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Wilbur Soot should be a dead man.
But he's not. He doesn't think he ever will be. He's been bitten more times than he can count. Trust his luck to be fucking immune to a literal zombie bite.
He's not exactly immune. He still ends up sick for a few days but when any normal person would've been turned, he just finds himself back to normal, as though he'd never even been bit.
He'd left his family and last group because of this. He didn't want to endanger them or himself, if they ended up finding out about his immunity. He didn't want to be used as some kind of lab rat.
He missed his family a lot. Techno, his twin and Phil, his father. He hoped they were okay. He'd left them pretty early on, before he'd discovered his immunity. He left because he'd been bit, under the assumption he'd be turned soon enough. He had debated returning for a while but decided against it. It was safer for his family and himself.
He pulls himself out of his thoughts, noticing he's arrived at his destination. It wasn't exactly a long walk into the city but it was usually hard to work out what certain stores were. His destination today, though? The music store. He had taken a guitar from there not long ago, but it'd been broken by a zombie when he was travelling.
He walked inside, taking a moment to relax.
The store was always empty, but always stocked. After all, no one needed musical instruments for survival. Guitars and other instruments lined the walls, shelves contained records and cds. Wilbur loved it. The rest of the world didn't feel like an apocalypse when he was inside it. He felt an air of his old normal life whenever he went. He cherished his rare visits to the shop.
Today felt different though. He didn't know why. He felt like someone was watching him, he couldn't shake the feeling but he didn't let that ruin his little relaxing session. He pulled down a guitar from the wall, moving to strum the chords - forever thankful for the lack of zombies in this area.
He murmured the lyrics as he played the notes. He worked on songs occasionally, they were how he killed time. This was one he was working on, 'Saline Solution'. He liked it. He was proud of it so far. Maybe he'd be a musician if he hadn't discovered his passion for song writing in the apocalypse.
He was distracted from his playing when he felt something or more like someone walk across the back of his long trenchcoat, the ends of which laid on the floor. He looked over, surprised to see a toddler staring back at him.
A half turned toddler, with an unruly mess of golden curls atop his head that were so knotted, they made Wilbur wince at the thought of brushing. His eyes were a sapphire blue dulled by a clouded over look matching the undead look that clung to parts of his skin, making little discoloured patches.
Wilbur felt his heart break, what parents could even let their child get bit? Especially one as small as this toddler. Something gave him the feeling that this toddler didn't have parents though.
"Hello there," Wilbur started, holding out his hand to show he wasn't any kind of threat. The toddler startled at this and latched down on Wilbur's hand, teeth barely breaking his skin.
It didn't hurt that much. He carefully moved his other hand to gently push the toddler off of his hand. He examined his hand, thankful there was no break in the skin — he doubted the toddler had enough strength to properly bite him but either way, he was grateful.
"Hey, 'm not going to hurt you, kid," Wilbur tried to keep his tone gentle and soft, not wanting to startle the poor kid more than he already has.
The toddler stared at Wilbur, making the older somewhat uncomfortable with his lack of blinking. Then he spoke. "Not sca'y?"
Wilbur paused, not sure why he was expecting the toddler to speak coherent sentences — he'd never really been around toddlers in his defense. He shook his head. "No, you're not scary?" He responded, although it came off as more of a question — he didn't quite understand what the toddler was implying.
Thankfully, the toddler didn't pick up on his uncertain tone. Instead, he shuffled closer to Wilbur and plopped down beside his leg, leaning into it. "Song?" He questioned, looking up at Wilbur with puppy dog eyes.
Wilbur understood what the toddler was asking for this time so he complied. He began to play — not bothering to censor any of the swear words that were in his songs. He let himself smile a small bit when he heard the toddler clapping excitedly.
He didn't know why but he wanted to make the toddler happy. Joy was rare nowadays, it was nice and refreshing to see some.
He continued with the song, occasionally looking down at the toddler — who was smiling brightly, his smile reminded Wilbur of sunshine it was so bright. He was seemingly entranced by Wilbur's guitar. He doubted the toddler had ever heard live music before. It was sweet to see.
Once he'd finished, the toddler pouted up at him, pushing himself up to his feet once again so he could attempt to reach Wilbur's guitar. "Mo'e! Mo'e!" He chanted.
Wilbur chuckled a bit but complied, playing his guitar once again but not singing. "Do you have a name, kid?" He asked, doubting the toddler even knew his own name but hey, it was worth a try.
His suspicions were soon proven to be correct. The toddler shook his head, sitting down by Wilbur's leg once again, just listening to him and his guitar.
Wilbur nodded a bit, he'd just have to give him a name then. "Would you like a name?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at the toddler who eagerly nodded at him.
"Okay then," Wilbur started, still strumming his guitar, staring at the toddler — wrecking his brain for a good name. Names from Techno's mythology books came to mind but he dismissed them, none of them really fit the toddler.
He doesn't quite know what he's doing — naming a child he'll probably never see again. He brushes those thoughts away, he doesn't know why but he doesn't want Tommy to be alone in this horrid world anymore. He's too small and young to deserve it.
Tommy! That's the perfect name for the toddler. Wilbur settles on it then. He'll stay a bit longer and entertain Tommy. Then he'll work out what to do.
"How do you feel about being named Tommy?" Wilbur asked, glancing down at the toddler, temporarily stopping his playing. Tommy stared back up at him, pouting a bit when he notices the guitar has stopped. He doesn't give Wilbur an answer other than what seemed to be a shrug — Wilbur takes it as "sure, that's an amazing name".
"My names Wilbur," he said, realising he'd never actually introduced himself — not like he'd planned on having a chit chat with a half zombie child.
"Wilba," Tommy repeated, failing to pronounce his name properly but it didn't bother Wilbur, if anything, he found it adorable.
—
The next few hours were spent with Wilbur playing guitar and absentmindedly chatting to Tommy, who'd babble back at him, never making too much sense but that never bothered Wilbur. Eventually, Tommy ended up falling asleep against his leg.
Wilbur took this time to stop with his guitar playing and look outside. He realised just how long he'd taken out here. It was now sunset. He had to get moving otherwise it'd be dark for his journey home. He glanced at Tommy's sleeping form and carefully moved him off of him.
He didn't want to leave Tommy behind but it wasn't like he could take him. That'd be wrong. There was the very small possibility he had parents that were actually looking for him and cared about him. He stood up, slotting the guitar into the case and slinging it over his shoulder.
He left the shop, being careful not to make too much noise. He made his way down the street, a bit wary by how empty it was but he wouldn't complain.
It took him about five minutes to notice the presence that was stumbling after him. He stopped in his tracks, standing still for a second before Tommy slammed into the back of his legs, stumbling back a bit himself with the force he fell against Wilbur's legs with.
"Wilba!" Tommy cried out, looking up at Wilbur at with tear—filled eyes. "Don't go!" He added on, quickly — tears starting to fall from his eyes.
"Oh shit," Wilbur muttered, spotting the tears and internally panicking. "Don't cry, Tommy — I'm just going home before it's dark," he tried to explain, reaching down to pet Tommy's hair gently in some attempt to comfort him. It didn't exactly work but didn't fail either. His tears kept coming but he didn't start sobbing so Wilbur considered it a win.
Tommy looked up at him, hands reaching out to Wilbur to be picked up. "I wanna stay wit' you," he mumbled, sniffling a bit.
Wilbur paused for a second upon hearing Tommy's words. He wanted to stay with him. If that's what Tommy wanted, then Wilbur would go along with it.
"Okay then. Let's go home," he responded, picking Tommy up, resting him on his hip. Tommy leant against him, head resting on his shoulder. His golden hair falling over his eyes.
He began to walk, humming a bit to soothe Tommy who soon drifted back to sleep on his shoulder. He continued with his humming even as Tommy slept.
Wilbur can't help but think it feels right. Like Tommy was meant to find him. It should scare him, the idea of having a family again but it doesn't at all and he thinks he's okay with that.