Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everything hurt. Was he safe? He had to be, right? If he was, why was he in so much pain? His arm and lungs were aflame, burning bright with exertion. Ranboo slumped against the wall as the cool metal seeped into the thin cotton of his shirt. The sensation jolted up his spine. He hissed quietly. 

Coming to whatever was left of his frayed senses, Ranboo realized he wasn’t at camp, nor in the scrawling city infested by the undead. Instead, he found himself surrounded by metal walls as the underwhelming stench of gunpowder and smoke assaulted his nose. His hand felt around the cold ground, finding a small stick.

The walls of the bunker he had found himself were coppery in color and the floor was covered in a flakey, similarly colored substance. He tried to not think about what it was. His vision was blurred, but as he felt along the wall he was leaning against, he felt scratches of something. Maybe a rabid animal? 

His legs shook as he slowly stood, head swaying and vision moving in and out of focus. The scratches on the walls wrapped around the small room he was in, and Ranboo could make out that they were letters faintly in the dim light, although he couldn’t read what they said. He dropped the stick he had been holding (which was a burnt-out match) to steady himself with the walls. More scratches. 

Why was he here, again? Had he been thrown here by a bomb, or had he crawled in here to escape the groans outside that were ever-present? His arm began to ache as he pondered the question, most likely from holding him up, but the low throb seemed to penetrate his bone. 

Before he had the time or the emotional stability to ponder on what that meant, his eyes flitted over to a bag overturned, with its contents strewn all over the metal floor. Papers were strewn about, with notes on medical procedures Ranboo remembered nothing about, admittedly. He recognized some of the words, but not enough to know what exactly he was reading. It didn’t exactly help the fact that the top parts of each page were bitten and chewed through, preventing him from reading who the subject was or what the procedure had been. He did manage to catch the name of one of the doctors that were working on these records, though.

Dr. Clay Wastakken. 

Vague images flashed through his mind of a neon green lab coat and sandy-blonde hair. memories of smiley face bandaids and emerald eyes, darkened and jaded by something beyond Ranboo’s memory. 

His hand twitched, becoming almost claw-like for a moment, reaching out to grab something that wasn’t there, and then Ranboo noticed the book.

A small, leather-bound notebook, with a knife-cut title on the front. “DO NOT READ,” it read, held tightly together by a leather string.

Against better judgment, Ranboo opened it.

It told little stories of someone who was watching something terrible happen (whatever it was had been scratched out or eaten half-heartedly) and ran, ran, ran until he could no more. He had found solace and temporary shelter in a facility, and was greeted by a team of doctors; biochemists, and anthropologists who were studying the zombie virus. 

That much Ranboo recognized. This was his book, his diary, his journal, documenting what he had gone through since the start of the apocalypse, 3 years ago now, was it?

And yet, as he read, he neither recognized nor remembered any of what was written in the book after that, not the writings of the close bond some of the doctors seemed to share with some of the people in the shelter nearby, nor the stories they had told him about their own lives before.

Ranboo half-heartedly continued reading, viewing the writer not as himself, but as someone else, someone far cooler than himself, who was decidedly not sitting in an old metal box, hiding from zombies outside. But eventually, as all stories and journals must, this person’s tale came to an end, although it was certainly not the one he would’ve wanted.

The end of the book was torn out, with only one word remaining at the bottom of the page. 

Run.

Ranboo’s breath stuttered, suddenly finding it very difficult to breathe at that moment. His hands shook as he stood once more, this time without the support of his upper body. He filled the small satchel with as much as he could, leaving most of the papers on the ground. He grabbed some of the food and water bottles, stuffing them into the bottom, then a  few stray bullets, one paper that seemed incredibly important (the one with Dr. Wastakken’s name on it), and then the journal on top. 

He hesitated before taking the journal back out and flipping to an untorn and unused page. He picked up the stick off the ground again, this time noticing the small trail of smoke, and carefully wrote with the ashes.

‘I woke up in a metal box. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I can’t remember the last few months if what is in this book is to be trusted.

My arm hurts.’

A clang resonated from atop the bunker, startling the boy. Ranboo shoved the journal back into the satchel before scrambling towards the corner. There were no doors, no openings, no side rooms he could hide in. Amid the panic, he threw himself behind a large crate smelling sharply of gunpowder. 

With bated breath, he heard the hatch open. 

“I still don’t get why we have to come down here.” The accent was unfamiliar to Ranboo. He placed it as something foreign, maybe European, yet completely different from what he knew. 

A second voice rang out, a higher pitch than the first but still laced with the European accent. “It hasn’t been cleared out of his stuff. Who knows, we might find something cool.”

If “something cool” was a lanky 17? year-old with memory problems, then the voice was absolutely correct. 

Ranboo squinted at the light from the open hatch. It bathed the metal walls in dull sunlight. His eyes struggled to adjust. 

His bag was clutched tightly at his chest, protecting the very few items he had from whoever was coming in. 

Two teenagers lowered themselves down a ladder Ranboo hadn’t noticed before. The first one was tall and lanky, not as much as he was, but close. They had short blonde hair, a choppy cut, uneven in the back. It wasn’t unlikely that they had done it themself, since barbers didn’t often survive the apocalypse. They wore a tattered red and white t-shirt and had a wooden baseball bat strapped to their back.

The other one had darker brown hair, a faded blonde at the tips like it was bleached a long time ago. It was cut mostly short at the bottoms but kept long at the top, so it seemed mostly longer than it was. Whoever had done this was a lot better at cutting hair than whoever had done the first person’s. The hair could be described as a curly mess at worst and fluffy at best, as it fell all over the person’s head, into their eyes, and over their ears. Ranboo wondered for a moment if they could even see. They also wore a green polo shirt, worn and faded, not unlike how the first person’s shirt was as well. When they reached the bottom of the ladder, Ranboo noticed how much shorter the second person was, standing at about the bottom of the taller person’s ears, fluffy hair reaching the other’s eyes.

His gaze flitted to a holster hanging from one of the teen’s belts. They were armed, but he didn’t know just yet if they were dangerous. 

“We could just leave it,” the blond muttered. The brunet smacked him across the shoulder. 

“Wilbur wouldn’t want us to. You know what he said, Tommy.”

“We don’t owe him shit . You saw first hand what he did to everyone, to us. ” The blond, Tommy, snarled. The other, much shorter boy placed a soft hand on his shoulder. “We shouldn’t have to deal with this anymore.”

“I know.”

“It wouldn’t be this bad if he wasn’t a fucking idiot.”

“I know, Tommy.”

If Ranboo had to teach someone one thing, it would be accidentally eavesdropping on a private, and probably traumatic, conversation that was in no way, shape, or form of fun. 

He shifted, legs aching from crouching. The boys flinched, looking way more alert than before. The brunet took his hand from Tommy’s shoulder and reached it down to his belt, where a dull revolver sat on his hip. Ranboo cursed under his breath. 

“Who’s there?” 

“We’ll break your legs, bitch!”

Yet again in panic mode, Ranboo bolted up. Cold metal pressed against his forehead. 

“Who the hell are you?” The brunet asked, voice seething in hatred. 

“Actually, I-  I, don’t- I don’t, I don’t know, honestly. I was just, um, clean- cleaning up! my job is, job is done, done here so I’ll, so I’ll just be on my way,” Ranboo clutched his bag as he rambled nervously. 

The barrel shoved harder against his head. “Don’t fucking move.” the blond chimed in with a loud ‘yeah you fuck!’. 

Ranboo froze, looking cross-eyed at the gun. What could he do now? He had a bullet aimed at his brain, and Lord knows that he can’t run fast enough to get away before they shoot him. They were going to shoot him here and now, no way were they letting him leave alive.

~.~

They let him leave alive. 

Granted, they came with him, tied his hands, put a gun to his head, and were escorting him to what he assumed was going to be their base, but he was still alive, and honestly? That was all he was worried about at the moment.

It wasn’t like he remembered what else he could worry about, anyway. As nice as those doctors seemed when he read his entries, he didn’t have the emotions to care about them, since, you know, he didn’t remember anything about them.

“You got a name?” The brunet, Tubbo, asked. 

Ranboo hesitated for a moment, debating. It probably wasn’t smart giving out his name, but he’d rather them call him by it than some shitty nickname, like lanky boy or memory boy.

“Ranboo,” He finally decided, wiggling his fingers a bit to relieve some of the pain that shot through his arms. He had to duck down to get through the doorway to the outside, but when he did, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the land was getting better, or at least better than it was the few months he had missing in his memory.

Small blades of grass peaked out through the cracks in the sidewalks, and vines were beginning to grow on the abandoned buildings, covering the graffiti and the blood smears. flowers were sprouting, only unrecognizable buds of flowers he didn’t know what they were. 

Because of the virus, people weren’t polluting the world any longer, because even the zombies knew that pollution meant humans. 

Because of the virus, the world was healing, and it was beautiful. 

Eventually, they all walked up to another building that was very obviously the main base.

It looked like the building could have been a high-tech school before the outbreak, or maybe a small hospital. People were walking on the roof with guns, not hidden in any way. 

Not that they needed to be since zombies didn’t usually rely on sight, choosing to use their hearing and smell more, unless their target was right in front of them at eye level.

Tubbo and Tommy pushed Ranboo to the front of them, moving towards the gate.

“Code Sirius and Procyon, we’re returning to base with a prisoner,” Tommy said, pushing a button on one of the fence posts. There was a quiet clicking sound before the gate opened just a crack. 

Tommy and Tubbo moved forward, pulling and pushing Ranboo with them respectively. They dragged him through a maze of hallways, in and out of elevators, and in and out of rooms until they got to an empty one with a table and a chair.

They pushed Ranboo over to it, and Ranboo took the initiative and sat down in the chair. Then Tommy pulled out a small knife (where had he gotten it?) and put it to his neck.

“So, Ran boob ,” Tommy said with an unsaid threat underneath his voice, “wanna tell us what you were doing in the storage room?”

“Uh, my name’s actually—”

“Don’t care! Why were you in there?” The knife pressed a little harder on Ranboo’s throat.

“I don’t know!” 

“Bullshit!” Tommy yelled. “You had documents in your fucking bag!”

“I swear, I don’t know!” Tubbo had commandeered the canvas bag when they had held him at gunpoint the first time, and now was spilling the contents on the metal table beside them. 

Their eyes moved over the food, greedily grabbing it. Then Tommy picked up the lone paper that fell out. 

“Dr. Clay Wastakken? I think I’ve heard of that guy. Wasn’t he working on, like, engineering the human body to become faster through chemicals and shit before the outbreak? My parents mentioned him once or twice. They didn’t like his methods very much,” Tommy said, scanning the text of the document.

Tubbo, instead, picked up the notebook, quickly flipping through it. “Is this yours?” He asked Ranboo.

“I— yeah?”

The brunet flipped through the pages with more thought than before. He stopped, opening the book wider. 

“…Who wrote this?” He asked, looking at Ranboo, who flinched and averted his gaze. ”The handwriting is different here.”

“What?” He tried to reach out, swinging his arms over his head before he winced and pulled his inflamed arm back to his chest, still looking at the book with wide eyes. Tubbo squinted at Ranboo’s arm, but looked back at the book again, flipping through it once more.

And then he stopped.

“When did you write this, Ranboo? The— the last entry?” Tubbo’s voice was steady, but he showed the page to Tommy, worry swimming in his eyes.

“Um, it's Ranboo, and this— morning? Actually a few hours ago?” Tommy’s eyes shot over to Ranboo, who was carefully rubbing his arm.

“Ranboo. Do you not remember anything before this?” Tommy’s voice cracked a bit, and his eyes were like a blue star. Hot and burning, but seeming cold to anyone who wasn’t right up close.

“Actually, I,” he hesitated. “I really don’t.” Ranboo rubbed his arm, hissing at the sharp ache in the upper portion. Tubbo’s eyes softened. 

“What’s the last thing you remember? Anything before Wilbur’s vault?” Ranboo squeezed his eyes shut, racking his brain like a librarian and the world’s worst archive. 

“Um, there was a dude. He liked green and was nice, I think. He, uh-“ His sentence was cut off from the excruciating pain emanating from his arm. He screamed, hand tightening on his arm, moving up closer to his shoulder, where he thought the source of his pain emanated. The two boys jumped up, racing to his side. Ranboo took his hand off where he had gripped it, palm covered in blood. 

“Shit! Tubbo, go get Niki!” Tommy ripped the bloody sleeve of Ranboo’s jacket, revealing a stained white t-shirt and a horrific-looking gash in his shoulder. 

The first thing that caught his eye was the sickly green veins spreading down from the horrid tear in his flesh. His skin was hot to the touch and swollen. A row of jagged indents marred the shoulder consumed his entire focus. 

In his vague haze, Ranboo could hear yelling and rushed footsteps. He felt people grab onto him, forcing him to stumble away from where he had been seated. Yet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bite. 

When?

How had he gotten bit? He’d been so careful, from what he could remember. He wore thick clothing and avoided the groans. He knew the zombies were slower than him (he knew the hard way) and he could outrun them when his adrenaline was pumping, so how had they caught up?

It couldn’t have been real, the green and purple tell-tale signs of the sickness in his veins had to be a hallucination on his part, the bite from a dog. He couldn’t have gotten bit, there was no way! 

But he was.

He was bitten by a zombie, and he was dying. He didn’t know how slowly, or if the rates would fluctuate, or if the changes would’ve already started.

Why oh why couldn’t he remember how he’d gotten it?

The mantra of ‘there’s no way, that’s not a zombie bite, you can outrun them’ coursed through his mind on loop, pounding in his head like heartbeats. 

But, even as he was pushed over onto a medical stretcher and a bag placed over his head, it was still there.

He had been bit, and even though in his mind there couldn’t have been any possible way, the bite remained.

He was dying, and he didn’t know how long he had until his time would run out.

Chapter Text

The itchy cotton of the hospital cot was almost too much as it rubbed against Ranboo’s skin. He had been bit. As much as he wanted to believe it may have been an animal, a small part in the back of his brain knew. It wasn’t a raccoon nor a coyote, nor any other type of animal. Ranboo hasn’t seen them since the beginning of the outbreak. He stared at a small stain in the cream walls of wherever he was, trying to distract himself from the IV that dug deep in his forearm. 

The slow, incessant beep from the heart monitor rang loudly in his ears. Ranboo’s eyebrows furrowed. This whole situation sucked . And, of course, it had to be him.

Murphy’s Law. What can go wrong, will go wrong. And this was probably the worst thing that could have happened. He was angry, and rightfully so. 

The quiet knock on the door to his room, smothered the flames of his anger ever so slightly as Tubbo and Tommy made their way in. 

“How’re you feeling, dude?” Tubbo’s voice was quiet as he pushed his bangs out of his face. He could feel the pity radiating from the duo. 

“Actually, I feel really good.” He deadpanned. “How do you think I feel? Being bit fucking hurts. ” Tommy and Tubbo flinched a bit at Ranboo’s tone. 

“We’re just trying to be nice, big man,” Tubbo frowned. “No need for the hos-til-ity,” he continued, sounding out the syllables. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, maybe just leave me the hell alone, cause honestly, your ‘niceness’ feels like a load of bull. I basically just got diagnosed with stage four, but there aren’t any doctors around to tell me my date. I’m running on fucking fumes.” He was starting to yell, tears pricking at his eyes. It was going to be over for him in a matter of time. 

The silence threatened to consume him, pulling at his skin and hair. The gazes placed upon him burned as he finally managed to mutter. “Get out.”

“We’re just trying t-“

“GET OUT!” Tommy’s face paled. He grabbed Tubbo’s arm, despite his sudden protest, and dragged the brunet out of the room. 

This new silence was almost worse. 

~.~

It‘s been three days. Three days of antibiotics and IVs digging at his flesh. Three days of uncomfortable silence as the pink-haired nurse tried to make small talk as she pumped steroids into his arm. Three days of forgetting where he was and what had happened. 

Three days of feeling the virus course through his body, killing him slowly but surely, kindly allowing him to feel every cell die and be reborn, as now every single nerve had to be restarted in preparation of being able to rot while he still walked on the brown Earth.

He remembered when it used to be green, years ago. The memories had slowly faded with time, but he remembered his mother and father and how they used to take bi-weekly walks in the woods so he could learn just about every flora and fauna in there.

It didn’t do him much use now when everything was dead and gone, and that forest burnt to the ground to kill the zombies trapped inside.

Zombies retain some bits of their former lives, and if they had a routine their body was used to following, say, a bi-weekly walk, the zombies would follow that.

Ranboo could still smell the faint scent of ashes in the wind.

Memories of brighter days, of peace and freedom, were all that kept Ranboo from snapping at every moment, especially at the kind Doctor who had been taking care of him even though she knew that he was infected.

As the virus continued though, he became restless, desperate to leave the bed, leave the base, even for a moment so he could at least walk around.

“Hey, Ranboo!” Niki smiled at him from behind her glasses. In her hands lay a tray of food, mostly non-perishable rations that came from a can. 

“The last recon team found a few cans of pie filling and I know you’re not supposed to be eating too much until we figure out how it affects you, but this can be our little secret, ok?” He nodded along. To be honest, he barely talked to the doctor, worried he’d snap at her. 

Niki’s grin shrank slightly as Ranboo picked through the food on his tray. “I brought you the pie because I have another little surprise for you!” She always spoke with her hands, he noticed. “We’re doing another check-up, and if it all goes well, you can move around the facility!” 

He perked up at that, dropping his spoonful of baked beans. “Really?” His voice was rough with disuse. She nodded enthusiastically. 

“It’ll be good for you to get out of this room.”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, looking down at the beans again, moving them around with his fork, before putting some of them in his mouth. They tasted old and definitely processed, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and anyone who was around was most certainly a beggar. “Yeah, it will.”

~.~

Steam saturated the small bathroom, fogging up the mirrors and leaving a thin layer of moisture on anything and everything that resided there. Ranboo was grateful for the shower and the spare clothes Niki had given him. 

His checkup went as well as it could have gone. The bite was starting to heal nicely, taking to the sutures well. The infection was still spreading, though. The veins that weaved methodically down his arm had all turned the same sickly shade of green and purple. 

But Ranboo could move around easier, and that’s what mattered. 

Lost in thought, he wiped the steam off the small mirror before stopping. A hand found its way up and tangled itself into strands of white hair. 

Now, Ranboo liked to think of himself as a man of few words. And out of those few words, profanity was rare. But currently, all that he could conjure was a sharp “What the hell?”

A section of the skin on his face had lost most color, and a good 4th of his hair had started to turn a stark white. What was most shocking was his eye. The iris had gone from a soft green to a sedated red, and the whites were tinged pink- from lack of sleep, medication, or the infection, he didn’t know. 

~.~

In all honesty, Ranboo didn’t expect to be let out. But here he was, walking behind Tommy and Tubbo with a bag strapped to his back. It’s been quiet since they left the compound, the only sounds being the shuffling of feet and moans and groans from the zombies.    

He had recently learned Tubbo was in charge of everything when Ranboo was asked to join him on the newest recon mission. The job was simple; find resources, track the zombie horde, don’t get bit. Ranboo had already failed one of the tasks, but he assumed that’s why they let him out. He wasn’t a liability at this point, and if he ended up running out of time while he was out there, Tommy and Tubbo could easily protect themselves.

Even thinking about it made his arm ache, a small ache compared to a week ago. He rubbed it half-heartedly.

“Hey big man, you good?” Tommy was looking at Ranboo with a lot of concern, but Ranboo caught the tiny bit of fear in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just— phantom pains, I guess. That’s the best way to describe it I think. It doesn’t really hurt, but my brain thinks it hurts, so—” He lowered his hand from his arm, grabbing the strap of his bag instead, tugging on that a little. They couldn’t find one for his size, and the straps were a little tight around his shoulders.

Ranboo turned his focus on the horizon, which was filled with the golden light of the sunrise. It seemed like it made all of the living trees seem like they were made of gold, and the remaining dead ones seem like they were coated in a metallic sheen. Birds were chirping as they woke up, and Ranboo heard a single crow call, but when he turned to look, he saw a whole flock. 22 beady eyes stared him down, uncanny in the way that a hunter would stake out his hunt before he killed it. He shivered and looked away from the birds, focusing on the sky.

The time being early morning, Ranboo could still see the stars through the tree cover, however dim they were. The only constellation he could recognize in the sky was Orion, with his three star belt and his archer’s form.

It was beautiful until he tripped over a root and nearly fell on his face. Tommy laughed at him, and Ranboo couldn’t help but crack a smile at his playful banter.  

Tommy had been leading them through the forest, nearing the edge of a city. It had a name once, but it didn’t matter now. The city looked pretty much looted already, with empty storefronts and smashed windows, yet Tommy insisted they might find something. 

“Go look in that Goodwill. We could use some cloth.” Tubbo stated, with little faith that there was anything in there. Still, Ranboo complied.

The thrift store had mostly been looted. Most items and clothes had been collected for scrap. Ranboo had been walking through the empty aisles when he spotted it. Hidden underneath the destroyed countertop was the ugliest Hawaiian shirt Ranboo had ever seen. He had to have it. 

It was a garish orange, covered in coral flowers and bluish leaves. The teen shoved aside the debris, hissing when his fingers grazed a stray piece of glass. He stood up with the shirt in hand and shook it out before shoving it into his pack before continuing to scout out the store. 

It started to become a routine for him. Pull out whatever junk he could find, inspect it, if it was worth anything he would shove it in his bag. If it was useless, he would leave it there. He was busy unlodging a plastic Disney princess wand from the broken toilet paper holder in the men’s bathroom when the loud swears hit him. Ranboo jumped up, running out of the decrepit store.    

They were everywhere. Ranboo had skidded to a stop in front of the McDonald’s, where Tommy and Tubbo had crawled to the top of the play place, kicking at the undead that were reaching for them. The teen gripped the bat Tommy had given him before going out in his fists. 

He couldn’t decide if it was bravery or stupidity as he rushed towards the mob, swinging wildly. The bat had been covered in jagged rows of nails that ripped at decaying flesh. It was almost cathartic, how the bat tore through skin and bone. Rage bubbled deep in his chest with each swing. His arms had started to grow sore, but each hit released something inside him. Most of the horde had been at his mercy, all lay beneath his feet as Ranboo stepped on the bodies disrespectfully. His grin grew, listening to the crunch of bone beneath his boot. 

The horde dwindled quickly, leaving no more targets besides the ones already hit. Their skulls were bashed against the rubber floor again, and again, and again, and again— All he could see was red, of not only the blood but red of his rage. It was these things that took everything from him! His family, his home, and eventually his life—

Someone touched his shoulder.

He flung around, swinging the bat, only barely stopping before it hit Tubbo’s face. Tubbo looked scared, eyes wide and mouth clenched.

“Ranboo?” Ranboo flinched, dropping the bat. It hit the floor and lodged itself there, due to the nails. Ranboo dropped with it, putting his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry— ” He shook as He looked down at the mess of bodies he’d left. His breath flitted barely over his lips, unlike back in the bunker. Why was his mouth moving? Was there anything coming out?

He felt a warmth on his left side and unconsciously leaned toward it, the cold side of his body relishing in the heat rush it gave. An arm wrapped around his shoulders hesitantly, before a second body leaned in on his other side.

“What was that big man? You destroyed those zombies, why didn’t you stop?” The voice on his left said, barely heard over the ringing in Ranboo’s ears. He began to see some white spots in his vision.

Ranboo forced himself to inhale. “I— I— I don’t—” His left hand shook, forming its way into that claw-looking thing again. He clamped his right one around it, forcing it to the ground. He spoke again, voice choking. “I don’t know.”

He inhaled again, forcing himself to blink this time. His mouth was too dry, his skin too tight (his skin?) , his backpack too small, and everything just felt wrong. 

He looked over to his left and saw Tommy, holding him still, but it wasn’t Tommy. Instead, it was this greyed-out version of him, with a large red spot in the middle of his head. His left hand twitched, and he blinked, flinching away. As he got further away from Tommy, the red disappeared until it was fully gone, but the world was still in greyscale. He whipped his head around to where he knew Tubbo was, and it was there too.

The red spot in the middle of his head, where the brain was, surrounded by the colorless flat empty area. Where the brain was. Ranboo pushed them both away, before clamping his left hand to his chest and curling up so his knees touched his face, with his arms trapped between them. 

Ranboo screamed. It was a horrible and rough-sounding scream, blended with a pained groan. He slunk to the floor, sticky with blood as a foul chorus sang back. 

The boys froze, abandoning their spaces to brandish weapons and get to higher ground. Ranboo stayed, though. Hands tangled in bicolor hair as hot tears spilled down pale skin and mixed crudely with blood. The zombies were getting closer, seemingly focused on the infected boy. 

It almost felt like they were trying to comfort him oddly. Cold skin rested carefully across Ranboo’s shoulders, holding him closer to tattered cloth and decaying muscle. He found himself leaning in, strangely comforted in the mass of reanimated corpses.

A small hand, missing a few fingers, placed itself on Ranboo’s thighs to boost itself into his lap. The strong smell of flowers caused the boy to look up. There, playing with his fingers was the smallest boy he had ever seen. They looked up at Ranboo, snorting almost like a piglet, which matched the pink hoodie they were wearing. The little boy’s face was marred by the left eye and filled in with blue and purple flowers. Ocean breeze orchids, a voice spoke. (Images of green and smiley face bandaids arose to the surface of his thoughts.) He stroked the petals gently. The petals branched from his empty eye socket, up to the thin brown hair atop his head. The little boy snorted once again, placing a hand on his tear-streaked cheek. And suddenly, as he blinked, the world seemed to shift back into the reds and the greens and the blues that Ranboo so much adored, just so he could see the orchids in their full glory. They groaned quietly, in this high-pitched groan that only a child’s vocal cords could produce. Ranboo looked at the little one and was reminded that kids this young , maybe even younger, were affected by the zombies as much as they were. 

Ranboo could only continue looking at the child, even as Tommy and Tubbo fought their way through the zombie crowd to get to him.

He didn’t notice. Pulling back the hoodie with gentle hands, a tag with careful lettering in sharpie caught his eye. Michael. Ranboo smiled, pulling the child— Michael— closer to himself, shielding him from any harm, including Tommy and Tubbo, who finally reached Ranboo, leaving a dead horde in their wake. 

“Ranboo?” Tommy’s voice shook Ranboo out of his own head. He managed to look up from the child nestled in his arms at his friends, covered in blood and fear in their eyes. Tommy held his axe carefully, the baseball bat he hand lent Ranboo was strapped to his bag. Tubbo’s finger brushed the trigger of his revolver, the metal slick, and red. 

It was only then he felt the lack of presence from those who had surrounded him before. A part of him missed the comfort they brought, but the other was relieved. 

“I’m-” He hesitated, chest filled with guilt. “I’m sorry… I don’t-” He was cut off as two pairs of hands hoisted him up off the ground.
    Tubbo smiled at him. It was soft, though painted with confusion. “Let’s go home, boss man.”

Chapter Text

    It was Tommy who broke the silence first. “So… What do we do with that?” He gestured to the kid in Ranboo’s arm. 

    “I mean, he doesn’t seem hostile.” Tubbo supplied, patting Michael on the head. The little boy grinned at the affection before going back to playing with Ranboo’s shirt collar. 

Ranboo nodded along, exhaustion flooding his body. Though the boy was content sitting in his arms, he knew he would have to find a way to keep Michael near him in case he wanted to walk. 

Ever since finding Michael, Ranboo had found out that zombies don’t interact with him with hostility. He still couldn’t decide if it was a blessing or a curse. 

The boys were on their way back to the camp, discussing what they would tell everyone, or if Michael was even going to be let in. 

The walk was quiet, but not silent. The trio was drained both physically and emotionally, ready for a nap by the time they had reached the gates of the compound. Ranboo held Michael close to his body, covering his little head in the pink hood. 

“Code- Code Sirius and Procyon, we have Supernova with us,” Tommy said into the little voice box. There was nothing for a moment, before it hissed a bit, coming to life.

“Who is the fourth,” a disembodied voice said, their question seeming more like a statement. Ranboo lifted Michael higher on his hip.

“Uh, he’s a… a kid we found. His name is Michael, and he’s, like, a pacified zombie.” The box was silent once more. 

The gates did not open.

“Shit!” The sound of flesh colliding with metal echoed as Tommy’s hand was bruised. Ranboo glanced at the newly broken speaker before shifting Michael in his arms. 

“Do we still have supplies?” He asked, glancing towards the woods.

~.~

People used to rave about camping, but in all honesty, Tubbo would rather be inside with a real bed and proper kitchen. Beggars can’t be choosers, and Tubbo is laying on the forest floor. The small fire Tommy had been insistent on building bathed everything in a warm glow as Tubbo watched Ranboo tuck Michael neatly into the Hawaiian shirt he had found at the thrift store. Tommy sat next to him, throwing twigs into the fire out of boredom. 

Eventually, the bicolored teen made his way over. If you didn’t look at his legs, Ranboo didn’t seem as tall when sitting, Tubbo noted. 

“We need a game plan. We can’t sleep in the forest forever.” Tommy spoke. 

“We could talk to the camp. Jack’s gotta let us in. If not him, then Sam.”

“Not if we have the kid with us,” Tommy poked at the campfire. “Remember the contract, Tubbo. If others feel you are a danger, they have the choice to not let you in.” 

Ranboo listened carefully, flipping through his worn journal as the other two argued. 

“I- I think I might know a place, actually.” Ranboo held out his journal before Tommy snatched it and held it closed. 

“No. We’re not going there.” 

Tubbo frowned. “It’s the best place we’ve got.” 

A mix between a whine and a groan emanated from Tommy’s throat. “Those bastards are gonna be there and I’d rather not.

“I don’t know who you have beef with but we literally have no other choice, Tommy.”

“Yes, we do.” He hissed.

“You can’t make decisions for the entire group.” Tubbo shot back.

“Yes, I can. I just did.”

Ranboo gritted his teeth. “We’re going and it’s final. It’s 2 against 1.”

“Fuck you, Ranboob!” Tommy screamed back. 

“I’d rather not, actually.”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT, YOU BITCH!”

Tubbo rubbed his temples, the seed of a migraine blooming in the back of his head,  as Tommy spat out insults and Ranboo retorted back. “If you two don’t shut up, we’re gonna get found by the horde!”

The silence that followed was almost deafening. 

Minutes later, Ranboo found himself stoking a small campfire some ways outside what Tommy and Tubbo had said the boundaries of the old camp were. Michael, who didn’t need to sleep, had sat down next to Ranboo, leaning gently on his side. Ranboo looked over at the other two sleeping teens, perched safely in the delicate leaves of a large tree.

The fire crackled.

A star twinkled. 

Ranboo was silent.

The world was silent.

A distant zombie groaned.

~.~

By the time Tommy and Tubbo had woken up, Ranboo was returning to their small, unlit fire with a small bag full of berries, Michael on his shoulders.

“Oh good, you guys are awake. I actually couldn’t sleep last night; I think it has something to do with the bite or maybe how stressed I was, so I decided to scout and forage at like 2 this morning.” He rambled, setting both the bags and Michael on the ground. The toddler waddled over, giving Tubbo an expectant look.

Tubbo climbed down the tree gingerly, careful not to break any branches, while Tommy just leaped down, landing on the ground with barely any sound. Michael snorted happily, grabbing onto Tubbo’s leg.

“What food did you find, Ranboo?” He asked, rubbing one of his eyes groggily. 

Tommy tried to rekindle the fire, poking at it with a small, white stick. Some embers flashed but did not light.

“I found some blueberries and raspberries, but I think they were the last of the season. Most of them were already taken by the local wildlife, and last night got much colder than it should have. I think Autumn is starting to set in, so we need to move fast and find a good place to stop, preferably indoors.” 

‘For how long?’ Ranboo’s brain supplied him quietly. ‘You probably won’t last that long.’  He shook the thought from his head, placing the folded fabric brimming with fruit in front of him as he sat. 

Michael nibbled on the berry Tubbo had handed him. “Hypixel’s quite a ways out. If we want to get there as soon as possible, we have to leave now.” 

Cleanup had been quick, really just folding blankets and storing the berries Ranboo had found. Michael rode atop Tommy’s shoulders as they walked, led by the compasses around his and Tubbo’s necks. 

Ranboo couldn’t help smiling as Tommy lifted his compass off his head for Michael to fiddle with while they walked without complaint, quickly moving to Tubbo’s side so he could still see what direction they were headed. Ranboo ruffled Michael’s hair, or what remained of it anyway, careful not to damage any of the flowers.

South Rainbow Route was empty, aside from the occasional lone car shoved to the side, or multiple, piled up in an accident. Tommy clutched a large paper map in his hands, trying to not look at the gruesome sight, with some bodies still laying inside the overturned cars.

“If we continue this way, we can get onto 180 and follow it most of the way.” 

Michael squirmed in Ranboo’s arms. 

“Hey, little dude. It’s gonna be all ok. Tommy’s just getting us to… a… safer place! Right?” Ranboo loosened his grip a bit, worried he was crushing the zombie, and Micheal took the moment to wiggle himself into a more comfortable position, where he squeezed himself tightly into Ranboo’s chest. 

“Hm? Oh yeah, somewhere… safe.” Tommy’s face drooped, and he checked Tubbo’s compass again. (His own was still around Micheal’s neck. Ranboo doubted he was getting it back.)

They passed more cars, the clumps becoming more and more frequent a sight as they trekked onto what Ranboo assumed had once been an interstate. 

Now, there was only silence, with the small group’s footsteps there to break the stiff tension of the highway. 

As they walked, Ranboo could feel his feet ache, and as he traded who carried Micheal with Tubbo this time, he noticed Tommy pulling out a granola bar, much too crushed and much too small. That couldn’t be all the food he had left, could it? 

They went on that run yesterday morning, where they found Micheal, surely they would’ve had more— oh. Ranboo only remembered gathering cloth. They’d been sent out to gather resources, not just food. 

Tommy and Tubbo hadn’t even left the Goodwill warehouse. They couldn’t have any food, other than what they brought with them on the raids, just in case.

It wasn’t a lot, and it certainly wouldn’t be enough to get them to… wherever they were going. Tubbo mentioned a high pixel? Ranboo hoped there weren’t any drugs. That would be bad for the children in their group.

…Which was all of them. They were all still minors, even though the government had practically been dismantled and there was no technical legal concept of child and adult anymore. 

Ranboo’s thoughts were interrupted by a shout.

“Holy shit!” The blond was huddled up against a black car, covered in dirt and mud. “This is, like, my dream car.” 

Grinning like a kid left unattended in a candy store, Tommy grabbed the handle, even giddier when the car had been left unlocked. He shoved his bag onto the ground before sitting behind the wheel.

“Whatcha got there, Big Man?” Tubbo watched him mess with the dashboard.

“A Smoothie. This thing is old enough for me to hotwire it and it might save us from walking a million fucking miles.”

Ranboo hesitated. “Is that… safe? Like, it could be loud and cause a horde.”

“But we can go faster than them in it.” Tubbo pointed out.

“Only if it works. Besides, we don’t have the keys or… gas eve-” A loud bang cut off the teen as Tommy was crouched under a now dismantled steering column. Ranboo watched in confusion as the car let out a shaky roar. 

“There’s your answer, boss man. Get in!” Tubbo whooped, jumping into the driver’s seat against Tommy’s protests. 

~.~

“Do you ever, like, think about different universes?” Tubbo spoke, breaking the comfortable silence of the car. “Like, what if this was some kid’s fanfic and we were, I dunno, twitch streamers.”

“Tubbo, that is the stupidest shit I have ever heard.”

“No wait, actually, that sounds amazing.”

~.~

It was a miracle that the car-- Clementine, Tommy had dubbed it-- had lasted them that long. The grass turned to gritted sand underneath the questionable pressure of the tires. Ranboo kept his eyes glued out the window, watching the dunes roll through the horizon. 

The sound of waves broke the silence of the car, drowning out the engine. Ranboo felt skin slip into his hand. He jumped, pulling away. 

“What’s the matter, ∷ᔑリʖ𝙹𝙹?” A woman looked down at him, reaching her hand back out to him. Panicking, Ranboo turned to run, almost hitting a tall man. 

“∷ᔑリʖ𝙹𝙹?” 

The waves got louder, filling his ears with the incessant crashing. The man and woman crowded closer, reaching for him. Hey felt familiar, yet Ranboo couldn’t remember. Their faces were gone, skin colored in flat sheets.
    “You can’t remember what they look like?” A deep voice taunted, equally familiar. “Just make something up! Just make something up! Just make something up!” 

His breathing became shallow as he sunk into the sandy floor. Hands wandered to his ears, hoping he could block out the noise. 

“∷ᔑリʖ𝙹𝙹? ∷anʖ𝙹o!”

The teen jolted as a hand placed itself gently on his shoulder. Stormy blue eyes stared down into his heterochromatic ones, filling him with slight dread. 

“Ranboo, get up. We’re here.”

~.~ 

Tommy picked at the skin around his thumb as the others piled out of the car. After a bit of digging, they found a mask and sunglasses for Ranboo and a blanket to wrap around Michael. 

The warehouse loomed over the group, the dark shadow relieving them from the heat of the desert. 

Tommy shoved past the horde of people inside the building, hoping to make it to the vacant area near the bar. 

“Tommy, Slow down!” Tubbo grasped Ranboo’s hand, stumbling toward the other. 

The loudspeaker crackled. The noise dwindled just enough to hear. 

“The battle between Squid and the Blade will begin in 5 minutes in Arena D.”

Chapter Text

Tommy was 13 when the apocalypse started. He was 13 when he was grabbed by his older brother and shoved into the bunker behind the house. 

From what Tommy could remember from sneaking looks at the tv and newspapers, it started with people getting sick. It wasn’t a big deal at first, just mild symptoms like fatigue and headaches, but when the first 100 people were hospitalized, it started to get worse. 

First, your skin starts to turn black, almost like the plague. Then, it starts to fall off. Your muscles get weaker, and your bones break with mild pressure. Bruises and cuts litter your body as it slowly deteriorates. 

Tommy had watched his birth parents become hollow shells of themselves, not because of the zombie thing though. His mother was first to die, then soon after, his father. No extended family would take him so he was shipped off to foster care. 

The first few homes were awful, filled with empty pantries and harsh words. He only lasted a few months and was already labeled a “problem child”. 

Then, he was placed with the Watsons.

 They were the perfect nuclear family. A loving wife and husband with two boys, each well-mannered and high in academic standards. Tommy didn’t think he’d fit in with his loud mouth and c average. Yet, they accepted him anyway and gave him more love than anyone could. But Tommy could feel the tension between Phil and Kristen. 

When the divorce papers were filed, Tommy couldn’t say he was surprised. Phil was always gone for work, taking Techno with him. Most days it was just Kristen, Wilbur, and Tommy. 

Kristen had taken him and Wilbur, while Techno went with Phil like always. 

It wasn’t much different than before. Different rooms and different floors, but Tommy was used to it. Phil and Kristen left on good terms, a mutual agreement. 

At that point, Tommy had been emotionally, practically, and almost legally, adopted by the Crafts, before the National Government crumbled, and then there was no legal system for the Crafts to send the paper to.

But the virus still existed, however far Tommy tried to push it from his mind. Wilbur kept the little group’s spirits high, with his musical and theatrical talents. Tommy heard so many stories that it almost took over his brain.

(Sometimes, late at night, he would wake up and pull out a small notebook, looking through the older ones that he couldn’t quite remember perfectly at this point. He hoped to scavenge a new one before the flowy penmanship of his brother was lost.)

His personal favorite had been one of a boy who built a nation of peace and freedom, only to be exiled by his citizens. Wilbur had called the character Tommy, probably to make the younger him smile. The other Tommy had gone through so much, but even through it all, he’d kept high spirits, and ended up safe with his best friend, who’d gotten rich, and their husband and son.

It gave him a little hope for himself, however little it was. Something to hold onto, from the Before. Before the After.

The After, after he’d had to watch as Wilbur deteriorated, like some twisted movie he’d seen before. 

He’d seen this before—

The After, in which those he trusted were gone, and the only one he had left was fading.

The After, in which, ax in hand, he was forced to kill the remains of what he had considered his brother.

The After, in which he was alone, surrounded by wasteland.

He could only watch in mounting horror as Wilbur quickly succumbed to the virus within a matter of days. The moment of the bite replayed and replayed and replayed and replayed in his head on loop, never letting him forget. 

And the worst part is that it’s entirely possible that it was his fault. It was his fault. He’d been the one to go into that 7/11 initially, not caring to look inside before he opened the door.

He’d been the one to let out the scream that alerted the zombie lady of his presence. 

He’d been the one Wilbur was protecting when he got hit, and then the only one to watch between the Before and the After, because Kristen was gone and that was his fault too—

(He didn’t remember this memory as clearly, admittedly. He remembered Kristen screaming at them to run. He remembered Wilbur holding his arm. He remembered the horde that drove them apart.

He didn’t remember much else.)

But that was the beginning of the after. Then he had to go through the finding, and then the base. These vague event-like names were what he used to categorize different parts of his life past the outbreak because all available methods of keeping time were practically destroyed, and he lived in Nevada . The only way he could generally tell what month it was supposed to be was by how hot and humid it was outside.

But he’d survived, the finding getting him a safe home base which was where he’d found Tubbo, and then now Ranboo. And Micheal, of course.

Tommy hated Ranboo. Not because Ranboo was a stand-up guy and made Tubbo happy, he couldn’t be angry with him about that. 

No, he hated Ranboo because he had lasted longer than Wilbur had. Call it being petty, but Tommy hated that someone he’d never known, and perhaps never would truly know. Ranboo had lasted longer than Wilbur. Why did Ranboo get to last longer than Wilbur? What did the universe have against him? It must have been a lot, seeing his current position. 

Tommy stared at the boy dozing in the backseat. Ranboo had started to drift off, Michael tucked firmly into his side as if the toddler was in danger of being taken. 

“What’s up, Big Man?” Tubbo hummed from the driver’s seat. 

“Nothing, I just,” He huffed in frustration. “I miss Wil…” 

Tubbo’s eyes softened, though they stayed on the road. The car was silent, sans the soft breathing of Ranboo and the tapping of Tubbo’s nails on the wheel. 

After an eternity, Tubbo spoke, “I miss him too, Tommy.” 

The car sputtered to a stop, warehouses surrounding the horizon. The fighting ring popped up a year into the apocalypse, where food and supplies were betted and exchanged.

The warehouse was large and uncomfortable, filled with warm bodies and the smell of sweat. 

Tommy could feel each touch from the mass of bodies, his brain pleading for more space. Hyperaware, he shoved himself past the crowd, aiming for the open corner perched next to the bar. 

His journey was cut off quickly as the loudspeaker crackled over the melded flesh of thousands of voices. 

“The battle between Squid and the Blade will begin in 5 minutes in Arena D.”

Tommy’s face paled at the mention of the name. 

In all honesty, Tommy barely knew Technoblade. He had always gone with Phil on his business trips before running off to some prestigious college out east. 

The first time Tommy had interacted with him for more than 5 minutes was in Pogtopia. He and Wilbur had been kicked out of the camp, having to fend for themselves in the middle of the woods. 

Wilbur had found a contact that could find people at camps and had carried the letter for a hefty price. (The leftover water was filled with sediment, Tommy remembers) 

Techno never really talked, aside from quiet arguments with Wilbur when the twins thought Tommy was asleep. 

When he did speak to Tommy, it was laced with metaphors and mythos. He had taken to calling Tommy Theseus, but when he asked what it meant, Techno would brush him off and hand him a hoe to help soften the dirt on their makeshift farm. 

The arena was almost louder than the main warehouse. People were cheering and screaming, coins were jingling (how was there still an economy? Tommy didn’t know.) from hand to hand, and there was the clanging of steel that came from the pit that Tommy didn’t want to look into. 

‘What happens in the Pit stays in the Pit, Tommy.’

He knew what was happening. He wasn’t lost on that at least. 

The glint of metal caught Tommy’s eyes as his brother brandished a long sword. It was wickedly long, blade notched strategically to maim. (Tommy knows the feeling of that sword. How could he forget?)

His opponent had stood his ground well enough, lasting quite a while before Techno had him pinned, sword at his throat. The referee couldn’t be heard over the screaming of the audience. 

Tommy’s grip tightened around the railing where he stood, blue eyes catching his own. 

For a moment, he wished he didn’t ditch the others as soon as they stepped into the godforsaken warehouse. 

“What are you doing here, mate?” Phil’s voice drowned out the chatter of the crowd as if it was only them in the building. Phil’s voice almost sounded soft. 

“None of your fucking business, Phil,” Tommy muttered, trying to distance himself from the man. Phil made his way closer to Tommy, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Tommy tried to rip his arm away, but Phil held on tighter. “You’re here now. You should stay with Techno and me.” 

Tommy grimaced at the thought. “Fat chance, old man. You ruined that when you left.” A sigh escaped from Phil’s mouth. 

“Tommy. I left because I couldn’t be around for you.”

“Yet you could be around when Wilbur died? Your logic doesn’t make any sense! It was the beginning of the outbreak and you just packed your shit and left! Did you even care at all about how we would be affected by any of this? By what you did?”

“Mate, it would have been the same. I had work, I couldn’t be home for any of you. It was what was best. I didn’t know the pandemic was gonna turn into a massive zombie shitshow!”

“You still took Techno,” Tommy whispered, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “You didn’t take me or Wilbur, but you still took him. Your fucking golden child. You didn’t fucking care how Wil and I felt but it was always Techno. It doesn’t fucking matter anymore, Phil. I didn’t need you then, and I sure as hell don’t fucking need you now. It's been years and I’ve made it this damn far without any of your goddamn help!”

Phil’s face flushed red in anger and Tommy gestured wildly with his hands. “I’ve made friends, I ran a fucking camp, I was exiled, almost bit, almost killed, beaten near death, almost starved, and where were you? Where was your helping hand when I was dying, huh? Probably too busy pampering your golden child, because that’s all you seem to fucking do!” 

“That’s enough, mate,” Phil warned, eyes dark with anger.

“Don’t fucking ‘mat’ me. I’m not your fucking friend and sure as hell, not your son. I‘m Kristen’s kid. Not yours. Do you know how devastated she was when you left her? When you left us? She didn’t show proper emotion for an entire year, Phil. She would wake up to take care of us and then sit in that damn chair by the window until she went to bed. You fucked her up so bad and you didn’t even deserve her. You never fucking did. I swear to god if she-

“THAT’S ENOUGH, WILBUR!” Phil’s disdained voice filled the auditorium as spectators backed away. The silence held loud and bitter as the man’s face fell, staring into Tommy's pale eyes with regret. 

“Tommy, I- I didn’t-”

“No, don’t worry, I get it. You want a replacement after you lost your actual son. I’m not fucking putting up with it, Phil. I’m not my brother, and I never will be. Not after what he did. I suggest you leave me the fuck alone. Lord knows you make things worse.” Tommy sneered, Shoving bystanders out of the way as he sunk back into the crowd, wiping traitorous tears from his cheeks. He had to go find Tubbo. 

Tommy hated remembering Kristen after Phil left. All of her felt hollow and blank as if Phil had taken out all of the joy and emotion that she used to have in her. She still did her best to care for Tommy and Wilbur, but the latter was taking Phil’s abandonment just as hard. Tommy wasn’t as close to Phil, meaning he was the one who had to glue their shattered family back together, shard by shard. It had taken over a year for Kristen and Wilbur to be okay again, for them to realize how shitty Phil was. A classic deadbeat father. The happiness hadn’t lasted long until the first wave of the undead had struck, separating the small clan. They never were able to find Kristen, but they had a nice ceremony in her honor. 

It hadn’t taken Tommy very long to spot Ranboo, leaning over a bar table and stuttering loudly at a man on the other side. Something about him was familiar but Tommy couldn’t quite place a finger on it. 

“Oi, Boob Boy. Where’s Tubbo?” Tommy hoped the rims of his eyes weren’t too red. The man at the other side of the table looked up in recognition. 

“He took Michael to try and barter for food.” Ranboo fiddled with his fingers nervously. “We need supplies if we’re gonna keep moving.”

The man sitting in front of Ranboo stood and brushed off his blood-stained button-up and navy blue trousers. “Alex Quackity. Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Tommy.” The teen took a step back, glaring at the handheld in front of him. 

“Big Man, did you tell him my name?” Ranboo’s mask and glasses hid any emotion but his body shook slightly. 

“I didn’t... no…” 

Alex grinned, scar stretching slightly with the movement. 

“I’m surprised you don’t remember me, Thomas. Wilbur would have.”

“Keep his name out of your mouth,” The teen whispered, glaring sharply.

“Nah, I don’t think I will. After all, he didn’t keep… certain factors… out of his.” Alex retracted his hand, placing both in the pockets of his suit pants. 

“Ranboo!” Tubbo skidded to a stop in front of the trio, Michael in hand. “Michael doesn’t like all the noise but I’m trying to get us food and I don’t know what to do.” The toddler had his hands over his ears as he sat in Tubbo’s arms. Michael’s head jerked towards Alex and held out a small hand, pointing at the man with a small grunt. “What are you doing, Lov-“

“Oh, I think I might know what he wants,” Alex said, a smile inching across his face. “Although, I am a little surprised he can smell it.”

The man turned and stepped into a back room, probably the kitchen, and returned with a tray of fresh cookies a minute or so later. Tommy sniffed the air and felt his stomach grumbling as he took in the scent. 

“You know, you could probably sell those,” Tubbo said, reaching out to grab one and hissing when his hand touched the very fresh and very hot baked goods.

“Dude,” Alex gave him a look, “You think I haven’t already?” He did pull the tray back into the kitchen, and Michael whined at the retreating sugary sweets.

“Smart, smart.” Tubbo ruffles Michael’s hair. “So, what were you two talking about before we got here?”

Alex gave Ranboo a look, before tapping on the counter. Nothing important, just him rapping his fingers in the same rhythmic pattern Tommy and almost every kid he knew did at least once in school when it still existed.

“We were talking about this place and other surviving camps I know of. I’m a bartender; I tend to hear plenty of stories from travelers.”

Alex lifted his hand from the counter and surveyed the bar quickly, before lowering his voice so just the four could hear.

“Then I noticed his condition. I know a doctor, he’s working on a cure. It's not a camp super far from here, I could take you.”

“Uh-huh, sure. How do we know we can trust you?” Tommy asked, leaning forward and putting his arm on the counter. They didn’t have any money to bribe the man with, not that money was much use anymore, except in the arena. Everyone traded supplies these days. Unluckily for them, they were also short on those.

“I haven’t ratted your friend out yet, Toms. He looks stable enough. I can take you to the camp. The real question is can I trust you?” Alex seemed… genuine enough, although enough isn’t quite enough for the zombie apocalypse. 

Even so, something in Tommy’s gut told him he could trust Alex, at least for now. And your gut is something you listen to.

“You can trust us, big man. We aren’t going to hit you up for your supplies and leave you stranded.” Tommy held his hand out for Alex to shake.

Alex looked at it for a few moments before taking the outstretched hand.

“We leave come morning. The trip’ll take a few days.”

    “Actually big man,” Tommy cut in. “We have a car.”

    “Then it’ll only take a couple of hours.” Alex’s grin was almost feral. “Hypixel has rooms. I can hook you up with Simon for a discount.” 

    The next morning had the boys pile into the car before the sun rose, Tubbo reluctantly giving Alex the wheel. Ranboo and Tommy were crammed in the back, Michael safely bucked between them. 

    Tubbo eyes Alex carefully as the older man peeled down the abandoned highway, weaving around rubble almost carelessly. 

    “Man, it’s been forever since I was in a car. Y’know, I used to do drag races with a group of dudes outside of vegas. One of ‘em, Mamacita, would kick my ass constantly.” Alex continued to ramble as the scenery passed quickly through the windows.

    Ranboo gave Tommy a look of concern. “Do you think he’ll kill us?” He whispered. Tommy cackled. “Nah. If Big Q wanted to kill us, he would have done it a while ago.”

The city was brightly lit amongst the heat that buried the desert with sticky sweat. Quackity led them through abandoned buildings, weaving through piles of useless scrap- having already been dug through and salvaged for what it was worth. The path cleared up closer to the center, revealing neat roads and strong walls that encompassed large buildings. Neon signs flashed across the camp, capturing the attention of most of the group. 

“Alright amigos , welcome to Las Nevadas.” There was a noticeable grin in Alex’s voice as he drove towards the heart of the city. The citizens looked in awe at the car as it passed, many trying to follow. 

The vehicle stopped at a rather large building, a group of people waiting at its stoop. Almost giddily, Alex hopped out of the car, never having put his seatbelt on, and began to converse with the gaggle of survivors.

“Where the hell did you find a car ?” Tommy knew that voice. Fuck, Tommy really knew that voice. He flung the door open, jumping out almost as quickly as Alex did. Looking at the group only confirmed his fears. 

Standing in the middle was a tall woman with dark hair. He froze, only held up by his grip on the door. Tommy felt himself shake as he and the woman stared at each other. “Kristen?”