Chapter Text
Tommy grew up in a different world to the one he lived in. His world is of fire and ash. Crumbling rock and decaying cityscapes, held up by the bones of buildings long gone. It used to be freshly cut grass and flowers. As a kid, he would play make believe and talk to Tubbo through string cans, a makeshift attempt at creating a walkie talkie. Now he has no choice but to use the real thing.
His hand locks around the walkie-talkie.
“Hey… Tubbo. This is Big Man on Radio frequency 146. You know, the radio frequency.” Tommy sighs. “ Our radio frequency.”
He clicks the button and waits, listening to a long line of static. Tommy rubs his hand against his face and kicks a rock for good measure as he walks.
“Tubbo, if you're getting these please get back to me.” The sound of static haunts him. This sickly reminder that Tubbo could be dead and he’s perfectly safe. Tommy struggles with the dial on his walkie talkie before pressing the button again. He’s nearly back at the arcade.
“Tubbo? This is Big Man, Tommy Innit using frequency 146. Calling in. It's been uh, been a while.” Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose listening for something, anything, a sign that Tubbo isn’t one of those mushy brain eating flesh bags they call zombies.
Tommy groans in frustration, “Tubbo you prick! It’s been 12 fucking days and I’m starving back here!” Tommy feels frustration burn at his throat. It was supposed to be a short supply run.
If Tubbo was dead he was gonna fucking kill him.
He’d always thought dying wouldn’t be much fun. Which is why it surprised him when so many people started trying it.
His number one concern right now is that Tubbo is trying it.
They’d separated about 12 days ago.
A supply run that had gone wrong inside a concrete jungle of buildings.
A surprise horde had broken into the supermarket they were raiding for scraps. Tubbo rammed a trolley cart into the 3 zombies sneaking up on Tommy.
“Fucking RUN!” Tubbo screamed, throwing a glass bottle at another zombie’s head. Tommy threw his bag onto his back.
“I’ll meet you at the arcade! You distract them!” Tommy shouted, grabbing the shredded shirt of a zombie approaching Tubbo and kicking it into the ground.
“See you then big man!” Tubbo smiled, and waved goodbye, pulling out a hand axe and sprinting the opposite direction. As Tommy ran, still chuckling away to himself at the close encounter, he could hear Tubbo yelling, trying to attract all the zombies away from Tommy. All the zombies over to himself instead.
Now, Tommy is walking back to where they were supposed to meet. He’s done his daily escourge, searching for Tubbo. It’s time to head home before night draws out the monsters.
Their meeting place is a crusty rundown arcade at the back of town which held all their supplies.
Tommy will never forget entering the first time, the door cracking open with a shove. The smell of grease, socks and lighter fluid assaulted his nostrils. The raw smell was so severe that the first time he dared to enter, his nose bled.
Tubbo had forcibly shoved a napkin picked up from the ground upon him.
“NO!!” Tommy shrieked, toppling over his own shoe when Tubbo offered him a napkin.
“Here ya go Big Man.” Tubbo laughed and then got another whiff of the building, causing him to gag and laugh even harder.
Tommy tripped and began scooting away from the napkin in Tubbo’s hand, nose pouring blood down his white and red shirt.
“Tubbo, I will kill you. I’ll fucking shank you. I’ll send you to an early grave. Don’t fuck with me.” He wiped the blood across the blue sleeve of his puffer jacket and Tubbo jumped on him, cackling like the insane sicko he was and shoved a napkin in his face to stop the bleeding.
“Stop being a baby!” Tubbo laughed, smearing a napkin across his face despite Tommy’s protests.
And the arcade became their base.
The putrid smell faded after 2 months and then they were set.
A fantastic, homely arcade. And now, after the twelfth day of Tubbo being missing, Tommy returned home to the arcade seeing it blown to smithereens.
His jaw drops at the sight of his home. A horde must have dropped through. Or a survivor group. There’s no explanation for the wreckage he stumbles upon.
Tommy’s hand tightens into a fist, looking at the place of his old home. The black carpet with wiggly neon patterns drawn into it, covered with rubble and grime. He kicks some away as he walks through the still half standing walls.
Fuck sakes .
Nobody is allowed nice things it would seem. He scans the familiar wreckage of his home. All of their supplies are taken, he hopes nobody found his secret stash. He walks further into the mess. It is nothing like the home it was to him 10 hours ago.
That’s the thing with the apocalypse; anything can happen.
And usually, anything does.
Tommy feels like throwing his walkie talkie. He’s alone, with no base, in the middle of the apocalypse. What the fuck does he even do?
In his hand there’s a crackling of static.
“H— Hello?” A voice shakes on the other end of the line.
Tommy jerks back to reality, attention being snatched away by the stranger on the other side of the line.
“Hello?” Tommy exclaims. “Hello? Who is this?” He holds the speaker up to his ear. There’s almost never anybody on the frequency he and Tubbo use.
“I’m uh— sorry, this is weird.” The voice pauses, clearing their throat nervously. “Are you uh… Big Man?” The voice speaks as though they’re reading something off. “Sorry, his spelling is terrible. This might not even be English, I’ll be real.”
Tommy’s heart leaps. Or drops. It’s kinda spinning at the moment. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Ranboo.” The voice comments. Tommy can hear the smile in his voice, “Your friend saved me.”
“Tubbo? He’s okay, right?”
There’s radio silence for a moment and Tommy’s worried he blew it for a moment. That his only hope of seeing Tubbo again just picked up and left.
“I swear to fucking god if you hurt him, I will hunt you down and turn you into a god damn kebab.”
When the walkie talkie crackles again there is a certain hesitation. “Yeah, he’s fine.”
Tommy exhales gratefully. Tubbo’s alive.
He feels lighter, this invisible weight being lifted from him like removing a too tight clothing piece. The knowledge of Tubbo’s life makes Tommy feel alive. And so long as Tubbo lives, so shall Tommy.
“Where are you guys? Can I speak to Tubbo?” Tommy spins around, getting a good idea for where they could be. He’s already checked half the city. There’s not a hell of a lot more places they could be bunkered down.
“TUBBO!” Ranboo shouts and Tommy flinches, pulling the walkie talkie away from his ear. Just as Tommy goes to complain he hears ever so faintly a shout back.
“PISS OFF, I’M TRYING!”
A grin spreads across Tommy’s face.
Tubbo. The voice of his best and only friend. Alive and well. Safe.
“Trying? Trying to do what?” Tommy inquires, fighting the smile away and growing hope.
“Tubbo and I went into an apartment building trying to escape some undead.” Ranboo continues, “We got stormed by a horde and we both ran. Difference is, I went to the roof and Tubbo decided the stairs sucked so he locked himself into one of the rooms.”
“So he’s trapped inside?” Tommy wanted to laugh. He was so worried and there Tubbo was, trapped inside a building like a fool.
“Yep.” Ranboo popped the P. “And I’m stuck on the roof because it would seem I’m also an idiot.”
“Alright, give me your coords, I’m on my way.” Tommy adjusted the bag on his back.
Ranboo read out his coordinates and Tommy nodded along, memorising the numbers Ranboo gave him and looked around one last time.
“You good, man?” Ranboo asks with a questioning tone. “Awfully silent on your end.”
Tommy buzzes in, “Yeah all good. Can you tell Tubbo that the arcade got trashed though?” he asks, looking over the rumble. It's a shame. He really was a fan of the place. It was the longest he and Tubbo had ever stayed in one spot.
He walks further in, finding his way to a corner at the back of a building.
“TUBBO! THE ARCADE GOT TRASHED.” Ranboo shouts, this time Tommy holds the device well away from his ear. He can hear a distant little, “Are you fucking serious?” and it makes Tommy’s throat burn.
He misses his friend so damn much.
Tommy continues over to where his stash is, vaguely recognising the position and deciding it must be where he stands. Tommy drops to his knees and shoves aside a chunk of concrete. Dust gently clouds at the sudden movement of the rocks. His fingers latch onto the small rope loop and Tommy yanks it upwards. This is it.
Beneath the trapdoor is his stash. Filled to the brim with everything Tubbo would have made him share.
Chocolate and flat soda drinks, canned fruit salad, pudding containers. There’s even a juice mix which he’s gonna add to his water the moment he gets the chance. Oh yeah, the next few days are gonna be a luxury. Tommy haphazardly loads them into his bag, scooping and dumping all the items.
And finally, his pride and joy.
The first ever weapon he used to kill a zombie. Clementine .
Clemetine is an old baseball bat from before the apocalypse when Tommy did school sport. Clementine has dirtied and red stained white straps around the handle. Tommy grips it tightly, measuring the weight in his hand. Perfect.
In the wood, etched in and poorly scrawled out by a much younger Tommy is the word Clementine.
Tommy smacks it against his hand. The sun shines a gentle glow across his face, a warmth blooming inside him.
Time to unretire a legend.
“Dude, are you good?” Ranboo asks.
“Ranboo, shut up!” Tommy sends back, “I was having a moment!” he rolls his eyes before realising Ranboo can’t see him.
“Jeez man.” Ranboo whines.
“Fuck you.”
Tommy sets off in the direction Ranboo told him. The sun, slowly beginning to set.
This was going to be awesome.