Chapter Text
"You're going to get bit," Wilbur's voice rings across the clearing, and Tommy really can't help but grin at how tired and annoyed he sounds. "Tommy, you are going to get bit, and I am not going to kill you. I'm just going to let you roam around, you fucking prick. Stop poking it. Stop poking it." Tommy snorts, crouched down in front of a zombie with no legs and no arms, one that can't hurt him at all, judging by how its jaw is entirely ripped off. Tommy raises his stick a little more, poking the zombie in the face again, listening as it complains about that. Tommy smiles.
"I'm an Irwin, Will," he laughs, turning to face his brother. "It's what I do! I have to do this, it's for the views!" He motions to the camera, grinning a little more as he sees Techno and Phil shake their heads at him from their van. "Come on, you know that we wouldn't pull in regulars if it weren't for me," Tommy puffs out his chest, standing up as he stabs the stick into the ground. He's careful to not accidentally touch where the stick touched the zombie, because even though that can't turn someone into a zombie, it's still for safety, something that Tommy is serious about, just not when he knows that he doesn't need to be. "So, as you can see," Tommy stands in front of the camera, motioning back to the zombie on the ground. "When they've got no arms and legs, and no jaw, they're completely fucking useless. I wouldn't suggest poking it unless you plan on getting yourself killed, though," Tommy shrugs. "'Cause if you listen to this, you're probably a Newsie, and Newsies are pretty bad at poking things that aren't government officials."
Wilbur glares at him from behind the camera, and Tommy grins a little more, resisting the urge to bounce on his heels. He knows that look - the one that means Wilbur is fed up with his bullshit already. It's only eight in the morning, and Tommy thinks that that's a record if he's ever seen one. Tommy looks over his shoulder, frowning a little a second later when he sees multiple zombies starting to approach them. "Fuck," Wilbur says, and Tommy agrees with that statement entirely. "It probably cried out for help," Wilbur grabs him by the arm, dragging him towards the van. Tommy follows without hesitation, because even as an Irwin, he's not stupid. He knows better than to protest when a fucking hoard is about to murder them all, he knows better than to want to do stupid shit when his life is at genuine risk. Tommy moves to the van, watching as Phil and Techno are already clambering into said van, Phil in the driver's seat as usual. Tommy gasps when he sees a zombie far too close to his face, swerving out of the way as fast he possibly can. "Tommy!"
"I'm fine!" Tommy answers immediately, knowing better than to make anyone wait for his response. "I'm good, I'm good," he pulls out his gun, clicking off the safety, and firing one shot to the zombie's head. He looks up at the hoard that had been slowly approaching them. Had been. They're getting too close, way too close, and Tommy isn't entirely sure if they'll be able to outrun them. "We need to go, now," Tommy says, hopping into the van, slamming his door shut. Wilbur does the same, standing up once the sunroof is open. "Will, there's not much to film here other than our fucking demise."
Wilbur scoffs. "Yeah, whatever. As you can see, zombies have started to flood out of literally no where. There's a good chance that the zombie Tommy was poking cried out for help, which zombies respond to. Whenever one of their own is in danger or hurting, they've got a sort of sense of where that zombie is, and then they end up going to it to try and help fight off whatever's hurting it. In this case, Tommy. If you ever see a lone zombie around, always, and I mean fucking always, assume that there are more somewhere around nearby. If you don't, there's a good chance that you won't make it out of the situation alive. If you aren't a trained professional, which I hate to admit it, but Tommy is, don't do this shit. You will die, and then you'll either become food, or you'll become another zombie that the rest of us are going to have to take care of. Anyways," Wilbur sighs, moving to sit back down, "we should be good."
Tommy smiles, leaning back in his seat as he feels his heart pound in his chest, nervousness buzzing at his limbs. He bounces his leg, not all that sure how to get himself to stop. He's not scared, he just had a close brush with death, but he's not scared. He's annoyed, mostly. It wouldn't be good content if their video went from him poking a zombie to him being a zombie, and Wilbur probably would stop filming anyways and start crying. Tommy would make fun of him for that, he'd make fun of him for crying and he'd definitely laugh at him before he died, just one last fuck you to his annoying older brother. "I feel like this is one of those situations where I'm going to get lectured for not being safe enough, and I was being safe enough, so fuck all of you. I was perfectly safe and fine, that wasn't my fault."
Phil snorts. "The hoard was your fault, though." Tommy rolls his eyes, scowling a little.
"That was the zombie's fault," Tommy says, narrowing his eyes as he leans back in his seat, crossing his arms against his chest. "That wasn't on me, that was the zombie's fault. You can't just blame me for everything that goes wrong, big man. That's kind of shitty of you," he teases, though there's a semblance of truth in his words. He's the Irwin of the family - he's always, jokingly, he hopes, blamed for whenever something goes wrong. It's not terrible, but he'd prefer if it didn't happen nearly as often as it did. "You guys got some good content, right? It wasn't just me poking a fucking zombie with a stick for twenty minutes, was it? If it was, then I mean, so be it," he shrugs. "I am the star of the show after all. No one would watch without me."
"Sure," Techno smiles a little. Tommy can't see his face, but he doesn't need to to know that his older brother is smiling. It's obvious in his voice, it always is. "I'm sure that our audience is primarily Irwins, and not Newsies who watch for Wilbur's journalism. Or mine, or Phil's. Whatever you say, Tommy. I'm sure that you're entirely correct about this and that there isn't any bias in your constant insistin' that you're the one runnin' the show."
Tommy sighs. "You know, you're a bitch. You are a bitch. Just a bitch! That's all you are, you're a bitch, fuck you. You're my least favourite brother. I'm going to feed you to the zombies," he informs his brother, glancing over at Wilbur for a few seconds, watching as his older brother slides his glasses back up, sighing. "We need to get you better glasses," Tommy decides. "Like, the ones that are medically prescribed to help you. Not the cheap fucking sunglasses from some shitty little store." Wilbur snorts, nodding his agreement silently, rubbing his temples with his forefingers. Wilbur has incredibly light-sensitive eyes, and it's because of Kellis-Amberlee, which is constantly around for all of them, but it's particularly worse for Wilbur, and it fucking sucks. His older brother suffers through migraines every single day of his life, and it really fucking sucks.
"Agreed," Techno murmurs. "How's the headache, Wilbur? Worse than usual?" Wilbur just shrugs, and Tommy watches as Techno nods. "Okay. We'll figure out how to get you some better glasses. I don't want you to constantly be complainin' after that though, okay?" He teases, and Wilbur just snorts quietly, clearly in pain, clearly exhausted. Tommy sighs, figuring that it's going to take them at least five hours to get back home. "You should let me have the footage, I'll edit it just like you normally do. Okay, Wilbur?"
"I don't even think you know how to edit," Wilbur laughs, softly. "Nah, I'll be fine. It's not that big of a dea-" Tommy leans to his side, resting his head on Wilbur's shoulder. "Tommy. What the fuck are you doing."
"Taking a nap," Tommy announces. "I'm tired, so I'm going to take a nap," Tommy knows what he has to do to get Wilbur to shut the fuck up and take a goddamn break for once in his life, and if it involves taking a nap, so be it. He can make that sacrifice. He shifts a little, crossing his arms against his chest as he closes his eyes, listening to Wilbur heave a sigh. "Don't sigh at me, bitch. I'm trying to sleep here, you fucking prick. I can't believe you've got no respect for someone who's trying to sleep. You're just a bitch, Wilbur, you know that? You're a bitch and I hate you." Wilbur laughs, that stupid, high-pitched giggle that he does, and Tommy smiles a little. It seems like his brother is finally a little happier than he had been.
"Okay, Tommy," Wilbur laughs, ducking his head a little. "Whatever you say," Wilbur sighs, but he drops his head, resting it on top of Tommy's. Tommy smiles a little, closing his eyes as he comfortably sits there, already feeling exhausted. Things could have gone a lot worse today, he could have died, but he didn't, and that's all that matters. He can't think about almost dying too much when he's still actually alive - that does nothing but drive a person insane, and Tommy doesn't plan on going insane any time soon, not if he can help it. "Goodnight, Tommy."
"G'night, Will," Tommy murmurs. "Sleep well, don't spontaneously turn."
"No promises."
Tommy grins, breathing out quietly. Things really could have gone a lot worse today.
1/2/2023
January fucking sucks. I'm tired of the snow, and I'm tired of constantly being cold. It doesn't help that I'm the star of the show so I have to go out, but whatever. Recently, we've been tasked with reporting on a Presidential Campaign, which I'm actually not all that excited for. Don't get me wrong, I love politics, but I much prefer to poke things with sticks and have near death experiences every day of my life rather than interview the potential President, but that's just me. I'm sure some other Irwins out there can agree with me on that one, right? I nearly died today, which was eventful but unsurprising, and the little adrenaline rush I got from that has worn off, but I'm required to write these posts, so I've just got to power through it seems. Whatever. Anyways.
Wilbur will be posting that video of me nearly fucking dying pretty soon, but it's got a very interesting lesson in it, talking about zombies and how they interact with each other. They're clever bastards, they're smart most of the time. I don't see how they manage to have kept the basis of their intellect, but whatever, not really like we can do anything about that. I think that's all I have to say for today, I'm getting really tired writing this and I think I'm actually going to go and pass out now, I had way too long of a day. I feel like almost dying takes a lot out of a person, so maybe that's it. Go and watch Will's podcast, I'm in there and I almost die, it's kind of funny.
Until next time.
- TommyInnit, The BM Journal