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Despite popular belief, Zombies did not hold their arms out with limp hands and groan "brains" mindlessly.
They actually didn't go specifically for the brains— they bit wherever they could, their main purpose to infect, infect, infect.
The government was on the edge of collapsing completely in most countries, but as Techno had said many times, "fuck the government"... or something along those lines.
Wilbur wiped sweat off his eyebrow, his curly hair long overdue for a haircut. "Wil?" Tommy bounced on his heels a bit, his six year old sunshine of a brother, all sweet smiles and hugs, even after the apocalypse started. "What's up, Toms?" He asked and stopped walking, looking at a bush of potentially edible berries.
They looked like… blueberries, maybe. He wasn't sure. "When—" the six year old paused, biting his lip and searching for the right words. Wilbur waited.
Well, if they're not edible, better him than Tommy. He took one off the bush, wiping off some dirt before eating it. They tasted like blueberries, and they'll find out if they're not if he has to use the bathroom more frequently; he took all of the other blueberries off, tossing them in the bag, a bit of blue left on his right hand from where he grabbed them.
"When… when we get home, c'n you sing to me?" When Wilbur turned to face him, he was met with big, pleading blue eyes and a small pout, as Tommy knew Wilbur could never resist the puppy-dog eyes— or as Techno dubbed, the 'raccoon eyes', since Tommy was practically a raccoon.
He melted at the soft, meek voice and smiled softly, "Of course, sunshine." Wilbur didn't realize it'd been that long since he sang saccharine lullabies to the little boy, filled with love and soft snores soon after.
They both missed it, he supposed.
Tommy's eyes brightened, a grin spreading onto his face. "Really?" He asked, hopefulness dripping from his voice. "Really." Wilbur replied, holding his blue-stained hand out to Tommy, the little boy took it without a thought. "We should hurry then, Wil! Ooh! Can you sing the- the Vienna one? With your 'cake'-y coat?" He jumped a bit in excitement, vibrating from impatience.
"'Kha'-ki, Toms. You can give me all the song suggestions in the world when we get home, sweetheart." Tommy swung their arms a bit as they walked, after a while he broke the comforting silence. "Where're we going, Wil?" He asked, already impatient and ready to go home, listen to his brother's singing, and probably fall asleep on Wilbur's lap before he could eat the cookies Phil was going to bake— the cookie mix was found on the side of a road, mostly unharmed, save for a few dents on the box, and clean for the most part.
"Niki's. She needs a few apples, she's running low on food but she doesn't have time to get any, with Michael and all." Wilbur replied, a few slightly bruised red apples freshly picked lay in his plastic Walmart bag.
Tommy was silent, but he didn't question it, continuing to walk with his little brother, crouching to pick a few blackberries that majorly stained his hand and sleeves. "Fu— fudge!" Wilbur huffed, a bit surprised to be met with more silence, Tommy usually straight up corrected him, saying "fuck".
That got Wilbur in trouble the first few times Phil heard it.
He quickly put the blackberries in his bag, and when he looked at Tommy, he was met with a heartbreaking frown. "...I miss Ancle Ranboo." Wilbur felt his heart squeeze unpleasantly, a frown making its way on his own face.
"Me too, Toms." He rubbed Tommy's arm comfortingly, despite the berry stains on his hand. "...When will it end, Wilby?" He sniffled, tears building up in his eyes. "Oh, darling…" Wilbur felt his own tears start building up. "I don't know, honey. I don't know… but we have each other. And Tech, and Dad," he tried reassuring, and Tommy gave a small, wobbly smile. "I love you, Wil." He hugged Wilbur's leg, and the brunet swears his heart just shattered.
"I love you too, sunray. I love you so, so much." Wilbur sniffed, a tear running down his cheek as he placed the bag on the ground and hugged his baby brother.
"Wilbur! Tommy!" Niki smiled, bouncing Michael on her hip. "Niki!" Wilbur grinned, cooing at Michael. "Get here safe?" She asked, walking in a bit so they could enter the bakery/home. "Yeah! But Wilbur ate a few weird berry an' he had to take a lot of bathroom breaks," Tommy snickered.
"Tommy, you said you'd keep that a secret!" Wilbur gave a faux offended look at his little brother while they walked in, closing the front door. "Well, maybe you should stop eating weird berries! Niki, c'n you believe this guy? He's definitely not poggers, is he?" He gave as much of an evil look a little kid could— and he could.
"Definitely. You're the biggest man out there, Wilbur's so not cool," she barely refrained a smile, sitting down with Michael, handing him a fidget cube to play with and wiping a bit of drool off his chin and the corner of his mouth. "Little Michael agrees," she cooed to the three year old, bouncing him in her lap a little bit.
Michael fussed minimally, entranced by the cube— and, oh, that was a nice sound, he should do that again.
"They're a bit bruised, is that alright?" Wilbur showed her the apples, some bright red, some a bit more dull. "Oh, they're perfect! Thank you, Wil. It means a lot!" She smiled, he sat the apples on the coffee table. "It's nothing, Niki. You can always come to us if you need anything, you know."
Tommy got bored, the adults talking about boring stuff, tugging on Wilbur's pant leg, being met with "just a moment, Toms." The kid huffed, rocking on his heels. Hey, Niki had a sunflower field… maybe he could play there! He smiled triumphantly, walking out of the house unnoticed, skipping down the path to the pretty flowers. Ooh, maybe he'll find a butterfly! He was already picking out names for the potential butterflies, quite liking 'Clementine' and 'Clara'.
"Say, would you be interested in making apple pie? How does that sound, Tommy—" Niki looked around the room, not seeing the child anywhere. "Where's Tommy?" She asked, a bit of panic on her face, and Wilbur had a similar one. "He might be in the bathroom, let me—" He went over to the bathroom, only to find the door open, lights off, and no Tommy.
"Fuck, okay, he might be still in the house. Maybe he fell asleep somewhere." She got up, putting Michael in his playpen, before looking over to the front door, and—
It was open.
"Wil— Wil, Tommy left. The door— the door's open, Wil!" Niki panicked, and Wilbur was pacing, running out the door at her words. "Where would he have gone, Wil?!" She asked after looking around outside and finding no Tommy in sight.
"Uh…" The man panicked, racking his brain of places the little boy would have gone, biting his nails in panic and thought. "The— the fuckin', uh, sunflowers!" He was already running down the path before he finished his sentence.
Niki could hear Wilbur shout "stay with Michael!"
Tommy was lost… he swore he was following the path, but he saw a really pretty butterfly, and he just had to follow it! He didn't want it to feel lonely… but now it flew off and he was in the middle of the woods, alone and scared.
He really, really didn't mean to get lost. Oh, Wil was going to be so upset! He was just so, so bored!
A few tears managed to form on the six year old's face, his bottom lip quivering. "Wi… Wilby…" Tommy sniffled, tears running down his face. "Techie…? Papa?"
He was alone.
Or, he thought so.
Wilbur heard a bawling scream from a little ways away, in the woods. It was Tommy. He sprinted, tree branches cutting his face and leaves sticking to his hair, "Tommy!" "W— Wilby! Help!" The child in distress cried out, sounding desperate, and not just because he was lost.
He tore a branch out of his way, he saw Tommy, and—
"I'm… I'm sorry!" An undead cried; that was the thing about Zombies. They were aware, unable to stop themselves, but aware. Wilbur imagined it was torture, having to kill or infect innocent humans— even kids. Like Tommy.
"Tommy, fuck, hold on!" The brunet ran, desperate to get to his little brother before the undead woman did. He should've brought a weapon, damn it! Wilbur snagged a branch, breaking it in half, going to stab the Zombie through the throat, Tommy's cries for help loud and heartbreaking—
He almost saved him.
Almost.
He wasn't enough, he didn't do enough, he could've saved him, Tommy deserved so much better—
His brother was dead.
Wilbur cried days later, mourning the loss of his six year old brother.
He was supposed to turn seven in six days.
"I'm sorry, Toms." He wept in the sunflower field, Tommy's favorite place to be.
The sunset was beautiful, and he knew Tommy was why. "I could've done more."
Wilbur didn't realize he sobbed until he fell asleep until he was awoken by his father, a hand in his brown curls, comforting.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself, mate." Phil whispered, looking at the moon which glowed in the night, shining in their eyes.
"And how do I stop?" Wilbur asked, "How do I stop when it was my fault, Dad?"
On the dawn of Tommy's what should have been 7th birthday, he sat in the flower field with his guitar, practice strumming a few times.
"The cute bomber jacket you've had sixth form adorned with patches of places you've been, is nothing on my khaki coat I got from the roadside," Wilbur sighed shakily, "when I was sixteen."
It was a bright, sunny day with pure white clouds. Tommy would've loved it.
Wilbur can't change the past. Now, he needs to heal.