on L’manberg.

After the experiences Tommy had gone through, the undead no longer scared him like they once did; his heart skipped a beat, but it remained steady and constant as he slipped past a zombie underneath a pile of rubble, scratching uselessly at the ground and crying out pathetically. If it was a year ago, Tommy would’ve felt a twinge of pity at the wretched monster, but Tommy wasn’t the same a year ago. Shit, he wasn’t the same as the Tommy a few days ago.

People pushed past each other in a mad scramble to escape the growing flames, Tommy nearly knocked aside into a particularly large, flickering flame; hissing filled his ears as the breath was nearly caught in his throat. The once grand settlement that once sheltered many, harmed many, and saved many was now burning to merely a memory in front of Tommy’s eyes.

Something toppled beside Tommy and he immediately whirled around; a zombie had clambered towards him. Glasses settled crooked on its nose, brown hair sticking up and a strand fell slowly from its deteriorating scalp. Mucus and blood dribbled down its face and Tommy almost felt a twinge of familiarity - he has seen that man somewhere before.

The zombie rushed at him, lunging with arms out and hands in animalistic claws as its jaw fell open, ready to bite at Tommy and take a chunk out of his body; Tommy fell into a routine that he’s experienced lifetimes over before and he merely sidestepped out of the way. The calmness that Tommy felt nearly gave him whiplash, brain on autopilot as he replayed a technique Wilbur once taught him moons ago: kick behind the knees, topple the zombie to the ground, and quickly shoot it in the noggin.

“Fuck you, motherfucker,” snarled Tommy as he kicked the zombie to the ground and quickly blew its mushy brains out. They splattered against the cobblestone pavement into a small puddle, flames flickering in the reflecting as they splashed on the tips of Tommy’s boots. Whoever they once were was no matter to Tommy; that zombie wasn’t a human anymore.

Tommy’s hands have been dirtied long ago.

The spluttering and spitting flames and the faint screams and moans and groans were merely background noise; Tommy was a man on a mission and he fell into a steady routine as he ventured through the city. Sidestep a pile of flaming rubble, duck his head from a running crowd of people, and kick a zombie to the ground and quickly dispose of the monster. The whole experience was incredibly surreal and Tommy barely recognized himself; he was in third person, looking in on himself from an outsiders perspective - whoever Tommy was at the moment wasn’t Tommy.

Out of the corner of Tommy’s watering eyes due to the smoke burning into his corneas, he saw a split second of pink. His brows bunched together in confusion as he squinted his eyes to look, but it was to no avail as he was suddenly slammed into the ash and soot covered pavement with a grown. Thousands of memories at once flashed in his vision and he let out a small yelp at the impact; cheek grazed and bleeding as his nose nearly cracked at the sudden pain that bloomed throughout his body.

“Where the fuck is Wilbur?” a familiar voice snarled into his ear.

Tommy craned his neck, grimacing as mud and ash swiped across his face to look at Technoblade who had him pinned to the ground; his gun flew from his hands a couple paces away and a familiar blond man waltzed over to calmly pick up the weapon. Tommy cried out in protest before Technoblade dug his hands into Tommy’s matted hair and dug him deeper into the ground. “Fuck off!” Tommy struggled, but he knew it was to no avail. “I don’t fuckin’ know!”

“I think you do know, mate,” softly said Phil as he knelt in front of Tommy’s face. “The man never let you out of his sight.”

Tommy coughed, watery eyes blurring the world around him and he desperately blinked back; his chest struggled to rise and fall, lungs screaming at him from the smoke and being pressed harshly against the stone ground. “I’m not”-Tommy interrupted himself with a dry, body-rattling cough-”I’m not with Wilbur. He fuckin’ left me.”

“Don’t lie,” growled Technoblade.

Phil held up his hand, pausing Technoblade before he could snarl something else into Tommy’s ear. “He’s telling the truth, Techno.” Phil tilted his head, brows knitting in confusion. “I’m not sure why Wilbur left him, but it’s true.”

Technoblade grunted. “Fuck.” He dug Tommy’s face further into the pavement to punctuate his sentence. “I’m going to kill him.”

Phil rose to his feet with a sigh, feet hovering right next to Tommy’s face and if he could he would’ve bit his entire foot off. He wanted his fucking gun back. “Dispose of Tommy. I don’t care what happens to him. I need to go find Wil.” He took a few steps back, posture relaxed and entirely calm as if he hadn’t ordered somebody to kill a child and there was entire city burning to the ground around him as the undead stalked the vicinity. “Quickly.”

Technoblade tensed up from above him. “Really?” It was the first time Tommy had ever heard Technoblade stammer or stutter in response to Phil; usually it was firm ‘alright’s’ and ‘yes sir’s.’ It nearly gave Tommy whiplash as his entire body froze up, breath caught in the back of his throat in thick anticipation.

“Go on. S’not like he’s going to survive much longer.”

“We can just leave him behind then-”

Phil narrowed his eyes. “Techno, why are you arguing? Just do it.”

Technoblade let out a shaky sigh, grabbing Tommy’s gun from Phil as he pressed it into the back of Tommy’s head, digging into his matted locks. Tommy let out a whine instinctively at the cold, metal contact and willed his beating heart to steady itself at the reminder of his painfully human self. “I’m so sorry, Tommy,” Technoblade breathed into his ear and for a second Tommy almost imagined it.

The gun clicked. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, darkness enveloping him as his mind ran a thousand thoughts; he’ll never be able to avenge Sam. He’ll never be able to save Wilbur. He’ll never be able to find Tubbo. He’ll never be able to see the world. “It doesn’t have to be like this,” quietly rasped Tommy, ruby-red lips trembling from the blood that beaded from how sharply he bit down on his lip. All shame was thrown out the window; Tommy wasn’t above pleading and begging.

Technoblade let out a thoughtful grunt. “You’re right.” The steel left Tommy’s skull. “It doesn’t-” the weight vanished from Tommy’s back and his eyes immediately flew open at the loud bang! that echoed throughout the settlement, bouncing off of dilapidated houses and drawing the attention of every undead throughout L’manberg. Tommy’s eyes slowly dragged to the redness that pooled to Tommy’s body, soaking his clothes as Technoblade stumbled away from him.

A few paces from him, Tommy’s eyes met Phil’s widened ones, knocked against the floor as blood bubbled out of his mouth and dribbled against the floor like a waterfall. Tommy let out a blood-curdling scream as he scrambled to his feet and clambered as far away as he could at Phil’s toppled over body. Tommy’s gaze flickered to Technoblade’s body, shadows enveloping him as the flames only illuminated Phil’s dying form; Technoblade hovered over Phil, gun pointed to his face as blood pooled from Phil’s gut.

“I’m no longer your puppet,” calmly said Technoblade before another bang! escaped his gun, bullet flying into Phil’s head with a splatter. Tommy looked away.

The two were silent save for Tommy’s heaving breathing and the drip of Phil’s blood into the growing puddle, dark crimson forever staining the streets of L’manberg.

“You- You killed him,” stammered Tommy after a few beats. “You fuckin’ killed him.”

Technoblade didn’t say anything, he stared down at the gun in his hands, brows knitted together and jaw tensed up as if he couldn’t believe what he just did. He snapped his attention to Tommy, who was still on the ground with blood-soaked clothes and a bruising cheek. “I did,” he finally said after what felt like hours.

“Are you still. . .” Technoblade swallowed. “Are you looking for Wilbur?”

Tommy nodded shakily. “Yeah.”

“I’ll help. I have no plans to harm him,” Technoblade breathed before lumbering over to Tommy and sticking out his hand. “C’mon. I’d rather not get lung cancer from being here too long.”

The dryness of Technoblade’s morbid joke surprised Tommy into a sharp, wheezing bark of laughter as he latched onto Technoblade’s hand and allowed him to heave him to his feet. Heavy metal was placed into his hands once he rose and he stared down at the spotless gun in his hands; Technoblade handed the weapon to him without a second thought. “You always end up saving me, huh?”

“This will be the last time,” Technoblade told him and Tommy knew he didn’t mean it. “I think I know where Wilbur is.”

Tommy breathed, shaking his head in disbelief as he gestured in front of them. “Lead the fuckin’ way then.”

Technoblade immediately burst into a run, and Tommy struggled behind as his legs and arms pumped; his lungs were absolutely wrecked and his heart throttled with adrenaline. He shouldn’t be doing this - racing through a burning city, hell on earth itself, smoke dancing through the air and squeezing his lungs. The two dodged around falling buildings and Tommy forced himself to look ahead - there was so many bodies - and the lives lost due to Wilbur’s hands will never be forgotten. The hypocrisy of the actions almost made Tommy laugh; he claims L’manberg was built on blood yet he ends it with blood.

If Tommy thought he had landed in hell, his suspicions were only solidified as he stared up at the stage Wilbur had set for himself a few yards ahead. Metal boxes and debris created a platform, and Wilbur stood on it as he looked on ahead, back facing Tommy with his coat rustling in the whirling flames and hands stuffed deep inside. He was unmoving save for the whipping coat and the ruffling of his floppy, mop of brown hair. Wilbur was conducting a devil’s choir, the flames almost seeming to move right around him as he simply watched the destruction.

“Wilbur!” shouted Technoblade. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Wilbur slowly turned, neck craning; he looked unhuman. Back hunched, hair peeling against his face from sweat and blood, face bruised and damaged as bandages nearly covered his entire face completely. His gaze first landed on Technoblade and his lip curled back into a sneer, but he shifted his gaze and nearly toppled off of the platform he had created once he noticed Tommy from beside Technoblade.

“Why the fuck do you have Tommy?” Wilbur immediately responded with, hopping down from the platform until he was a few yards from Technoblade and Tommy. “Tommy!”

Tommy took a few steps forward, eager to crash into Wilbur’s chest and drag him away from the hellscape he’s created, but Technoblade grabbed onto Tommy’s shoulder and wrapped his arm around him before pulling him up to his chest. Tommy cried out in protest, but Technoblade dug his nose into the side of his temple as he whispered hotly into his ear, “this is the only way I’ll get him to follow us. Don’t fucking move - I won’t hurt you.”

Wilbur brandished a gun, waving it around like a madman once Tommy was held up to Technoblade’s looming, large body. “Let him the fuck go. What did you do to Quackity and Tubbo?”

“They’re dead,” yelled back Technoblade. “Just like Phil. And everybody else in this city!”

Wilbur aimed the gun to Technoblade. “And you’re fucking next!”

Technoblade merely tightened his grip against Tommy’s neck; it wasn’t enough to choke him, but his instinctively began to struggle and splutter against the tight hold around his throat. He coughed, dry and wheezing and oh-so-painfully. “Drop your weapon!”

“I’ll kill you,” growled Wilbur. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“You really think you can?” A familiar metal object was pressed against Tommy and he couldn’t resist the panic rising up inside of him; Technoblade told Tommy he wouldn’t hurt him but he couldn’t resist the bubbling anxiety and fear that churned inside of him. Sweat beaded against his brow and the flames formed an arena around them, but he was cold. He was freezing. Chills traveled up and down him as Tommy gasped for air that wasn’t there. He was drowning.

As if something had possessed Wilbur, a roar escape his throat in a gurgling, dry and rasping manner as the man threw himself towards Technoblade and Tommy like a battering ram. Caught by surprise, Technoblade immediately threw Tommy to the side as Wilbur slammed Technoblade to the ground. The ends of his coat flew, catching the two into a trap as Wilbur pinned Technoblade to the ash and soot covered ground. Tommy fell to his knees, scrambling for purchase as he couldn’t do anything but sit back and watch as Wilbur and Technoblade wrestled each other.

Wilbur’s gun fell from his hands as his hands wrapped around Technoblade’s throat. Technoblade bucked his hips up wildly to throw Wilbur off of him, the much lighter man immediately being thrown off of him. Technoblade scrambled on top of Wilbur - and with an apelike, unhuman like fury Technoblade immediately threw his fists down upon Wilbur’s face. Any promise Technoblade had made to not hurt Wilbur was thrown out the window the very second Wilbur attacked first and it was as if any reason had vanished as soon as the two men laid eyes upon each other. Words left unsaid hung in the air and Tommy knew that the two were holding a conversation just through punches and wild kicks of legs like animals.

Wilbur cried out, blood splattering against the pavement as Technoblade threw his ring-covered knuckles down against his face; a tooth flew and rattled against the pavement as it fell at Tommy’s knees. Tommy screamed, begging the two to stop, but he couldn’t hear himself over the roaring fire and the grunts and slaps of skin of the fighting men.

A loud schwing sung out like a bell and before Tommy couldn’t cry out to warn Technoblade, Wilbur had swung out his knife and twisted it into the side of Technoblade’s thigh. Technoblade let out a pained groan, but he didn’t let go of Wilbur’s struggling form as blood bloomed throughout Technoblade’s leg. Wilbur struggled to pull the knife out, face red and growing increasingly colored as he looked over at Tommy with wide eyes and a panicked expression, Technoblade’s hands finding their way around Wilbur’s throat as he thrashed.

“Tommy!” rasped out Wilbur and Tommy strained to hear him. “The gun! The gun!”

Tommy’s shaky, wavering gaze found its way to the gun by his kneeled form; it was the gun Wilbur had since the moment they met and it had flew out of his hands upon Technoblade’s sheer force. Tommy glanced again at Wilbur who was crying something out to Tommy that he couldn’t quite catch as Technoblade loosened his grip for a second to look over at Tommy. “Tommy, stop it, he’s not in his right mind! I tried too, but can’t you see how fucking crazy he is?”

Tommy grabbed ahold of the gun, whole body trembling and numbness blooming throughout his body as he shakily pointed the gun towards Technoblade. He despised Technoblade and truly hated the man, but Tommy could never bring himself to kill anybody.

“Tommy! Do it, do it!” snarled Wilbur, hands grappling towards Technoblade’s large hands around his throat. “Do something right for once in your god damned fucking life!”

Tommy rapidly shook his head, eyes landing on Technoblade’s frantic expression. “I can’t!” he cried out. “Don’t make me!”

In one last ditch effort, Tommy threw the gun to the side, the gun landing a few inches away from Wilbur’s face as he barreled towards Technoblade and effectively surprising him for a long enough time for Wilbur to scramble away from the blood thirsty man. Pink braid rippling, Technoblade threw Tommy off of him, completely tunnel visioned on Wilbur like a foaming-at-the-mouth pitbull in a dog fighting ring. Wilbur grasped at the gun, expertly manuevering it in his hands as he pointed it at Technoblade.

Tommy darted in front of Technoblade, shielding the man’s form from Wilbur as he aimed the weapon to Technoblade’s heart. “Stop it, Wil!” screamed Tommy. “Just fucking quit! Haven’t you hurt enough people?”

“Move, Tommy!” growled Wilbur. “For once fucking listen to me!”

Tommy shook his head, blonde hair whipping against his face. He lapped at his chapped lips, aware of Technoblade’s heaving and large body right behind him, ready to pounce again at any second. Wilbur took a few staggering steps forward, and without thinking Tommy raced towards the man.

Just as his fingers stretched out, arms open wide as he raced towards the man he resided with and found comfort in for months on end; the man he thought of as a big brother. Tommy held no ill intentions as he kept his face open and wide with pleading emotion, simply intending to wrap his arms around Wilbur in a last ditch effort to bring the male back down to earth. He yearned for the touch of his brother figure and was desperate to calm him down.

Wilbur let out a cry, startled by the movement and his finger flickered against the trigger and-

BANG!

Something fluttered inside Tommy’s chest as he fell against Wilbur; everything spun around him and the flames surrounding the group swirled into the sky like tie-dye. His body shivered and trembled as something dropped to the ground. A shrill ringing filled his ears as the whole world seemed to darken at the edges, and he felt so, so cold. It was freezing and Tommy shivered violently in Wilbur’s arms.

Tommy looked up at Wilbur’s face. He was screaming something. What was he saying? Tommy’s eyes fluttered, body twitching as he tried to figure out what Wilbur was saying. He’s cold.

“Wilbur, I’m cold,” Tommy whispered.

Tommy’s fingers trembled; he was tired. Oh, he was tired. Perhaps he could take a small nap? Wilbur’s arms were wrapped around him - oh my, where is he? Where is he? Wilbur’s here, Wilbur’s here! Sleep pulled at him, darkness edging around his vision. Somebody was saying something to him - didn’t they know he was trying to rest?

He’s cold. He is going to take a nap.

“Sam?”

Chapter Text

Birds chirping. Water bubbling over smooth rocks in a creek. Hair ruffling in the wind. Fingers gently flew across strings of a guitar, a soft and melancholy filled memory ringing like the chime of a bell in the warm, summer air. The smell of wildflowers and grass carried in the breeze, wafting into Wilbur’s nostrils from his spot on the bright green knoll. A light hum escaped chapped lips, harmonious with the bittersweet notes in the otherwise silent ambience.

Back flush against the soft bark of an oak tree older than time, Wilbur tilted his head, eyes squinting at the sun that would set in only a few hours; yellow, warm, and inviting, Wilbur gladly basked in the warmth, blooming throughout his body and enveloping him in a tight hug. Wilbur thumbed at the e-string absent mindedly. Grassy knolls stretched as far as the eye could see, the oak tree Wilbur sat beneath the only other form of life for miles on end besides soft, light green grass.

His fingers didn’t move as cleanly and fluidly as they once did across the guitar; once, he could play for hours on end and didn’t feel even a twinge of pain throughout his hands - now his hands and fingers ached, burns and scars encompassing his digits with every movement. Wilbur allowed a small sigh to escape, movements stilling as the wooden instrument laid in his lap like a comforting stuffed animal.

The breeze stilled, and a melodic chirp sweetly diverted Wilbur’s attention from the sussurating grass and the shining sunrays. Wilbur flickered his amber eye to the attention, paying no mind to the muscle of his former eye that twitched beneath a layer of cloth, a small blue jay perched upon a low hanging branch of the oak tree.

Its small, beady eye stared at Wilbur and Wilbur stared right back, lips parting ever-so-slightly. The bird tilted its head and Wilbur followed; it chirped once more and as childish as it was, Wilbur chirped right back at it. As if the bird was saying something to him, it continued on chirping away and Wilbur simply chirped right back at it - a conversation fell between the two, and Wilbur absentmindedly worried if he was insulting the bird and he had fell into an argument.

Blue feathers, as blue as the sky itself and a familiar blond’s eyes, ruffled and fluffed up at Wilbur and Wilbur forced back a small bout of laughter at the small animal. Then, almost as if it was smiling at Wilbur, its eyes screwed together as they shone brightly and its beak opened and let out a sound akin to cackling.

Wilbur smiled back.

Abruptly, the bird let out a shrill call that brought Wilbur back down to reality as the birds swings sprung out and propelled itself from the branch. Wilbur bid adieu sadly, lips pulling downward into a frown as the bird flew away as if it was startled. The grass whispered and groaned beneath heavy steps and Wilbur craned his neck as his attention was diverted once more. His gaze fell onto a pair of shiny brown boots, to jeans stained with grass from days of rolling around playfully, to messy blonde hair and a bright, wide smile that only enlarged Wilbur’s own grin. The boy was a few feet away, not entirely close enough for Wilbur to catch what his rapidly moving mouth communicated.

Hand placed flatly against his head to protect his eyes from the sun, Wilbur stared up at the boy that challenged the sun in front of him, blue eyes shining brilliantly and hair riffling in the wind like fields of golden wheat on a farm field, feeling as if he was about to be blinded. Wilbur’s cheeks ached from the grin as he used his free hand - after meticulously balancing his guitar against his chest - to wave.

The boy waved back before beckoning him. Wilbur looked over at the pink-haired man at the bottom of the hill, thumbing through a book in his hands without a single care in the world, a new pair of shiny spectacles placed meticulously on the bridge of his nose. Wilbur’s heart soared, broadening the smile and the giddiness that filled his chest with unbridled warmth before he settled to look back at the ray of sunshine a few paces away.

Wilbur stares at his family, his sun, his ray of hope and as his heart swells with joy and pride, he wishes to himself that this moment would never end.

(And Wilbur promises that it won’t.)