Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy had no idea what ‘war’ meant.

Sure, he and Tubbo would play ‘War’ in his backyard, chasing one another around his mother’s chestnut tree and using the fallen seeds as ammunition. When winter rolled around they’d sit in his room and play battleship, his father would attempt to teach them how to play chess, which was practically a Christmas tradition at this point.

For Christmas last year Tommy had gotten a pea-shooter, a little gun he played with in the backyard shooting holes through leaves and knocking bottles off the back fence, when he managed to hit them. Tubbo had been so jealous.

They’d wrestle, fight, poke one another with branches and declare victory or defeat over one another every day after school.

But war. Real war. It was nothing like that. There was nothing fun about it. There was no chestnut tree to hide behind, and no kitchen door to run through when they scraped their palms on the rough pavement.

Part of him wished everything had stopped that day. That one moment. Deep down inside of him there was a voice that wished he’d never gotten the chance to find out what the real meaning of the word ‘war’ was. But looking out at the world as it was now… all he could do was think of that day. The day everything changed.

He’d been sitting on the living room floor watching Saturday morning cartoons with his best friend, who was practically a permanent fixture in their home, the same as Tommy was in his house.

He and Tubbo had met on the playground. Second grade. The class had been playing kick ball, and Tommy and Tubbo had been chosen as team captains. They obliterated one another to the point that they were sent to the nurses office.

They spent the next fifteen minutes chattering and badgering one another in equal measure about all the great hits they made, and their fumbles too. The principal came in and severely lectured both of them for several minutes, after which they were told to return to class.

After that day they became inseparable, if you saw one the other was bound to be close behind. They’d stuck together all through second, third, fourth, and fifth grade.

Now it was summer, but August was sneaking up fast. School was starting soon. Sixth graders. By that time Tubbo would be twelve. Tommy would still be eleven, he was on the younger end of kid’s in their grade, and Tubbo made fun of him for it constantly, but they were thick as thieves.

________________________________________

“Tommy!!”

He turned his head sharply, eyes wide with a grin as Tubbo barreled toward him, catching him around his chest and tackling him to the soft grass. They began to tumble down the gentle slope of his backyard, only to roll to a stop as Tommy’s back hit the base of the large chestnut tree.

He screeched loudly and pressed his hands against Tubbo’s shoulders as the older boy pulled up grass from beside Tommy’s head, scattering it like green confetti over his face, the stems getting caught in his hair.

Tommy scrambled, his feet kicking out as Tubbo held him down, mussing his hair and grabbing handfuls of grass.

“Say it!!” He cried, hands tensed with the threat of an even worse form of torment: tickling.

“Uncle!!” Tommy cried, his voice high and sharp and cracking on the first syllable. “Uncle, uncle!! I said uncle!!”

Tubbo cackled, finally allowing Tommy to push him away. He tumbled to the ground, rolling with laughter as Tommy sat up, running his fingers through his hair in order to get it to lay nicely.

A small round object was suddenly and sharply thrown in his direction, hitting and then ricocheting off the trunk of the tree to his right. He turned in surprise, his eyes widening at Tubbo’s grinning face, a chestnut held in one hand, casually tossing it in the air before catching it once more.

“Tubbo, be reasonable.” He warned with faux-gravity in his voice, holding his hands up in surrender. “You don’t have to do this!”

“Oh, but I want to.” Tubbo replied, picking up three more chestnuts. “Get ready to feel my wrath, Tommy!!”

“No!!” He shouted, ducking behind the tree as a trio of chestnuts were thrown in his direction. He scrambled to grab as many as he could, pulling up grass stems in his franticness.

“You can’t hide forever…” Tubbo warned eerily. Tommy laughed, smothering the sound with his free hand as he moved around the tree trunk, continuing to pick up as many seeds as he could. “Come out come out wherever you are!”

Tommy suddenly jumped out from behind the tree with a cry, tossing chestnuts two at a time at Tubbo, who was forced backwards, dropping several of his own ammunitions to the ground, shielding his face with one arm.

“Feel MY wrath!!” He shouted, pelting Tubbo’s retreating form with chestnuts as quickly as he possibly could.

“Boys!! Leave the chestnuts on the ground!!”

Tommy turned to look toward the kitchen door, the silhouette of his mother’s fondly laughing face disappearing inside just in time for Tubbo to send one final chestnut straight into his cheek.

“OW!!” He cried, a hand immediately reaching up to grab as his face. “Tubbo, that one hurt!”

“Oh don’t be such a baby, come on.” He muttered with a laugh, taking Tommy by the shoulder as they walked toward the door with a gently mumbled ‘will you live?’ and a meek nod in reply.

The house was warm thanks to the sunlight streaming in from the windows in the living room and kitchen. The curtains glowed with it. Everything was colored yellow, and as the commercials played between segments of their show, his eyes would drift to the dust particles that danced lazily in the sunbeams.

They’d finished breakfast not too long ago, but despite that Tommy couldn’t help the yawn that escaped him. He slouched against the foot of the couch, leaning his head against his father’s knee. He remembered hearing the fond chuckle, and his father’s hand ruffling his hair.

He’d been wearing his favorite shirt, the white one with red sleeves that his mom always disliked for one reason or another. It had the emblem of his favorite baseball team on the chest.

He and Tubbo played well with one another about as much as they butted heads, and that was never truer than when they played baseball. Tubbo liked the Colorado Blue-Jacks, while Tommy was a diehard Maizer’s fan. They warred constantly with one another over it. When Tubbo’s team was winning Tommy would never hear the end of it, but the moment the scores shifted, so did their hierarchy.

The doorbell rang right as the show returned, and both Tubbo and Tommy leaned to the left, and then the right in order to peer around his mom as she stood up to answer the door. He’d been too invested in the television to pay attention to what was being said behind him, it all sounded like vague muttering to his ears until his mom called Tubbo’s name.

“Toby?” She asked, prompting both boys to turn and look at her. She wore a nervous expression, and Tommy’s eyes flicked to the man standing on their porch.

He held a clipboard, the muscles in his hands tensed like he was trying to snap it in two. And his face was… plastic-looking, like one of his action figures. There were other things too that put Tommy off, like how his eyes squinted weirdly, the way he was smiling way too much.

“Did your parents also get a notice from… I’m sorry, who did you say you were with again?…”

“Vault-Tec, ma’am.” He replied with a deep nod. His voice sounded like a radio advertisement, the kind of voice that would try to sell their listeners a new type of toilet cleaner.

Tubbo’s eyes lit up in recognition, and then squinted in apprehension, obviously remembering the man’s invasion into his own family’s home. “Oh… uh, yeah. They came to our house earlier before I left. I’m pretty sure my dad signed up for it.” He shrugged, briefly glancing at Tommy before they both turned back to the television.

But Tommy couldn’t focus on the cartoon anymore. His ears were still trained on the conversation happening behind him. He remembered hearing his mother sigh. “I suppose…”

“You’re making a very wise investment ma’am, your future and the future of your family is safe in the hands of Vault-Tec!”

His mother hummed good-naturedly, but with an edge of anxiousness that only Tommy and his Father likely caught onto. And as she walked around the couch to rejoin them, Tommy could feel his father readjust his position on the couch to lean closer to her.

“It’s peace of mind. We might never use it, but… it’s nice to know it’s there, right?” He reasoned.

With the stranger finally gone Tommy felt his shoulders relax, and he was able to focus on the tv. Tubbo nudged his shoulder with his own, glancing at him with that familiar ‘you okay?’ Look on his face.

He nudged Tubbo back with a minute shrug, a sort of ‘so-so’. It had shaken him a little, he didn’t like it when people showed up randomly to their door, but it was nothing.

Suddenly the television screen went dark, the cartoon cat and mouse disappearing from the screen, jarring all four of them back into reality. The picture was quickly replaced by scrolling large-print letters across the screen that read “URGENT: TURN TO CHANNEL 4” over and over.

“Dad?” Tommy asked, turning to tug at his father’s pant leg. “The remote!”

“Oh— Oh!“ His father muttered, grabbing the remote from where it laid at his side and clicking the fourth channel button.

There was a man at a desk on the screen now, like the news reports his father listened to in the evenings. All the men on those programs were terse and wrinkly, always talking about something or other that got his dad angry. But the man on screen now looked… pale.

“-‘ere getting in reports from the west coast that… yes… sorry, yes, it’s been confirmed that all a-across the east… the east coast, bombs are dropping in New York, Pennsylvania, and there more are headed for Las Vegas and Washington. My God-“

The reporter covered his face with one hand, and Tommy turned around to see his parents’ faces matching the reporters, eyes wide and faces pale.

“Mom?…”

The living room turned cold, despite the warmth of the sunshine streaming in from outside.

“…Mom?” He asked again, quieter this time. He pushed himself up to his knees. “What’s going on? What’s he talking about?”

Her head snapped up, eyes searching the house frantically as the distant sound of sirens met their ears. “Oh my god—“ She pressed a hand to her chest as she looked down at the boys. And the look on her face… It made Tommy’s stomach drop to his shoes. He’d never seen his mother’s face like that before. She looked terrified.

“Get to the vault!!” His father chimed in quickly, pushing himself up from the couch. He rushed past the boys and Tommy’s mother to open the door.

“Mom?!” He said, louder now as she pulled him and Tubbo out the door by their arms. He staggered after her, nearly falling to his face. But her grip on his arm prevented that. They ran out into the street.

He sent Tubbo a scared look, and found a matching one staring back at him. The three of them, Tommy, Tubbo, and his mother all stumbled into the street together with his father following quickly behind after slamming their door closed.

All their neighbors were running out of their houses too, their eyes cast toward the sky in terror. Tommy looked there too, but… he couldn’t see anything. It was blue, a few clouds hanging lazily above them, but even so his neighbors were all screaming.

“That way!!” His father shouted, pointing toward the hill above their neighborhood.

There had been all kinds of construction up there for the past year. Tommy’s mother had told both him and Tubbo that they were under no circumstances allowed to go up there anymore. Before that their families would have lunch together on the hill from time to time, they’d play frisbee and listen to music.

He’d been so mad when they told him he and Tubbo couldn’t go there anymore. A few days after his parents first broke the news, they’d gone out under the guise of going to the park to play catch, but in reality, they snuck up that hillside together, peeking through bushes to get a closer look at what was being built.

There wasn’t much to see in all honesty. They marveled at the huge construction machines, these big yellow dump trucks. And orange traffic cones scattered around with a camper nearby that had a fan going inside. He remembered the hum of it. But the thing that was really odd was the big metal platform in the middle of it all.

Maybe they were building a ga-zee-bow… or whatever it was called, those pretty open houses where people in movies had picnics. He wouldn’t mind having one of those on the hill, but… why would they need a big dump truck and cranes, and why would it take a year to build a little ga-zee-bow?

He and Tubbo had gone to the park after that, true to their word, and talked about what they saw while they tossed Tommy’s baseball back and forth. Tubbo was interested, curious about it. Tommy had been more apprehensive, but now… now he was scared. He didn’t want to see what they’d been building up on the hill.

But he didn’t have a choice as his mom pulled him along, her grip on his arm so hard it hurt.

“Mom!!” He cried, reaching up to scrabble at her hand with his fingers. “You’re hurting me!”

“Stop it!” She snapped at him. She pulled him along quicker, but loosened her grip minutely. “You stay close to me Thomas, you understand?! We need to find Toby’s parents—“

“Martha!!”

All four of them turned to look behind them, and Tommy’s mom sighed in relief when she saw Tubbo’s parents running toward them from the opposite side of the street.

Tubbo broke away from her, running to his mother and father. They hugged him tightly.

“Daina! Thank god you’re alright.” Tommy’s mom said, hugging Tubbo’s mom for a moment.

“We need to get to the vault!” Tubbo’s father said, his hand reaching down to take hold of Tubbo’s. Tommy’s father nodded in reply, and together the six of them sprinted toward the hilltop together.

Tommy stayed close to his parents as they followed the path. He remembered all the times they’d strolled up this trail… He and Tubbo running ahead and ducking through the trees, or throwing handfuls of dried leaves at one another, depending on the time of year.

They’d celebrate nearly every holiday, every birthday up there on that hill. The trail used to bring him so much excitement. He associated that path with good, fun things.

He stumbled to a stop as his parents paused at the edge of a long chainlink fence. More of their neighbors crowded around the small entrance, their voices overlapping as they shouted and plead to be let in.

His eyes widened and his throat dried up as the realization hit him that… They weren’t all going to make it. Whatever was happening, everyone was running around screaming, his parents faces were gaunt and their hands trembling. He might not understand, but he could feel the intensity in the air.

“Let us through!” His mom said, her tone desperate and voice breaking as she pulled Tommy close, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “We’re on the list.”

The man at the fence, wearing a bright blue hardhat with a stony face, looked the six of them up and down scrutinizingly. “Simons… and Smith. Yes, you’re both here. Quickly.” He stepped aside, gesturing for them to continue forward while the crowd behind them erupted into absolute chaos.

Tommy’s mom pushed him onward, keeping him ahead of her and his father as they stepped up onto the hilltop.

The metal platform was there, just as it had been when he and Tubbo discovered it all those months ago. It was painted now, with that same bright blue color and a yellow ring around the inside with the number ‘111’ etched into the metal.

He recognized Ellie, their next door neighbor, standing on the platform beside him and his parents. Tubbo and his parents stood on the other side, the two boys facing one another as they all cowered in fear, dreading whatever was going to happen next.

“Mom?” Tommy asked again, tilting his head up to look at her. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Those words seemed to break her, and if he’d known she would start crying he wouldn’t have said anything at all. She pulled him close and pressed a hand to his head, his face partially hidden in the folds of her dress.

Then there was… a… whistle. A long, high pitched sound that grew louder and louder for a few seconds. Tommy turned his face to look, and- A bright flash of white blinded him for a few seconds, someone was shouting- the platform they were standing on lowered, and the last thing he saw of the world he’d grown to know, was the city in the distance bursting into flames.

He pushed his face into his mother’s side again, closing his eyes tight as though that would wipe the image from his mind forever. A huge gust of wind threatened to blow them all away for a moment before the platform above them closed, cutting them off from the destruction of the rest of the world.

There was a dull rumble, and then… nothing. Silence. He waited a moment, then another, until slowly he pulled himself away from his mom, looking around at their new surroundings.

They were underground, that much was obvious. Flood lights like those used at the construction site above them lit the sparse entrance hall. Concrete floors, metal walls… a stranger handed him a folded blue jumpsuit, he couldn’t quite pinpoint when, or where, but he looked down and saw the yellow numbers there.

‘111’

“Tommy?” His mother called, her voice sounding far away despite standing right in front of him. “Honey, look at me.” She muttered, placing one hand on his cheek. “I know this is scary, but… we’ll all get used to it, alright? I promise, we’re going to be okay.”

“…Mom?...” He whispered, looking up at her with tears in his own eyes. “M-…Mom?”

“It’s okay.” She repeated, resting one hand in his hair. She knew what he sounded like when he was scared, and right now he was terrified. “I’m right here. We’re going to figure this out.”

He nodded to her, taking her hand as they continued forward together, past the entrance area into a deeper section of the vault. He’d lost track of Tubbo for a few minutes, but once they rounded the corner into a strange-looking room with fridges lining the walls he saw him again, now dressed in a blue jumpsuit identical to the ones his parents wore, with the same number on the back. ‘111’.

Tommy shivered as he pulled the jumpsuit on himself, looking up at his parents. It felt… bad. Not bad like his scratchy Christmas sweaters, or his starchy Sunday suit, but bad like… like wearing it made him feel sick. “I don’t like this.” He muttered, hugging his mom once more. “I want to go home—“

“Your new home is just beyond those doors.” A voice called loudly from behind him, far too cheery to be reassuring. Tommy spun around, backing against his mother as he looked up at the woman standing there. She wore a tight smile, exactly like the man at the front door, minutes before. “Just wait until you see it, it’s absolutely lovely, your own private bedrooms, with a large community area for everyone to gather and eat together. You’ll love life in the vault.”

Despite her optimistic tone, Tommy wasn’t reassured.

“Before we go inside though, everyone must step into these decontamination chambers.” She instructed, raising her voice to call the attention of the rest of the room before gesturing to one of the fridges, which… well, they weren’t really fridges at all he supposed.

All around him, guided by people in lab coats with gentle smiles and reassuring nods, his neighbors stepped into the metal contraptions. He watched as the doors above their heads lowered, trapping them inside.

“Can my son stay with me while we go in?”

Tommy peeked around his mother’s side, at the sound of Tubbo’s mom’s voice. He turned to look at her, to see Tubbo clinging to her side anxiously, his eyes wide as they stuck on the large machines.

“He’s… he dislikes those small spaces.” She said, pressing a hand to the side of Tubbo’s head. Tommy could already see the tears in his eyes.

Ever since they’d met Tubbo had always been terrified of tiny spaces. Tommy remembered a few summers ago, their first summer as friends, when they’d been playing at his house.

His dad had just cleaned out their attic for the first time Tommy could remember, and he was over the moon to turn the place into his own secret hide out. He’d brought Tubbo up the ladder with him, only for him to chicken out halfway up, descending the ladder in a puddle of tears as he confessed shamefully his fear of small places.

Tommy’s mom had been home at the time, and together they’d reassured him that it wasn’t a problem, and they spent the rest of the day baking in the kitchen, licking brownie batter off spatulas and listening to the radio.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but the chambers are only built to hold one person at a time. You two simply wouldn’t fit inside at once.” The woman at the front of the room explained, a sad lilt to her voice as she tilted her head ever so slightly to the left. Even as she apologized her voice seemed off, wrong in a way Tommy didn’t understand, and that made his skin crawl. The stiff way she moved.

“Come on Tom.” His mother called, waving him toward one of the big machines. He could hear Tubbo’s voice behind him, he wanted to go to him, help him in some way.

But it… it would only be a minute. Once they were through he’d run up to Tubbo and take his hand, hold onto it tight until they both stopped shaking. They’d walk into the vault together. They’d face whatever’s going to happen next together. They’d both be stronger that way. They just had to get through this first.

“Mom?!” Tubbo called, his breaths picking up and tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

He didn’t like this, it felt wrong, everything was wrong. He didn’t want to go into that thing. It looked like it was going to snap shut and trap him inside, just like that thing from the scary movie he and Tommy had watched that one time. The… The Iron Maiden.

“Honey, Honey, Toby—“ She called, stepping out of the machine and running back to him, cupping his face in her hands. “It’s going to be okay, it’s only for a second, okay? I’ll see you in one minute. Can you count that long? Count to a minute, and I’ll see you again.”

He nodded shakily, looking into her eyes as tears streamed down his face. “O-Okay.” He whispered, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “One minute.”

“Just one.” She reassured, pressing a hand to the back of his head, deepening the embrace before she let go.

She stepped backward once, allowing just enough room for one of the lab-coated women to step up and press the button on the side of the chamber that closed the overhead door. It sealed shut around him with a hiss, and he pressed his hands to the small window to see her, being barely tall enough to peek through.

“One.” Tubbo began counting, his voice shaking as he squeezed his eyes tightly closed. “Two.” There were voices outside still, but after he counted to six they were all silent, the final hiss of a door closing sounding the beginning of the… de-contamination process, he supposed.

“Seven.” He whispered, wiping his face with one hand. He was still crying, he needed to stop crying. Things were getting colder now, or was he imagining it? He was already shivering before, but now his arms were prickling, his hairs standing on end. There was no way this was in his head now.

“Eigh…Eight.” He was starting to feel weak, his arms falling away from his face as he leaned against the backrest in the chamber. Something was wrong. This wasn’t what they said was going to happen.

He wanted his mom and dad. He wanted his best friend. He wanted the world to make sense again.

“Nine…”

Chapter Text

The first thing Tubbo thought was it couldn’t have been a minute already. The first sound his brain registered as he opened his eyes was the huge terrifying metal door hissing open in front of him. Gravity brought him to his knees, hitting the ground hard beneath him as his hands flailed out, weak arms barely catching himself before he fell face-first into the floor.

He was trembling throughout his entire body, and he was… drenched in freezing water. Was that part of the decontamination? He was ice cold. Even now bits of frost clung to his arms, dripping onto the floor from his hair. That couldn’t be normal…

There was another sound from not far away, the hissing of another chamber door opening, but his vision was still too blurry to see anything more than a few inches away. He hoped it was his mom, he really really didn’t feel good. Maybe the vault people would let him sit out this whole ‘orientation’ spiel, he wasn’t interested in hearing it, all he wanted to do was lay down and forget this was happening, pretend it was all a horrible dream he could wake up from tomorrow.

His vision was getting better slowly, and as it did he noticed that the room looked… different than before. The lights were all dark above them, and the air was damp, not the clean rubbery smell it had had. Maybe that was an effect of the decontamination?

“Tubbo?”

That was Tommy’s voice. He turned to see his friend on the ground, much in the same position he was. He was pale as a sheet thanks to the freezing temperature of the chamber pods. Tubbo guessed he looked the same. They both carefully pushed themselves up to their feet, using the fronts of the closed pods to lean against as they staggered toward one another.

They met in the middle of the room, and before Tommy could even say a word Tubbo reached up and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Tommy whispered, pulling him in close. “Sorry you had to go through that, Tubs. You made it through, let’s—“

Tommy cut himself off suddenly, and despite the chills still running down Tubbo’s spine from the decontamination chamber, he let go to see what was happening, giving Tommy an odd look. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short when he saw the wide-eyed look on his face. “Tommy, what…” He turned around, following his gaze up to the little window on the front of the chamber they were standing in front of. “…What…”

Inside the pod… was a skeleton. Its hollow bony eye sockets boring holes straight into Tubbo’s brain. Behind him Tommy took a deep shuddering breath before backing away, arms tucked in close to his chest.

Slowly Tubbo turned around in a circle, observing the rest of the room, and noticed that there were more chambers like that one. Some had opened with bones scattered across the hallway floor while others remained closed like caskets, keeping the skeletons encased, contained, perfectly positioned in the poses they died in.

Tommy shrieked to his left, and the sound met Tubbo’s ears like from the opposite end of a long tunnel, soft and distant before growing sharp.

Despite feeling inconceivably cold already, he felt like a bucket of ice water had fallen on him, drenching him from the tip of his head to his toes. His brain was moving simultaneously too slow and too fast, thoughts reeling past like a whirlwind, but he himself was incapable of catching any of them, examining them for less than a second.

Distantly he knew Tommy was crying. He’d fallen to his knees and curled himself up against the front of one of the pods, knees tucked in to his chest. Meanwhile Tubbo stood in the middle of the hall, his arms limp at his sides.

Everyone was dead.

Their parent’s were dead.

Their neighbors, the few that had survived, the lucky ones, they were supposed to be… and the scientists… no one but him and Tommy had survived.

He tried to make a noise, but the muscles in his chest rebelled against him, refusing to take in air. He tried to breathe, but all he could do was stand like a statue, choking on nothing.

Tommy was screaming with tears dripping from his chin. Tubbo couldn’t feel his hands.

A high pitched whine pierced the room, and for a second he thought for sure it was still coming from Tommy. But when he looked, Tommy was heaving as though he were about to be sick. The whining sound was coming from himself.

He felt like he was watching from outside his body, like from within a fishbowl inside his brain. He didn’t remember which one was his parents’… Which chambers they’d climbed into. He didn’t even know which one was which.

What little air had remained stagnant in his lungs left him then. He was underwater, his body refusing to breathe until suddenly, against his will, he took in a choked gasp that dragged against his closed throat. A pitiful wail poured out of him, grating and raw and loud. It vibrated in his chest, his mouth hanging open as tears blurred his vision.

He fell hard to his knees, further enveloping himself as he pressed his forehead to the floor, every muscle in his arms and chest shaking as a long keen pushed itself from his mouth, his vision blurry and bright.

A hand gripped his arm as he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the tears away to see Tommy beside him on his hands and knees. He too was sniffling, his cheeks blood red with tears dripping down his face. He tugged again on Tubbo’s arm, and Tubbo strained to push himself up onto his hands.

However, the second he managed to get even his elbows beneath him Tommy leaned down and snaked an arm around his chest, pulling him close. Tubbo felt like he could breathe again. His chin resting over Tommy’s shoulder, and Tommy’s head leaning against his neck.

He pressed his forehead against Tommy’s collarbone, hiding his face. Tommy still wailed, but in an odd way, a hollow kind of way, the rumble in his chest against Tubbo’s cheek was comforting.

After a long while of sitting there, leaning against Tommy as he held him up, Tubbo twitched his fingers, if only to make sure he could still move them at all. Despite the tremors running all along his spine and ribs, his entire body felt numb. “Tommy?…” He croaked, lifting his head to look up at him.

Tommy’s cheek laid against Tubbo’s shoulder. It seemed to take a mountainous effort for him to lift his chin, his eyes red and swollen as he looked. Tears covered his cheeks. His breaths came out ragged and choppy.

“What—“ Tubbo coughed as his voice cracked, ducking his head down for a moment. “What’re we s’posed to do?…”

If it was even possible, Tommy’s expression soured further, his already folded brows furrowing together, forming a deep wrinkle in the center of his forehead. His eyes scrunched up, and for a moment Tubbo was worried he’d said something that was going to start a whole new round of tears for his friend.

But then Tommy closed his eyes, his shoulders falling with a sigh. He leaned to the side and lowered himself to the ground, his face hidden against the cold cement flooring.

“…Tommy?…” Tubbo whispered, leaning down to shake his shoulder with one hand. “What do we do?”

He waited for another long while, but Tommy had either by some miracle fallen asleep, or was otherwise determined not to answer him. So Tubbo laid down beside him, arms tucked close to his chest and his head ducked down.

Maybe… Maybe things would be different when they woke up. There was no way this was real. He was having a bad dream. He was actually still in the decontamination chamber, and he’d wake up and see his parents standing outside the glass window, waiting for him.

A few stray tears slipped down his face as he squeezed his eyes closed, and begged himself to wake up.

________________________________________

When Tubbo opened his eyes next, he had to force down a whine threatening to escape his throat. He was still laying on the dingy freezing cement floor across from Tommy. Despite how still Tommy laid beside him, eyes closed, he could tell he was awake. He was just doing his best to block out the rest of the world. In all honesty Tubbo couldn’t blame him for it either.

“…Tommy?” He whispered, reaching over and shaking his shoulder. “Hey… come on, wake up.”

Tommy refused to move, ignoring Tubbo’s persistence.

“Please,“ He pleaded, voice trailing off as tears pushed against the backs of his eyes. He stood up, taking Tommy’s arm with both hands to try to pull him to his feet, but Tommy was inconsolable. He groaned sharply and yanked his arm out of Tubbo’s grip.

Tubbo stumbled backward, catching himself before the shove could throw him off balance.

Tommy then stood up on his own. He felt relieved, thinking he’d finally gotten through to him, but he watched as Tommy staggered numbly toward the pods, and fell to his knees with his shoulder pressed against the glass. He made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Well then, fine. Tubbo could take a look around by himself. Once he had a better idea of what was going on, he’d come back and share his findings with Tommy. He walked up to his friend and knelt down, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna look around, but I’ll be back soon, promise.”

Tommy said nothing, barely indicating that he’d heard Tubbo at all. He sat curled in a ball, temple pressed against the glass of the containment pod with his eyes cast at the floor.

He left then, looking over his shoulder every few seconds hoping he’d hop up and hurry after Tubbo the way he did when they used to walk to the park. Tommy would get distracted by every little thing on the way, dogs, flowers, cool-looking signs and posters, but now… he wouldn’t budge.

He stepped out into the hallway, remembering it being shiny, new, and perfectly clean only yesterday. Now it was covered in dust, a crack in the ceiling dripping liquid that he stepped away from, not wanting to touch whatever it was.

Further down the hall he took a left, entering a room with huge sprawling control panels, computers, and towers with colored bulbs that were all dark, no lights behind them. There was also a line of windows at the front of the room connecting it to a larger darkened room with huge machines all up against one another. Generators. Huge electrical generators.

A high-pitched hiss caught his attention suddenly, and he took a step closer to the windows to peer inside, his hands pressed to the glass and breath fogging it over. Something was in there… but he couldn’t see it.

“AAAAHH!!!” He fell back onto his hands, scrambling away from the window. A gigantic monster crawled over the glass, with spindly legs and antennae that wiggled around.

“TUBBO?!” Tommy’s voice echoed from down the hall, crackly and weak from crying.

“I’M OKAY!!” He shouted in reply, never taking his eyes off the thing, even for a moment. “There’s—There’s a big bug!”

He quickly left the control room after that, closing the door behind him just incase the beast broke through the glass, contaminating another room in this… abandoned place. How long had they been down here?

“Tommy?” He asked, peeking into the decontamination room again. Tommy stood near the chamber he’d been kneeling in front of previously, his arms still tucked into his chest looking dejected, but also worried.

“Are you… are you okay?”

Tubbo nodded. “Are you?”

He stepped forward, looking at the pod behind him. “…That was the one my mom was in.” He whispered, voice trembling.

Tubbo looked over at the chamber, the blank stare of the skeleton inside sending a shiver down his spine. “We need to find out how long it’s been.” He replied, changing the subject to a… more productive topic. “There’s got to be a working computer in here.”

Tommy nodded and followed after him, bound together by their clasped hands. “There’s some big bugs in the room next to this one.” Tubbo explained as he opened the door, pointing toward the large windows to the left. “They’re… they’re really, really big.”

“You’ve always had a weird thing about bugs.” He mumbled with a huff, looking around the room. “How big was it? Big as your hand? Bigger?”

Tubbo let go of Tommy’s hand and stretched his arms out, holding them a foot and a half apart.

Tommy stared him down, his gaze scrutinizing. “…You’re full of it.”

“I’m serious!” He replied, shoving Tommy’s shoulder as they walked further inside. “It was the size of Mrs. Whittler’s dog. You know, Scrappy?”

“Please, even Scrappy’s not that big.” Tommy laughed, shaking his head as they began searching the room together. “And even if he was, you’re still so totally— GAH-AAAAAHH!”

Tubbo shot up from where he’d been looking behind a desk, his sneakers screeching on the smooth linoleum as he dodged around the computer station only to see Tommy on the floor staring out the window.

Another of the bugs had crawled up, showing the boys its gross underbelly. Somehow the fact that Tommy had been so sure of Tubbo’s dishonesty on the subject made the fact the bug was there at all far less scary for him, and so he strode up to Tommy’s side easily, offering him his hand.

“Still think I’m full of it?” He asked as Tommy grabbed his arm, staggering to his feet.

“You’re a jerk.” He muttered, wiping his face of the salty remnants of tears before looking at the thing again. “…I’ve never seen a roach that big.”

“It’s a cockroach?!” Tubbo shouted, taking a step backward to hide behind Tommy’s shoulder. “How are we going to get out of here if that thing is blocking our way?”

“What do you mean, ‘get out of here’?” He asked, turning to look at Tubbo with a wide-eyed stare. “Didn’t you see what happened before the elevator went down? That bomb dropped. Everything’s gone now. The city’s on fire, our houses are ‘good as dust. This…” He looked around, gesturing to the dark room beyond the glass. “This is it. This is… what’s left.”

Tommy moved to brush past him, heading to the chamber room again, but Tubbo caught him in a hug first, squeezing him tight and pressing Tommy’s head against his shoulder. The closeness made his heart sting, and eyes burn. He couldn’t help but clutch Tubbo a bit tighter.

“I’m going to figure this out.” He muttered, pulling away from the hug to see new tears in Tommy’s eyes. “I’ll come find you after a while, I’m going to look around, and then we’ll make a plan.”

“…’Kay.” He whispered, heading off down the corridor, leaving Tubbo on his own.

He turned to the darkened room in front of him, glancing to his left to see another roach climbing across the window, investigating the commotion he and Tommy had caused. A shiver ran down his spine. “Great, there’s more of you.”

Tubbo had never been a computer-kid. They didn’t have a computer at his house, but he had gotten to level seventy-six in ‘Dream XD: Mega Smash Ultimate’, the game that had come with the bright green GameBoy he’d gotten for Christmas last year.

“Come on, come on…” He muttered to himself as he searched for a working terminal. But to his dismay… all the screens remained black, not a drop of electricity running through them. If he wanted to find a working terminal, if there even was one in the entire vault, he’d have to venture further in to find it.

There was another door in this room, opposite the chamber room door. He pressed the release button on it, revealing yet another hallway. Thankfully the lights worked in these smaller spaces. It would be far scarier trying to navigate this place in complete darkness.

His sneakers squeaked against the slick floors as he continued, rounding another hallway that lead to a large gathering area. This place must be where they were planning on keeping them once they got de-contaminated.

That still didn’t really make sense though. How had the decontamination failed so spectacularly, yet he and Tommy managed to survive? Was that what happened? Was it… was any of this real?

“Hello?” He called, cupping one hand around his mouth as he stood in the center of the atrium. His voice echoed off the flat metal walls, and the lights overhead flickered every so often. “Hello?… Is anybody in here?” He let his hand drop to his side, brow furrowed. None of this made any sense.

There was a half-circle desk at the front of the room. It faced the opposite direction, so he could see the back, with a ratty red chair that looked two seconds away from crumbling into dust. But beyond that there was a computer. A terminal sitting on top of the desk.

Tubbo raced over, pressing his hands against the edge of the desk as his heart soared. It was on. The screen was alight with a dull green glow. He poked one of the keys and watched as the screen blipped to life, the cursor flying across the page, revealing it’s message:

|||||||||||||||||||||||||| [OPENING LOG: ||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||||||||||||||| DATES OF ACCESS: |||||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||| ◈ [ 10/23/2077 ] |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||| ◈ 11/07/2077 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||| ◈ 12/02/2077 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||| ◈ 01/14/2078 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||| ◈ 02/22/2078 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||| ◈ 03/25/2078 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||| PRESS [ ENTER ] TO OPEN LOG ||||||||||||||
|||||||||||| PRESS [ TAB ] TO EXIT |||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|||||||||||| TODAY IS: 10/05/2277 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Wait a minute. Tubbo pressed his finger to the glowing screen as he read out each number.

“Two thousand… Two Hundred and Seventy-seven?!”

The computer was malfunctioning, the dates were all wrong, they started on the twenty-third, that was today, then they go on once a month for six months before they just… stop. That couldn’t be true, not unless they’d been stuck down here for two hundred years. There had to be a different explanation, the computers had malfunctioned after the initial bomb dropped maybe, or… maybe they needed to be reset.

He felt around the sides of the terminal until he found a button, and pressed it, hearing the audible ‘click!’ As it shut the computer down. He waited a few seconds in silence, part of him worrying that it wasn’t going to turn on again at all before hesitantly, he clicked it again. A boxy chime sounded from within the machine and the logo of ‘Vault-Tec’ flickered on the screen in bright neon green, making Tubbo’s eyes sting with its saturation. Again the screen popped up, spelling out each word and date just as it had before, and again those numbers at the bottom of the screen sat dauntingly:

[TODAY IS: 10/05/2277]

“Aaargh, no no no!!” He groaned, raking his nails through his hair. That couldn’t possibly be true. Something was wrong with the computers, if he and Tommy wanted to know what was happening up there they were going to have to open the vault and see for themselves.

Tubbo sighed and pushed away from the desk, pressing his hands to his forehead. Tommy was still grieving, he needed him right now. Making sure both he and his best friend were safe was his first priority, especially with Tommy in that state. He and Tommy were still alive, and he was going to make sure they stayed that way.

________________________________________

For the next two days they stayed hunkered down in the vault, sleeping in the control room and hesitantly exploring the rest of the vault that was safe from evil gigantic roaches. Figuring out which areas were ‘safe’ required a bit of trial and error on their part, which fell onto Tommy since Tubbo had a crippling fear of bugs. Even Tommy was scared of these things, and he normally loved bugs, even spiders.

So far they’d learned that the tunnel leading to the entrance room was absolutely infested, along with the generator room. Luckily they had no real need to go in there, but if they ever wanted to try and leave… they’d have to fight their way out.

Tubbo had been keeping track of the days thanks to the terminal in the main atrium, and Tommy had discovered the living quarters, which had a few sets of fairly clean-looking clothes that had been stored in dressers. Unfortunately none of them were made for kids, so they were stuck with the ill fitting jeans rolled up to their ankles and their sleeves rolled and rolled and rolled to their elbows.

Wearing the blue jumpsuit was… bad. Tommy hated the thing. It was ugly, and reminded him of the decontamination chamber room. That was reason enough for him to never want to wear it again. Tubbo wasn’t a huge fan of it either, so they’d both sifted through the options. Tommy ended up with a dark burgundy sweater, while Tubbo found a green button down.

Clothing wasn’t as much of an issue as food was. They’d found little things here and there sure, boxes of ridiculously out of date (if the computer was to be believed) pasta and cakes, but nothing substantial. Going outside to find food was starting to become a very real and very prevalent idea on both Tommy and Tubbo’s minds.

Tommy was hesitant to leave, and Tubbo was pretty sure most of his reasoning for it was that he didn’t want to leave his parent’s… bodies, behind. He could understand that, in a weird distant way he felt the same way about his own parents too. It felt wrong to even think about leaving them here, but… they needed to eat, and they couldn’t very well carry around a bunch of skeletons with them.

As though to punctuate his thought, Tubbo’s stomach growled loudly, prompting Tommy to snicker at him from his spot on the floor. They’d taken the pillows and blankets from the residential rooms and build a sort of pillow-fort near the front desk. Just like the chamber room, it felt… wrong to sleep in those rooms. They weren’t meant for them. Not in the way that they used to be.

“Hungry, are you?” Tommy asked, tossing a pillow toward him. “There’s candy in the kitchen.”

Tubbo hummed, but didn’t get up, instead hugging the pillow to his chest and tucking his chin over it. “…We both know we can’t live like this forever.” He began, keeping his voice as gentle as he could. Even so, Tommy frowned, looking down at his lap. “We’ll run out of pasta and candy eventually.”

“I know.” He mumbled, glancing up.

“We should… we need to try to get out of here. There has to be something around here we can use against those stupid bugs, we just have to make it to the front hall and then we’ll be home free!”

“How would we open the door?” He asked, voice weak as he shook his head.

Tubbo’s heart sank as he watched Tommy close himself off, a sour look on his face as he pulled his legs up to his chest. “Even if we did, we have no idea how to get out of here. Besides, that flash I saw, the city is… gone. We have no idea what’s up there, we could die the moment the doors open.”

“Or we can spent the next week slowly starving to death down here.” Tubbo replied darkly, though reasonably. “This place… it’s our parent’s graves. I don’t want it to become mine if I can help it.”

Tommy stayed silent for a long time after that, his chin resting on his knees as he stared holes into the blanket beneath him. Tubbo gave him some space, laying down in his own blanket-pile, staring up at the ceiling.

What could possibly be up there? Maybe they were in a crater. Maybe the world really had ended and he and Tommy were the last people on Earth. Maybe they were doomed to live out the rest of their days in this metal underground prison.

“I don’t want to die down here.” He finally said after a long pause, his soft voice echoing off the empty walls. “I don’t want you to die down here either. But… I don’t want to leave my mom and dad behind.”

“They wouldn’t want us to die down here.” Tubbo reasoned, reaching a hand over toward him. He pulled Tommy into a hug, each of them squeezing the other tightly. “If there’s any chance that there’s still something up there. We have to try. And if there’s nothing left, then… Then we won’t be missing anything.”

Tommy pulled in a shaky breath. But to his relief he felt him nod, his chin digging into Tubbo’s shoulder. “We’ll start looking in the morning.” He muttered as he pulled away, each of them laying on their respective pile of blankets. They weren’t able to find the light switch for the atrium lights, but it was dim enough that they could fall asleep in the shadow of the desk.

“Tubbo? Tommy whispered, prompting the other to squint his eyes open slightly. “Can you… sing, maybe?”

Tubbo blinked, surprised at the request. Tommy wasn’t normally the type to ask for things like that… but he also knew how much he liked music. Despite being eleven Tommy had a large well-kept record collection of his own. Music had always been a comfort for him.

“Yeah, sure I can.” He replied just as quietly, opening his eyes to see Tommy looking at him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his friend look so fearful before… but he could only imagine he wore the same type expression. “There’s this song my mom would sing when I was a little kid, it goes…”

”Turning in, the grain again, the bells begin to chime.
Time, she says, "There's no turning back, Keep your eyes on the tracks.”
Through the fields, somewhere there's blue.

Oh, time will tell, she'll see us through.

Howling out, The windy hills, and all the time we took.
You should know, just how it steals, keep your hand on the wheel.
And through it all, somewhere we knew.

That time will tell, she'll see us through.

And all fire and flames took all we trust,
We’re kicking up dust.
Sta-tions fade just like they do.

Oh, time will tell, we always knew.
Oh, time will tell, we always knew.”

He opened his eyes again, only to see Tommy with his face half-hidden behind his pillow, brow furrowed in silent worry but supposedly, hopefully, asleep. He let out a sigh, pillowing one arm beneath his head. “…We’ll figure it out in the morning.” He breathed before closing his eyes and pleading with himself to also drift off.

________________________________________

They didn’t have any way to tell time, no windows to the outside, no sunshine or moonlight, so they went to bed when they felt tired and woke up once they weren’t anymore. After three ‘days’ of doing that— Tubbo only knew it had been three thanks to the computer —he was sure they had their days and nights switched completely.

He woke up to the sound of Tommy milling about the room, sneakers scuffing against the slick floor as he paced back and forth. The song he’d sang might’ve helped him get to sleep, but it couldn’t stop him from being restless forever.

“Tubbo?” He whispered, seeing his friend turning over from across the room. “You awake?”

“Yeah.” He groaned, pushing himself creakily up to his elbows. “Did you sleep at all?”

“A little… I think. I’ve been awake for a while though, I don’t… know how long, maybe an hour? ‘Couple hours?”

Tubbo hummed quietly with a nod, standing to his feet before leaning against the desk. He looked around the barren room they’d been sleeping in. Today might be the last day they stay here. Either because they leave, or because they die. He tried reminding himself that if they stayed they’d die either way, either to starvation or those awful, awful bugs… but it sounded more chiding than reassuring, even in his mind.

“We should start looking for things to take with us. Pack up the food we’ve got.”

“I found this in one of the rooms.” Tommy offered, holding up a gray-blue canvas backpack.

It was decently sized, and could probably fit all they’d need it for. Tubbo took it from his hands, pulling on the zipper up. “This is great! Okay, I’ll pack up the food if you want to look around for anything else that looks useful.”

After that they went their separate ways. Tubbo headed to the kitchen to search through the cupboards and cabinets for any crumbs of food he could. Meanwhile Tommy explored the halls, looking for anything heavy enough to leave a mark on the cockroaches. They looked pretty strong, but if he swung a wrench at one that had to be enough to take it out, right? Under that shell all they were was just nasty guts.

But they were also big… Well, regardless the wrench was the heaviest thing he could swing, it would have to due for now. He stuck it through one of his belt loops before moving on. When he returned to the atrium Tubbo was already waiting for him with the backpack, now filled with food. He was sitting on the desk swinging his legs lazily back and forth until he caught sight of Tommy. He hopped down, grabbing the bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

Tommy pulled the wrench from his belt, hefting it in his hand. “…Are you ready?”

“To fight off giant bugs?” Tubbo asked, “no, not really. To get out of here though… yeah.”

Tommy smiled, huffing a laugh through his nose. “Then let’s go.”

Chapter Text

As they walked toward the entrance of the vault, Tommy took the lead. The wrench— his wrench now, held tight in both hands as their footsteps echoed down the halls.

Tubbo stood behind him, pulling the straps of the backpack tight on his shoulders as he tensed, hopping from foot to foot. Tommy took a breath and held it as he pressed the heel of his palm against the button, taking half a step backwards as the door pulled into the ceiling. The high pitched squeak of gigantic insects met his ears. They were already aware of their presence. He moved in fast, making sure to keep Tubbo behind him and the wrench in front of them as they continued.

“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy!” Tubbo whimpered frantically, ducking behind him as one of the bugs crawled in their direction. God, it really was as big as he’d said. He took a moment to feel bad for blowing off his fear so quickly the first time. He’d explained what happened.

“I got it!” He shouted, swinging the wrench up over his head before bringing it down on the creature with a sickening crunch. He shivered, pulling the wrench up and out of it, side-stepping the remains. “C-come on, keep moving!”

Tubbo followed right behind, stepping on Tommy’s heels while they dodged what they could, and hit away the bugs that stood against them. He couldn’t berate him for staying close, he’d much rather have red heels than lose sight of Tubbo for even a moment in this place.

He swung the wrench like a baseball bat, hitting roaches away from all directions. There had to be at least a dozen of them, all zeroed in on their location. With Tubbo pressing him forward he had to dig his heels into the floor to stop from running straight into them all. He ended up stepping on more than one, his entire shoe engulfed in disgusting green and brown mush that practically exploded from within the creature.

Once they made it around the final bend, the home stretch, they booked it to the door. Their sneakers pounded against the metal floor, and Tommy hit it like a linebacker, not stopping for a second and pressing the button with his shoulder, only passing through once he knew Tubbo was on the other side.

“Close it, close it close it close it!” Tubbo screeched as he backed away, the sounds of skittering and screeching right behind them. Tommy slammed his palm against the button and they watched the door close just as one of the roaches stuck its disgusting head through, severing it in two. He made a nauseated sound, covering his mouth with one hand as he turned away. Tommy groaned too, being sure to not look as he pulled Tubbo to his feet by the crook of his arm.

The room they were in was, as the rest of the vault had been, eerily familiar yet drastically changed. From their perspective it had only been a day since they’d entered the vault, gone from this room into the next and stepped into the decontamination chambers. The entrance to the vault was just as decrepit and abandoned as the rest of it, and just as there had been skeletons in the chamber room… there were skeletons here too.

Tommy, as with the decapitated roach, averted his eyes from the bones scattered across the floor to the left of the door. “Come on, we’re close. The elevator’s through there.” His voice echoed around the cavern as he pointed toward the huge vault-door, looking over his shoulder at Tubbo with a determined furrow in his brow. “We can do this. We just have to figure out how… how to open it.”

“Right.” Tubbo muttered as he looked around. “There’s got to be some kind of switch, a big red button or something.”

“Up here!” Tommy called, bounding up a set of metal stairs that led to a platform beside the walkway.

Tubbo followed his lead, taking the steps two at a time until they stood side by side. An electrical panel laid before them, covered in dials and switches with a screen to the right. Tubbo reached forward, tracing his fingers around a port on the left side. “…Something goes here.” He muttered, letting his hand fall to his side.

Tommy hummed softly in agreement. “Something plugs into it, like headphones.”

“It’s way too big to be a headphone plug.” Tubbo said, shaking his head as he poked the thing. “It’s as big as my thumb!”

“Well your thumb isn’t the key.” Tommy rolled his eyes and stepped off the platform. “Whatever it is, it has to do with opening the door. We probably won’t be able to open it without it, even if it’s not the key.”

Tubbo nodded. “I’ll check the other side of the platform, you wanna search over here?”

Once again they split up and began searching the platform, pushing aside boxes and opening any containers they could find, the filing cabinets, shelves and boxes… but nothing they found was remotely close to fitting in the spot on the electrical panel. With each item found there was a rush of relief, adrenaline pumping as they ran up the steps, only to find that the plug was too big, or too small.

After what must’ve been at least an hour of searching and trying and failing, Tommy sat down on the floor in a huff, leaning one elbow onto his knee and resting his chin in his hand as he scowled at the room. It was like he was playing an ‘eye spy’ game, accept they didn’t know what they were looking for, and the page was as big as an entire room.

He shuffled backwards until he hit a wall and sighed, tilting his head to press it against the cool metal. It felt like they’d been doing this for ages, and after swinging the wrench at all those freaky monsters… he didn’t feel like playing ‘eye spy’.

Tubbo looked up from where he’d been sifting through a file cabinet’s contents, seeing Tommy with his head against the wall. He’d opened his mouth to say something, but when he saw the look on his face his heart sank, the papers falling out of his hands to the floor as he pushed himself to his feet.

He crept forward quietly, though his sneakers scuffed against the dusty floors no matter how he stepped. “…You okay?” He asked, voice hushed.

Tommy groaned, rubbing at his eyes with his fists. “It’s… It’s stupid. I just want to find the stupid thing and get out of here.” He mumbled, hiding his face in his hands. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Me neither.” He agreed, sitting down beside him on the cold concrete floor. “But to get out we have to find it, whatever it is.”

“I know.” Tommy whined, running his hands through his hair stressfully. “I just need to keep going. I know.”

“You can take a break.” He said gently, pushing himself to his feet. He ruffled Tommy’s hair lightly. “It’s okay to need a break. I’ll keep looking, you stay here. Take a second.”

Tommy nodded, letting his forehead fall against his knees with a deep sigh while Tubbo continued to look around.

There was one place they hadn’t paid close attention to. The side of the room with the door. Neither of them had felt like going over there, especially with the bugs… and the skeleton. But if they were going to make it out, they needed that connector, and they hadn’t found it yet which meant…

He sighed long and low, dragging his feet as he edged his way toward the right side of the platform, taking one step at a time until he was a few feet away from the… skeleton there. Whoever it was, or… had been, they’d been wearing a lab coat.

It was little more than a pile of white threads now, but he could still see the pale logo across the chest which proudly proclaimed ‘Vault-Tec’, in faded blues and yellows. And something else too, a screen latched to its wrist.

His heart leapt into his throat, that might be able to tell them where the connector was! But that meant… eugh.

Tubbo crouched down low, keeping one hand on the floor and his feet firmly planted where they were as he reached, and reached, and reached for the contraption. He didn’t want to get any closer than he had to… and thankfully he managed to snatch the thing without touching the creaky bones, leaving them to lie just as they had.

He retracted his hand immediately, scrambling to his feet to examine the little computer. It obviously attached to his arm, though he was hesitant to strap it to his wrist right that moment. After all, it had just been attached to a dead person.

“What’s that?”

He heard Tommy’s footsteps come up behind him, peeking over his shoulder. He smiled ti himself, even when he was at his lowest, Tommy still had a boundless source of curiosity within him. He held the thing in his hands, turning it this way and that. “…I dunno.”

“Well turn it on, it’s got a power button right here.”

Tommy reached forward, pressing the cream-colored button with his outstretched index finger. Again, like the terminal inside, the screen came alight with a neon green glow and that same boxy chime, the worlds ‘Pip-Boy! By Vault-Tec’ flashing on the screen next to an illustration of a smiling vault suit-wearing boy.

“Eugh, nevermind turn it off.” He muttered, shoving his hand against the screen.

Tubbo scoffed, pushing him aside with a laugh. “Let me look at it first! It might help, if they kept files on it those could be useful, y’know?” Tommy rolled his eyes, meandering his way up to the metal platform as Tubbo slowly followed after him once again, tapping away at the screen in his hands.

“…Dude, check this out! It can tell what’s in my bag, and what I’m wearing!” He exclaimed, flicking through the different channels until he landed on a tab labelled ‘inventory’. “Look!”

Tommy leaned against his shoulder, squinting at the violently bright screen to read the short list:

- Blamco Mac and Cheese (2)
- Dandy Boy Apples
- Fancy Lad Cakes (2)
- Purified Water (6)

“Is that all the food we have?” He muttered, grabbing the screen with one hand to bring it closer.

“That’s the question you’re asking? Not how it’s able to to that?” Tubbo muttered with a raised brow.

“Man, technology can do all kinds of things. It’s doing it, and god knows I’m not gonna understand it, even if I did know how.” He muttered. “What’s in the rest of these tabs?”

“Well, there’s one called ‘Weapons’, it just has… ‘Adjustable Wrench’.”

That got Tommy’s attention. Without saying a word his hand flew to his belt where the wrench was still tucked through a loop, just in case they ran into any more of those giant bugs. “…What else does it say in there?”

Tubbo shrugged, shaking his head. “Not much. There’s a couple other tabs, ’Ammo’, ’Junk’, a radio, and… ‘VATS’. I don’t understand a word of it.”

Tubbo switched to the tab labelled ‘APPAREL’ where they were greeted by a complete list of what they were both wearing, Tubbo’s green button up shirt and Tommy’s red crewneck, along with the jeans they both had.

“Jeez that’s thorough…” He muttered, pulling at the collar of his red sweater as though to make sure he really was wearing what the computer said. “I’ll admit, it’s definitely a bit creepy.”

“‘A bit’ is an understatement.” Tubbo muttered. As he flipped to the last page, a brassy chorus of trumpets, trombones, and clarinets erupted from the speakers, causing both boys to flinch back with their hands up over their ears.

The pip-boy fell from Tubbo’s hands, and with a dense clunk, clattered to the ground. It skid across the floor an inch or two before stopping, the screen flashing white once before going dark again.

“NO!!” Tubbo shrieked. He fell to his hands and knees, fumbling for the thing frantically. There was a loud metallic clatter as it hit the concrete floor, and although he scooped it back into his arms moments later, whatever damage it had taken had already been done.

Tubbo exhaled shakily, frantically poking at the power button. “No, no no nonono—”

“Woah easy, take it easy Tubbo.” Tommy said, sinking down into a squat beside him, a hand on his shoulder. “It… it’s gonna be okay, we can figure this out.”

“No, no no no— this could be our only way out of here! If it’s broken we’ll be stuck down here for—” Tubbo cut himself off, choking on his own words as he turned back to the computer in his hands, his voice softer and more pleading than anything Tommy’d ever heard before.

“We need it to work.”

They both held their breath as Tubbo raised a shaking thumb to the power button, hesitating for a moment before pressing it, eyes squeezed shut. All of a sudden that same tinny chime echoed around the room. Tubbo nearly cried with relief as the screen lit up green once more, that same vault-suit wearing boy grinning at them.

“Oh thank christ.” Tommy breathed, pressing a hand over his heart as he slung an arm around Tubbo’s shoulders, shaking him out of his terror. “We’re alright man, we’re gonna be alright.”

“It’s… It’s okay?” He muttered, peeking through one eye. When he saw the screen though his eyes blew wide as dinner plates, clutching the Pip-Boy in this hands like a sacred artifact. There was a tiny hairline crack connecting the left corner of the screen to the top now, and he brushed his thumb over the imperfection, keenly aware of the way the light bent around the damaged glass. But it still worked, that’s all that mattered.

Without a second thought he grabbed the buckle on the back of the machine and attached it to his arm, not wanting to risk a second drop. It’s old enough now it probably couldn’t take another tumble like that and survive.

“You’re putting it on?” Tommy muttered, making a face.

“You want me to leave it here?” He raised a brow as he finished clasping the last buckle. “This could be useful, besides… it’s kinda cool-looking, like a spy watch, y’know?”

Tommy looked down at the bulky green machine strapped to his forearm, squinting at it scrutinizingly. “…Yeah, sure.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes, but stopped short. He’d been feeling around the back of the device to make sure it was attached when his whole body froze. The tips of his fingers grazed a small lip on the back of the screen, and when he pulled gently on it, it popped open. He reached in and pulled on whatever was inside, revealing a—

“What’s that?” Tommy muttered, looking at the thick wire in Tubbo’s hand.

“It’s… it’s a connector!” He cried, pulling on the end of the adapter to show it to Tommy. “Look! This— This’ll fit in the port! This is what we need!”

“Oh shit, are you sure?!” Tommy cried, running his hands through his hair. “Well what are you waiting for!”

Tubbo yanked the cord to it’s end, plugging it into the port on the controls. Immediately upon connecting it the panel lit up and a bright red button near the bottom began to flash. For a moment they just stood, staring at one another as the lights flashed in front of them before Tommy reached and pressed the button with his outstretched hand.

Warning alarms blared overhead as the walkway extended out, forcing the two to once again shield their ears from the droning noise of buzzers and bells. They watched as the vault door slowly opened to reveal the platform they’d entered from.

Their entrance into the vault, in their minds at least, had happened only three days ago. But Tubbo knew that wasn’t true anymore. He looked up at Tommy, watching the elevator with a sense of ambition blooming in his chest. But there was a hint of dread in it too, he could see it in his eyes.

He couldn’t tell Tommy what he knew. He’d see it himself when they went up. Two hundred years… after that bomb, what was it all going to look like? An explosion like that wasn’t going to leave much alive out there. Anything, really. Any life left was probably like them, people underground.

“… Are you ready?” He asked, reaching up to grab Tommy’s shoulder. “This could still go terribly wrong, y’know? The moment we open that door… it could all be over.”

“Are you trying to convince me to stay?” He muttered, giving Tubbo a smirk. “You’re the one who said we could make it. We got through that hallway, we found that thing on your wrist to open the door, now— what? Are you feeling… bawk-back! Chicken?”

“No way!” He shouted, shoving Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy looked back at him, the silence between them electrified with hope and anticipation.

“Then let’s get out of here.” Tommy reached down to take Tubbo’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly as they crossed the metal grating to the elevator's entrance. Tommy stepped up first, looking down at the platform beneath his feet, then up at the ceiling. It was all metal, no windows or cut-outs, no way to see what they were about to get themselves into.

Suddenly the vault felt far too quiet, and he swore he could hear the wind. Outside. For that moment he wanted nothing more than to be out, out out—

He slammed his fist against the control button, tensing his stance as Tubbo grabbed onto him, their eyes fixed on the ceiling. Huge planes of metal creaked and ground against one another, threatening to deafen them. Tommy pressed his hand over his ears, as did Tubbo as they continued looking up. They needed to see it. The sky, they sky, the sky.

The elevator raised, and the moment his eyes passed the rim of the platform Tommy squinted against the brightness. It was evening, and as he slowly adjusted to the powerful brightness of the sun… the landscape came into view. The forest beyond the hill was sparse for leaves, the weather was cold, it was October after all.

Their neighborhood, which had stood sturdy and immovable in the valley of their hill… was decimated. From their vantage point Tommy could see at least three or four houses that were completely collapsed, the rest stood as hollow shells, their windows blown out and doors rusted off.

“Tubbo…” He whispered. “It’s all…”

“It’s still here.” Tubbo breathed, leaning his head against Tommy’s side. “They’re still standing.”

“…Some of ‘em.” Tommy muttered, his voice weak and hollow. He could appreciate Tubbo’s optimism, but it was hard to exaggerate the destruction. Everything they’d known, the entire neighborhood and everything beyond it they could see was… gone.

“Come on.” He mumbled, taking a step forward. “Let’s check it out.”

Tommy pulled away started heading down the hillside path, gravel crunching beneath his sneakers. His legs moving so quickly beneath him he could hardly stay upright, it was a miracle he didn’t crash into one of the trees before he was finally able to skid to a stop at the base of the trail, just before the little bridge that connected either side of the creek.

“Tommy, wa— wait!” Tubbo called. He was about twenty feet ahead of him and moving fast, sprinting right up to the creek and skipping the bridge entirely, jumping right over the creek without a second thought. “Wait!” He shouted as he bounded across the bridge, his footsteps thumping against the wood before finally coming to a stop as he entered the neighborhood. “Tommy!”

“I have to find my house!” He called, his voice echoing back to Tubbo through the leafless trees.

Tubbo hurried after him, breaking through the tree line and onto the road, stopping for half a second as he just stared, watching Tommy’s back as he sprinted down the abandoned cul de sac. He was so desperate to cling to normalcy, and Tubbo couldn’t wrap his head around why he didn’t feel the same.

Shouldn’t he be just as desperate, just as hopeful and full of denial and terror as he was? Maybe it was his own awareness that made it impossible. He couldn’t let himself slip into fear, he needed to be present. Someone needed to bee here to take care of Tommy.

After running for what felt like ages finally they stopped, sneakers skidding against the uneven ground before he turned back to Tubbo. He could see how his shoulders shook, looking at the abandoned houses, bright paint that had once made their street feel like something out of a fairytale now sat, sun-dried and chipping, rusting and decrepit. It looked… scary.

“Tommy.” He muttered, reaching forward to place his hand on his arm. “Wait—“

Before he could make contact Tommy moved from his touch, taking it slow as he walked down the street, looking from house to house. “…This was Jobe’s house.” He mumbled, pointing to the left. Tubbo knew, but… what was left of it looked nothing like a house, let alone the prim and proper home it was supposed to be.

Jobe had been an old man, obsessed with perfection. His lawn was always trimmed, flowers in his window planters watered and blooming, windows clean… never a hair out of place. The pile of rubble sitting in its place was unrecognizable. Tubbo couldn’t tell what was the roof and what was the walls… his bright red front door was nowhere to be found. The mailbox was on the ground at their feet, and the pavement was all cracked. If Jobe could see it now Tubbo bet he’d be sick just looking at it.

“Let’s keep going.” He whispered, urging Tommy on. Each step like an arrow piercing his ribs, trying to find his heart but somehow missing every time.

“This is our street.” He whispered, feeling Tubbo’s presence at his side. They continued slowly into the neighborhood, taking note of the houses they were still able to recognize, and the ones that were rusted and blasted to ruin.

Old Mrs. Marla’s house, Their neighbor across the way— Jerry. He was always nice. Linda and Morgan’s house. All the people they’d known their entire lives flashing before their eyes like aftershocks from the bomb that took it all away in seconds.

Tommy stopped short, eyes fixed on the pale yellow paint of the house in front of them. Little more than a rusted shell, its roof caving in, the windows shattered, grass dead. Everything was dead. He stepped onto the pavement’s ledge, and it crumbled easily under his heel, causing him to stumble.

Tubbo caught his arm, pushing him back up as he followed suit, the two pacing up the cracked stone path. The front door was gone, only the rusty hinges attached to the side as an indication there’s been one there at some point. Nature had taken over much of the interior, ivy crawling through the kitchen windows and weeds sprouting through the floor panels. Dirt and mud and dust covered every available surface.

“…Mom would have a fit at this.” He trembled, his voice like a violin string as he gestured weakly to the floorboards, the holes in the walls.

“Are you—” Tubbo stopped himself, sticking his hands in his pockets as Tommy roamed the living room. Of course he wasn’t ‘okay’. Nothing about what was happening to either of them could even remotely be considered ‘okay’.

“My parent’s room is down the hall on the right.” He muttered, pointing before heading that way. He drifted through the motions like a ghost, eyes darting over every surface, every broken photo frame and sun-bleached chair. He and Tubbo came to a stop at the last doorframe on the right side of the hall. The furthest wall was just… gone. The mattress off the bed frame was missing too, and the frame itself was little more than a pile of splintering wood panels.

They stared for longer than Tubbo really consciously perceived, the sounds of the wind outside strangely hypnotizing, the peace of the room juxtaposed to it’s emptiness. It’s hollow-ness.

“My room’s across the hall.” He whispered as he stepped back, turning to the other side and peeking in. He sank down to the debris-covered floor, shoulders slumping as he looked around at the wreckage surrounding him. He took in a shaking breath, eyes shining as he buried his head in his hands. “My… my bed— my clothes are gone, my…”

Tubbo knelt down beside him, nodding his head as he wrapped an arm around Tommy’s shoulders, looking up through the hole in the collapsed ceiling of Tommy’s bedroom, watching the clouds rolling past above them.

“We can’t stay here.” Tommy whispered, surprising Tubbo as he broke the silence. He picked his head up, staring intensely at the rusted-out wall in front of him. “…I can’t stay here.”

“Neither can I.” Tubbo agreed, resting his head on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Let’s see what we can find in the rest of the nei— the um, th-the houses.” He muttered, standing up before offering a hand to Tubbo, who took it, pulling himself to his feet. “We don’t have a lot ‘a food, we need to get all we can before we move on.”

“Good thinking, I’ll check the houses on the left side of the street, you check the right?” They head into the living room together, splitting ways as Tommy stepped out the door and Tubbo stuck around to check the cabinets.

Houses on both sides of the street were destroyed, But this one, sky blue metal walls and yellow roof, was somewhat spared. Built sturdier, Tommy supposed. The air as he stepped inside was several degrees cooler than it had been outside, or in his house. A chill ran down his spine.

The kitchen was connected to the living room in here too, making it easy to check through the cupboards. He sifted through everything he could find, eventually coming up with… a few cases of dirty-looking water and a box of desert cakes that were somehow not expired. Or… not very expired.

The next few were the same, offering little in terms of supplies and not doing much else beside reminding Tommy of… what had felt close but had actually been far in the distance. In the past. Skeletons of the people who weren’t given the same chance he and Tubbo had to survive. They had done nothing to earn their place, breathing the air they had. They were there by coincidence, nothing more.

How long had his parents’ bodies laid in those coolers before they’d finally been released? What kind of world were they being thrown into? From what he could tell, everything had become dangerous and confusing. But more than that, more than any of the questions he had, he just wanted to know why.

“Mom?” Tommy asked again, tilting his head up to look at her. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

He flinched at the memory, pressing his forehead against the dusty surface of the kitchen counter. He’d looked up at her, tears falling down his mom’s face… He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, pressing his hands to his eyes causing bright flashes and color to erupt in this vision. “Why…” He whined, sinking to the floor. “Why, why is this happening? What did I do?”

“Tommy?”

He gasped, arms pinning to his sides and heart racing in his chest. He stumbled to his feet, grabbing the edge of the counter with tense fingers to haul himself to his feet.

Tubbo hovered in the threshold, eyes wide with concern. “…Tommy, what—“

“I found some stuff.” He interrupted, clearing his throat quickly as he gestured toward a few boxes and cartons he’d set on the counter. “This has to be everything from the houses I searched.”

Tubbo shook his head, completely bypassing his poor attempt as a subject change as he stepped into the house. “Tommy, none of this is your fault, you know that, right? Neither of us knew this was going to happen, there was never anything we could have done.”

Tommy stepped backwards, his back hitting the closed fridge door as he stared at the ground. “I don’t want to talk about it, I want to be done. I’m tired, I want to get—”

“No.”

He looked up in confusion, one brow quirked as a tear ran down his cheek. “What?”

“No. You’re not getting out of this.” Tubbo repeated, leaning against the cupboard in front of him. “I’m not going to let you carry around two-hundred years of undeserved guilt. Just ‘cause it happened to you doesn’t mean it’s your fault.” He stepped forward, grabbing hold of Tommy by his arms, staring up at him as he looked away. “They took advantage of our parents, our neighbors and friends… they were all forced to trust them. We had no choice but to go along.”

“I want to go back.” Tommy whined, shaking his head as he scrubbed his sweater sleeve across his face in a poor attempt to dry his tears. “I want my mom and my dad. I want to go home.”

Tubbo bit down hard on the inside of his cheek as tears welled in his own eyes. They were home. They were standing in Tommy’s kitchen, that was as close to home as either of them could get. But that’s not what they meant. They didn’t have a time machine, there was no going home anymore. ‘Home’ no longer existed.

“I do too.” He choked. “I want my parents too, but we can’t have them. There’s no… there’s no ‘home’ to go to.”

Tommy pointedly looked away, shaking his head, but saying nothing in response.

Tubbo searched his face, brows creased as he saw the despair in his eyes. “…We have to get out of here, like you said. The neighborhood is like the vault, we’ll starve if we don’t keep moving, find someone who can help us.”

Tommy scoffed bitterly, lifting his head but still avoiding Tubbo’s gaze. Instead he stared at the hole in the living room ceiling, his eyes wet with unshelled tears. “Help from who? Look around Tubbo, we’re alone. There’s no one to help us.”

“There’s people out there.” Tubbo insisted, his tone more confident than Tommy had expected. More confident that Tubbo could be in an empty reassurance. “…Wha’d you mean?”

Tubbo couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. Even at the end of the world, Tommy would hold out hope for him, have trust in him. “I saw the fireball too, but look what I found in one of the other houses.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out… a book.

It was small, thin, with bent-up pages, but it was similar to their collection of old comic books. Same size and everything. Tubbo handed it over to him, and he took it in one hand, flipping it over to read the title. ‘Tales of a Junktown Jerk Vendor’, beneath that at the bottom of the page: ‘The Art of Haggling’

“It’s a comic book someone wrote. What little of it I could still read was… well, it was something.” Tubbo chuckled. “It was weird but— what’s inside doesn’t matter. What matters is it was made recently. There are people out there, we’re not the last ones.”

Tommy gave Tubbo a long look, and then glanced down at the book in his hand. ‘The Tales of a Junktown Jerky Vendor’. “…You think we can find them? The world’s a big—“

Tubbo smacked Tommy’s arm, prompting a disgruntled ‘ouch!’ as he grabbed his wrist. “You’re such a worrier. We’ll figure it out when we get there! We haven’t even started and you’re worried if there’s even anything to start. Let’s just go and see for ourselves.”

“You’re unsettlingly gung-ho about this.” Tommy whined as he was dragged out of the house and onto the street. “I’d like to remind you that the world has ended.”

“Believe me, I’m aware.” He mumbled, his grip on Tommy’s wrist easing slightly.

As they continued walking toward the neighborhood’s entrance, toward the large wooden bridge connecting their houses to the other side of the river, the wind began to pick up. Dark dense clouds rolled in behind them. Tubbo kept a skeptical eye on the sky as they continued, his footsteps hollowed by the wooden planks beneath their feet. The wind tore harshly at his shirt, and nearly sent Tommy toppling before he grabbed onto the guard railing for support.

“Jesus— come on, we need to keep going!” He called, taking his hand once more as he pulled him to the other end of the bridge. The world around them took on a yellowish-green hue thanks to the clouds overhead. Tubbo’s stomach sank to his shoes. Green clouds, high winds— They really couldn’t catch a break, could they?

“Is it a tornado?!” Tommy called, his eyes cast on the clouds as well.

“Just keep going!” Tubbo shouted, pushing him onward.

Lightning snapped in the sky, coloring the landscape in neon yellows and greens, blinding the boys momentarily with its brightness. Tubbo shielded his eyes with one arm, the other still attached to Tommy at their hands. Raindrops started pattering down onto their hair and clothes.

“Look! Up there!” Tommy shouted, bounding forward a step as he pointed toward a low building in the distance. Without giving it much more thought Tubbo ran for it. Tommy followed suit, the two arriving in the gravel parking lot in less than a minute. The rubber soles of Tommy’s sneakers ground against the pebbles beneath his feet as he skidded to a stop, looking up at the building in front of them.

It was a gas station. The Red Rocket. Both Tommy and Tubbo recalled stopping there on their way home from school to get snacks. They’d ride their bikes up and park them by the garage doors. The gas pumps were rusted and decrepit, some missing completely, and the glass from the windows had long-since shattered, leaving the interior open to the elements. Based on the storm currently chasing them, the elements had gotten way more intense since they’d last seen the sky.

“Get inside!” Tubbo shouted, pushing Tommy forward as they made a run for the front door. Their footsteps pounded against the gravely ground, and Tubbo ran straight into Tommy’s back once they finally made it in, causing them both to go crashing to the ground.

“Ow-w-w!” Tommy whined, rubbing at the back of his head where Tubbo’s forehead collided with him. “C’mon, man…”

“We’re not out of the woods yet, come on, there’s got to be a backroom in here or something.” Tubbo insisted as he scrambled to his feet, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor.

“There’s one behind the counter, I’ve seen Fundy go back there on his breaks.” Tommy said as he pushed himself to his feet, using the edge of the counter to pull himself up. He brushed off the pebbles and dust that clung to his sweater before following Tubbo into the backroom, the door squealing shut.

The moment the door closed all light from outside was cut off, leaving them in complete darkness. And the room was tiny too, barely big enough to hold the few file cabinets, office chair, and desk that sat inside. But the door muted the sounds of the storm, and despite the darkness, Tommy felt a little safer.

A moment later the room became awash in a neon-green glow emanating from Tubbo’s computer screen. Tommy looked up, his best friend’s face silhouetted in the harsh light. He could see the lines of Tubbo’s face, and he was sure he looked the same. They sank to the floor together. Now that he wasn’t out exploring, he felt exhaustion in his bones, his head lolling against Tubbo’s shoulder as they sat together. Thunder crackled overhead, and Tubbo’s shoulders rose an inch.

Tommy let out a quiet breath, his eyes drooping closed as he stared into the light of the Pip-Boy. His left arm pressed against Tubbo’s right, his hand close enough that he tapped a finger anxiously against the plastic outer casing, the sound of it echoing mutely throughout the tiny room.

“…D’you think Fundy’d be mad if he knew we were back here?” He whispered.

Tubbo scoffed, and Tommy could feel his grin against his shoulder. “… Yeah, probably. He always told us to get lost, runnin’ out after us shaking a rolled-up magazine at our backs as we rode our bikes home.”

They both laughed, and Tommy let his eyes drift closed.

“Oh, here,“ Tubbo lifted his head just slightly, jostling Tommy enough that he let out an unhappy groan. He chuckled softly as he reached over, flicking through the different channels of the Pip-Boy. The green light of the screen flashed on and off a few times, so much so that Tommy felt the beginnings of a headache forming until finally Tubbo settled on one tab.

The switch flicked, Tubbo leaned back against his side and then suddenly… there was music. A brassy quick-time tune full of saxes, trumpets, and drums. And despite the jovial nature of the song, Tommy felt something warm settle in his heart, something calm, and reassured.

“Goodnight, Tommy.” Tubbo whispered as he tucked his head against his shoulder.

“…Night Tubbo.” He muttered tiredly.

”…I love those dear hearts and gentle people, Who live in my home town.
Because those dear hearts and gentle people, Will never ever let you down.

They read the good book from Fri' till Monday, That's how the weekend goes.
I've got a dream house I'll build there one day, With picket fence and ramblin' rose.

 I feel so welcome each time that I return, That my happy heart keeps laughin' like a clown.
I love those dear hearts and gentle people, Who live and love in my home town.

They read the good book from Fri' till Monday, That's how the weekend goes.
I've got a dream house I'll build there one day, With picket fence and ramblin' rose.

 I feel so welcome each time that I return, That my happy heart keeps laughin' like a clown.
I love those dear hearts and gentle people, Who live and love in my home town.

Those dear hearts and gentle people, Who li-ive… in my-y… home, to-own.”

Chapter Text

For one terrifying moment the next morning, Tommy thought he dreamt all of the previous day.

The gas station backroom was completely void of light as he sat up, feeling more than seeing Tubbo’s head as he lifted it from his shoulder, a tired groan as he moved. “Tubbo, what—?” He mumbled, reaching out to feel around, because surely he hadn’t dreamt the whole thing, they left the vault, they found the neighborhood, the storm, the gas station—

His hand met the metal door in front of him and he sighed with relief, letting his shoulders fall back against the opposite wall as his eyes fell closed. “Never mind.” He whispered, closing his eyes with a sigh. The nightmare wasn’t over, but at least he wasn’t insane. The world he was experiencing was just as real as he was, and that had to count for something.

Despite his efforts to fall back asleep, Tubbo was bound and determined to explore. He shuffled to his feet, stepping on Tommy’s hand in the process before pulling the office door open to reveal a ray of sunlight stretching down the hall from the open windows to their right.

Tommy groaned again and tilted his head all the way back to rest against the floor as he rolled his eyes, a sharp sigh cutting through the air. “Tubbo, what’re you doin’?”

“I’m gonna take a look around.” He whispered. He was looking out the door, the morning light shining in his eyes before he turned back to Tommy, the shadow of the office door falling over his face as he gave him a small reassuring smile. “You can stay here if you want.”

For a moment he considered it. He was tired, and his chest still hurt from all the crying he’d been doing over the past week, but he could already feel the last tresses of sleep slipping away. It would take a lot of effort for him to try and fall back asleep now. Besides… last time Tubbo went exploring on his own he’d nearly fainted at the sight of a gigantic cockroach. Both the idea of Tubbo being on his own, and the idea of what could possibly be lurking out there…

“I’ll come with you.” He said, voice groggy. He pushed himself to his feet.

The gas station was familiar in the way their houses had been. It made Tommy feel old in a way he’d never felt before. To think of Fundy, the attendant who worked when they stopped by after school nearly every single day, with his red hair and big smiles, to think of him as being… gone. Not only gone, but gone a long, long, long, long time ago. And Tommy and Tubbo were still here…

He could picture him there now, pushing the office door open and waltzing up to the counter, a lopsided smirk and his hat tipped too far to the side. He’d nod to them with a two-fingered salute through the window, and they’d both salute back as they parked their bikes outside. Or worse, to imagine Fundy, scared and alone, cowering in the backroom where they’d just slept, his face covered with tears and trembling as he watched in horror as the world crumbled around him. He could feel a lump in his throat and pressure behind his eyes, and very quickly forced that mental image into a deep forgotten part of his brain where he wouldn’t have to look at it again.

“It feels empty out here.” Tubbo mumbled quietly.

Tommy hummed in agreement as his eyes dragged over the place. Wobbly tables, dusty floors…

“…Come on” He whispered, grabbing Tubbo’s sleeve and pulling him toward the side door. “Let’s check the garage.”

The door squealed as it opened for possibly the first time in many, many years, the room inside completely void of light save for the daylight filtering in from the window behind Tommy and Tubbo.

After a long moment of standing there together, Tommy stepped forward and placed one shoe in the room. Images of giant roaches rushed through his mind as he reached in and flicked the light switch on the wall which, of course, did nothing to illuminate the space. If he wanted to see what he was doing he’d need to open the garage door on the right side wall.

He took one step at a time, his hands held out in front of him to make sure he didn’t run into anything as he blindly navigated the familiar yet alien space.

He’d always been able to look into the garage, but he and Tubbo were never allowed inside. He knew there was a workbench on the far wall in the middle, and another to his left beside the side-entrance he’d come in from, and in the middle of the room there was usually a car Fundy was working on, changing the oil or checking the engine. It was all empty now, though, of course.

Finally his fingers brushed against the rough garage door, and he knelt down on the ground, feeling around the edge for a handle, something he could grab onto. He found it and pulled hard, hearing an angry squeak as the wheels in the door complained.

“Tubbo?” He called out through a strangled sound. “Little help over here.”

“Yeah! I’m comin’.” He heard Tubbo’s shoes shuffling quickly against the cement floor before he felt their sides bump, a hand on his back as he knelt, blindly feeling for the handle Tommy held onto. Tommy guided his hands to it and they both grabbed on together. “On three, yeah? One, two, three!”

They pulled on the handle, the wheels groaned and shrieked, but nonetheless they moved upwards. Inch by inch. Both he and Tubbo fell backwards as their hands gave out, the door falling back into place, slamming against the ground with a harsh bang!

“Jesus…” Tubbo muttered shaking his head. He pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Well, we’re working against two hundred years of rust man.” Tommy argued with a shrug, dusting his hands off on his jeans. “Come on, let’s give it another shot.”

They reached back for the handle again and both gripped it tightly, the metal edge digging into Tommy’s fingers as they pulled, pulled, pulled—

The door complained as it slowly but surely opened, they pulled it up to their ankles, then their waists, and once Tommy was finally able to pull the door as high as his chest he felt the tension switch directions, and together he and Tubbo let go, allowing the door to pull itself the rest of the way open.

“Ah-OW!!” Tommy cried as the door lifted free, staggering quickly backwards with his hands tensed in front of him. Tubbo felt a pang of fear in his chest.

The sound of metal tearing against metal deafened them. Dust fell from the ceiling as it settled into place, but it still appeared structurally sound. The garage was illuminated with dusty sunlight, the morning haze glinting off metal shelves and rusty chrome. Thankfully the darkness revealed no giant roaches.

“Tommy?” He asked, quickly rushing to his side, one hand on his shoulder with the other reaching for his wrist. “Let me see.” He said quickly, keeping his voice even as he pulled Tommy in.

He winced sharply as Tubbo pulled back his tensed fingers, opening his palms to see two deep red slashes across the folds of his fingers, right in the crevices on the opposite sides of his knuckles, precisely the kind of place he’d hate to have a cut, let alone six or seven.

Tubbo winced too at the sight of it. “Ouch.” He muttered sympathetically, giving Tommy an apologetic look. “You got yourself bad, huh?” Tommy hummed, flexing his hands a few times as the edges around each of the cuts became more and more saturated with blood.

“Quit that.” He muttered, pulling Tommy by his sleeve toward a bench to the right of the tool chest. He sat him down, Tommy still with his hands held hovering in front of him, his fingers were beginning to tremble. “…There’s got to be a first aid kit around here somewhere, stay put, alright?”

“Yeah…” Tommy muttered, still staring down at his palms as Tubbo stood up.

He began searching around the room for anything that even vaguely resembled a first aid kit. Fundy was never the most organized person in the world, and he was the type who liked reusing old containers, like keeping his pencils in an oatmeal canister, or sewing materials in a round cookie tin, so he wasn’t prepared to overlook anything.

“Still doing okay over there Tommy?” He called over his shoulder as he ducked under a work bench, grabbing the edge of a rusted metal box. Tommy hummed a soft acknowledgment, a quiet ‘yeah’ following as Tubbo continued his search, shoving the old brown box back into its place.

He eventually found a first aid kit attached to the wall on the outside of the building, a ridiculous place for it in his opinion, but he grabbed it nonetheless, taking it back inside with him.

“Here we go.” He muttered, setting it down by Tommy’s feet, grabbing a small pack of bandages from a compartment inside the lid. But when he went to remove the adhesive guard, the bandage practically crumbled away between his fingers, leaving nothing but dust behind.

Tubbo let out a breath, ducking his head for a moment as he thought. “Okay..” He whispered, reaching up to take Tommy’s hands in his once more, examining the cuts across his fingers. “…Okay, we’re going to try something different.”

Tommy gave him an odd look as he got up again and headed toward the main room, coming back a moment later with a red hole-y cloth in his hands, a rag from under the cash register counter.

“This’ll help help them from grazing against other things at least.” He said, a hint of an apology in his voice as he knelt down in front of Tommy again. He ripped the rag into two pieces, the fabric thin enough that he was able to do so easily before winding it around Tommy’s fingers, and tying a knot around the back of each of his hands.

“There.” He muttered with a sigh. “Better?”

“…Not particularly, no.” Tommy replied with a small pained laugh. “But thanks anyways.”

Tubbo laughed too, the two of them falling into an easy sort of silence. “…It feels weird being in here.” He muttered as they looked around. “This was like… Fundy’s space.”

Neither of them said much after that. Having the garage open was nice, but they didn’t have much use for rusty tools and used oil cans, so Tommy continued to search around the property for anything else of significance.

It was obvious to them that they weren’t the first ones to discover the gas station, and use it as shelter. There was plenty of trash gathered in the bushes and brush, even a small campfire out back with discarded cans labelled with dingy pictures of fruits and vegetables.

Tommy stepped inside one of the old phone booths and, though he knew it was a long shot, picked up the receiver and hovered it next to his ear. No dial tone. No operator. Nothing. He hung it back up and looked over to Tubbo, shaking his head.

________________________________________

“I’m seriously starting to doubt your theory that we’re not the last people on earth.” Tommy muttered that night as they once again sat together in the darkness of the office. Tubbo stayed silent for a long moment, before Tommy heard the sound of his shirt shifting against the wall and felt Tubbo’s head resting on his shoulder.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I was the last person left on Earth.” He whispered. “I don’t want to find out what that feels like.”

“…I think we’re feeling it right now.” Tommy whispered, the silence around them overwhelmingly loud. “It’s just us and the bugs I think.”

“No.” Tubbo replied, shaking his head against the seam of Tommy’s shirt. “You remember the book, there are people out there. We’ll find someone who can help us. We just have to look.”

“The neighborhood was empty.” Tommy reasoned. “Every person we’ve ever talked to is dead.”

“There’s others out there.” Tubbo insisted, however weakly. “There’s got to be.”

“…Okay.” Tommy whispered, leaning his head atop Tubbo’s. He couldn’t tell wether or not he believed Tubbo yet, but he’d like to. It didn’t feel good to think that they were completely alone. It felt like a rat was eating away at the inside of his chest, painful and skitter-y and terrifying.

“…Tubbo?”

He hummed in reply.

“Would you sing something again?”

He smiled softly and nodded, the motion enough to get Tommy hunkering down and wriggling against his side as they both fought to get into a more comfortable position for sleeping. Once they were settled in, Tubbo took a breath and began to sing:

“I hope you spend your days, writing versus on your page. May your life be a Walden Pond swim.
Takin showers in the cold, and your glass is filled to the brim.

And I hope you treat your heart real nice, and real smart. May your life be a Walden Pond swim.
Can’t be worthless seeing stars, buying rocky road for me and him.

Stay in that water and, keep where you’re feeling fine but,
I’m just the daughter of a man who lives on oak and wine, and I—
Swim like my father, and remember hard days driving miles ‘cross county lines.

And I hope you realize why the clouds are always crying, May your life be a Walden Pond dive.
Shaking flowers at the ground while you live the life you did at five.

And I hope it’s testified, for you the best had been denied. May your life be a Walden Pond swim.
May you find your love to last, and the times you have are never grim.

Stay in that water and, keep where you’re feeling fine, but,
I’m just the daughter of a man who lives on oak and wine, and I—
Swim like my father, and remember good days driving miles cross county lines.

I’ve still got those pictures that I found in a bucket, they’re all up on my wall.
And I’ve still got those paintings that you did for my birthday, way back in the fall.

And I’ve still got those pictures that I found in a bucket, they’re all up on my wall.
And I’ve still got those paintings that you did for my birthday, way back in the fall…”

He was the older between them, no matter how much Tommy made fun of him for being shorter, he looked up to him in a lot of ways. He wanted Tommy to know he could count on him, they were in this together. They were stuck with each other more than anyone in history had been stuck to another person, probably. Tommy would always have his back, he knew that, but he would also sing to Tommy every single night if he asked him to.

“Goodnight.” He whispered, pressing his temple to Tommy’s before closing his eyes, trying his best to drift off too.

________________________________________

It was already past noon by the time Tubbo woke, the sun hanging high in the middle of the sky, but slowly making its way back down toward the horizon. They’d only have a few hours of light left before it would be too dark to do anything.

Tommy was still asleep in the office, but for some reason he’d woken up restless, something frantic in his chest telling him they needed to get going. But he had no idea where to go. Just wandering the streets seemed like a bad idea. Their neighborhood was uninhabitable, so they couldn’t go back there.

There was a city. He remembered visiting there on the weekends sometimes, going there for baseball games with Tommy, and shopping with his mother. It was pretty far, but if they wanted to find any help that was the place to do it. There were thousands and thousands of people living there at one point, at least one of them had to have survived. Or…

That brought up something else. The dates on the computer back in the vault. The two hundred year gap that divided Tommy and Tubbo from the rest of the world. …Were there still people out there? Or were they really the last people on Earth, after the apocalypse…

He shook his head. No. He had to stay strong. Tommy had just confided in him the night before that he wanted to believe there were people out there, even if he couldn’t force himself to fully know it. Tubbo needed to have faith. People were… resilient. They survived. And he and Tommy were going to find them.

They should head for the city then he decided. That was the best option for finding help. Someone who could tell them what exactly had happened, and what was going on now. But… to get to the city they were going to need to walk for a very, very long time. Days probably, maybe even a week. They were going to need supplies, food, blankets.

As quietly as he could Tubbo shuffled through the drawers and cupboards behind the gas station counter, looking for anything they could use. Tommy had their backpack from the vault, he was using it as a pillow, but he knew how to tell what they had inside. He opened the ‘INVENTORY’ tab on the Pip-Boy, flicking through the three entries on the list in an anxious fashion.

The mechanics of the device were still a complete mystery to him. He had no idea how it knew what it did, but it did, and it was benefiting him, so he decided not to question it… for now.

He sighed through his nose as he looked down at the glowing screen. They had nothing… there had to be some stuff around the gas station they could take. The wind caught his bangs and the hem of his far-too-large shirt as he stepped outside. He rolled his eyes and took a moment to tuck part of the hem into his jeans, just so it stayed put before continuing his walk around the station.

A crow cawed nearby, drawing his attention with a soft gasp. He ran around the side of the building, kicking up pebbles and dust as he ran to see the black bird taking off from a tall hedge, its wings flapping periodically as it glided on the cool afternoon breeze.

Past the hedges, standing stark against the pale grey-blue of the sky stood a distant radio tower, its huge satellite dish pointing to the south. He squinted against the sun, shading his eyes with his hand as he took a step back to get a better look. It… didn’t seem too far away. They could probably make it there within an hour if they walked quickly, and be back by sundown if it ended up being a bust.

A radio tower was exactly the kind of thing they needed. They needed to contact people, and if there was a single person within a fifty mile radius that was near a working radio, they’d hear them. They wouldn’t be able to respond, but if he and Tommy just stayed put they could ask for people to come to them!

He continued searching around the property for anything else that could be of use, if they were going to trek all that way they’d still need food and water, maybe blankets if they ended up staying the night instead of coming back.

“Ah!” He cried as he fell to the ground, gravel digging into the soft skin on his forearms, and ripping a hole in the knee of his pants. He groaned as he sat up, looking back to see a white metal box sticking up out of the ground, half-buried in the gravel. A red ‘+’ painted on the top. He gasped and scrambled around to face the box, pulling the top open to reveal… something.

Pulling it out of the box did nothing to explain what it was. It was… a needle, obviously. A big needle with a strange-looking metal casing attached, and a plunger on the other side. It… looked like it might be medicine? It also looked like it might be part of a car.

Regardless, he slipped the thing into his pocket. There were also two cans of purified water laying in the tin that he took too before closing it up, leaving it buried in the gravel as he took his findings into the station.

“Tubbo?” Tommy asked just as he stepped back inside, his head peeking out from the office door. “Where’d you go?”

“Took a walk.” He replied simply, pulling his findings from his pockets. “Found some more water, and whatever this is.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed as Tubbo slid the syringe across the counter toward him. He picked it up slowly, holding it in both hands, grazing a thumb over the large metal tube. “…It… looks like medicine. Kind of.”

“That’s what I was thinking too. You think we should keep it?”

Tommy hummed, turning it over in his hands. “…It looks… weird. I don’t know how to describe it, it’s like… it looks…”

“Home-made?” Tubbo asked.

“Yeah, exactly.” He set the syringe down on the counter. “…You can keep it of you want, but I’ve got no idea how you’re gonna use it.” He shivered. “I’m not a fan of needles.”

Tubbo picked it up once more and headed back into the office to tuck it into the backpack while Tommy gave him a side-eye. “There’s a radio tower up on the hill, not too far from here.” He said, voice echoing. “It’d be a good idea to head that way. If there aren’t people already there, we can call for help. If there’s anyone down in the city, they’re bound to hear it.”

Again, he hummed. Eyes cast toward the windows at the other end of the gas station, watching the sun glint off the metal overhang, and the decrepit equipment beneath it. A radio tower…

He could remember car rides, sitting in the back seat while his dad drove them home from a camping trip, or a day out to the city. He’d watch the trees blur together as they drove past, the sunlight making patterns of light dance across his face, and as they got closer and closer to home, he remembered the tower. Off in the distance. Peeking out from above the trees.

“Tommy?” Tubbo called, pulling him from his daydream.

“Yeah?” He asked, peeking in through the office door.

“You okay? You didn’t say anything.” Tubbo said, giving him a confused sort of look from where he was knelt over the backpack, stuffing supplies inside.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m… I’m good. Just tired, I think.”

Tubbo paused for a moment, giving him a look Tommy knew meant he didn’t believe him. He stood up, pulling the backpack up onto his shoulder before slinging his other arm around Tommy’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug.

“We’ve got this.” He said, nodding decisively.

Tommy hesitated for just a moment before nodding as well, and lowering his forehead to rest on Tubbo’s shoulder. “Yeah. …Yeah, thanks.” He muttered. He let go, giving Tubbo a reassuring smile that he returned.

“Come on, we’ve gotta get going.”

________________________________________

Tommy wore the Pip-Boy while they walked, and Tubbo carried the backpack. He slung it over one shoulder, staying a few steps behind Tommy, who swept the area in front of them for anything interesting. Food, tools, anything. This also led to Tubbo carrying a small collection of ‘interesting’ rocks in one pocket, and a pinecone in the other.

There was only a year between him and Tommy, not even wide enough of a gap to separate them by grade, but there were certain things that differed between them. Maybe it was the way they’d been treated by their parents. Tommy was the most curious, most excitable, most expressive person he’d ever met. Tubbo had always noticed the way Tommy leaned on him.

His parents had always encouraged him to be the best version of himself he could be. They wanted him to succeed, and with their help, he did. If he ever struggled they were there. He was taught that being a leader, taking charge, was the most honorable thing he could do.

Tommy wasn’t like that. Not that that was a bad thing, it wasn’t, it just meant he didn’t feel the need to be in charge, to be in control, in order to feel okay. In a way Tubbo was glad he didn’t have that need. It meant they worked well together, it was part of the reason they made such good friends. Tubbo protected Tommy, and Tommy brought out the excitement and curiosity in Tubbo.

“We’re getting close.” He called to Tommy up ahead. He was kneeling beside a tree to the right.

Suddenly a tiny patch of leaves in front of Tubbo sprung up, fluttering back to the ground a moment later. He froze, brow furrowed as he took another step forward, moving the leaves aside with the toe of his shoe.

A ’zip!’ cut through the air as another patch of leaves flew up behind him. He turned sharply on his heel, looking back with wide eyes, searching the ground for something that could—

“TUBBO GET DOWN!!” Tommy screamed.

He turned back around just in time to see something high at the top of the radio tower glinting in the sunlight, and another ‘zip!’ noise to his right. He gasped sharply and ran for the trees to his left, slipping just as he made it to cover.

“TOMMY?!” He shouted, pressing his shoulders back against the tree trunk.

“SOMEONE’S SHOOTING AT US!!”

“Shooting?“ Tubbo hissed. He pressed his cheek to the tree, looking as far to his left as he dared. He couldn’t see Tommy. “Wh— WHY?!”

“I DON’T KNOW!!” He shouted back.

A million thoughts rushed through Tubbo’s mind at once, none of which were helpful. What had they done?! They hadn’t done anything wrong, had they? Was it private property? Did private property still exist?

Mr. Thompson had once threatened him and Tommy with a gun. They’d been throwing stones over his fence once day after school, not for any reason in particular, and he’d stormed out onto his porch and gone off at them.

They hadn’t stuck around for long, Tommy hit his shoulder twice before running off, waving for him to follow. The last thing Tubbo remembered hearing from the old man was ”Next time you come round here you’ll meet my Oerlikon!”

That had been the closest Tubbo had ever been to seeing a gun. Now he was being shot at for- for no reason!

“TOMMY!!” He shouted, his heart fluttering like a hummingbird. “Try- T-Try to run! Run- Run back to the gas station, okay?!”

He waited a beat.

Silence.

“TOMMY?!” He shouted.

“Yeah! Y-Yeah, okay!” He heard in reply, a heavy sigh pushing itself from his chest as he leaned his head back against the tree trunk and squeezed his eyes closed.

‘Just count down, and when you hit one, just run’ He pleaded with himself, his hands balled into trembling fists.

‘five’
‘four’
‘three’
‘two’

He hesitated, slamming one fist against the tree trunk as he let out a short terrified cry before forcing his frozen legs to move. Another whistle sounded to his left, a pile of leaves furling up as, Tubbo could only assume, a bullet penetrated the ground, burying itself in the dirt.

He ran. He ran faster than he thought he could ever possibly run. Trees flew by in blurs of green and brown, he barely felt his feet hitting the ground, and for a moment he was absolutely terrified of tripping, eating dirt, and possibly, a bullet.

But by some miracle that didn’t happen. He didn’t fall, and soon he saw the outline of Fundy’s gas station over the hillside, below him. He hadn’t heard any bullets wiz past for a while, but he also hadn’t caught sight of Tommy either.

A new fear struck him and he stumbled dangerously, momentum forcing him forward toward the sloping hillside. Before ehe could do anything to stop himself, he was already crashing through twigs and fallen leaves before finally coming to a sliding halt at the base of the hill. He groaned, not moving for several seconds before pushing himself up to sit.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking down to see red beads dotting his palms, before slowly trailing toward his wrists. Blood.

“Aaah, ow-ouch—“ He whimpered, closing and opening his hands.

“TUBBO?!”

He gasped, his neck cracking awkwardly with how quickly he snapped his head up, eyes searching the empty field around him.

“TOMMY?!”

His voice sounded distant, but… He headed toward the gas station. Tommy should be there. He told him they’d meet there. “TOMMY!!” He shouted again as his sneakers hit the street, cracked pavement scrapping against his soles.

“TOMMY!!” He burst through the door, stopping short at the sight in front of him.

There he sat, on the floor, with his hands hovering above a bloody foot, red pooling beneath his ankle like a mirror. The cuff of his pant leg was pulled up revealing a dark spot in the middle of his ankle, a stripe of blood flowing down the slope of his heel.

His body felt cold, in his chest, spreading through his arms and down his legs. A guttural moan escaped him as he fell to the floor, a sound that embodied the fear gripping him. The inevitability of the outcome. He had no idea what to do.

Tommy was breathing hard. Neither of them said anything. His hands hovered, too scared to touch but unable to pull away. They both knew something had to be done, and there was no one around but him to do it.

Tommy had been shot.

It had been Tubbo’s idea to go to the radio tower. This was his fault. He was supposed to be the responsible one. He was supposed to be the responsible one.

“Tubbo?” Tommy asked, voice trembling, gaze drilling into him.

He knew, and Tubbo knew, that neither of them could fix this. His blood was getting everywhere now. He was going to die, and Tubbo was going to be all alone—

He took a breath, pushing himself forward. “Okay, okay, let’s—“ He looked around, heart racing in his chest. “Let’s- I don’t know—”

“Tubbo, where’s the- uhm, the,“ Tommy stammered, gesturing vaguely with a tense hand toward the backpack behind him.

“Oh, uh… -oh! Oh!” He yanked the bag off his shoulder, pulling the zipper pouch open and rummaging through the blankets and boxes inside until he finally found it. The syringe.

He pulled it out, still unsure about its intended use. The needle on the end looked more like a straw than something medical, but… it looked like the kind of thing that would restart someone’s heart, it was bound to help Tommy’s leg, right?

“H-hold still.” He instructed shakily as he moved to kneel on his knees, holding the syringe in both hands. He flexed his fingers, adjusting his grip as he brought it closer to the… injury. The wound.

“Tubbo?...” Tommy whispered, looking up at him nervously. “What’s—?”

“It’s— I don’t-don’t know how to use it!” He said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Please! Come on Tubbo just— just stick it in my leg! Right there!“ Tommy shouted.

“But what if—”

“Just do it! You couldn’t possibly make it worse!” He snapped venomously, reaching desperately to take it from Tubbo’s hand and do the deed himself. But Tubbo pulled back, clutching the syringe to his chest.

“Tubbo!” Tommy begged. “Just—”

With an angry cry he raised the syringe up, planting it in Tommy’s leg, squeezing the plunger. A mechanical hiss escaped it, and after he was sure whatever was inside was now in Tommy, he removed the needle, which drew a pained groan from Tommy.

“You okay?!” He asked, grabbing Tommy’s shoulder with one hand.

“I’m- I’m good, I’m… It feels… better.” He groaned, running a hand over the injection.

The two boys watched, mouths a gape in awe, and perhaps terror as the wound closed up, swallowing the bullet and leaving a white penny-sized scar in the center of Tommy’s ankle.

“Oh shit— oh shit, shit, shit! Should we have taken it out?!” Tubbo whimpered, grabbing at his hair as his heart once again picked up pace. “Does it hurt?! I don’t—“

“It’s okay! I’m okay.” He reassured, reaching out to catch one of Tubbo’s hands. He caught his wrist and gave it a squeeze, grabbing his focus again. “It doesn’t hurt. Trust me, you’d know if it did.”

That made Tubbo laugh, if a bit nervous. He pushed himself to his feet and offered Tommy a hand, which he took. Tubbo held his arms out as though he were preparing for Tommy to wobble and fall, but he stood firm, testing his weight on his ankle.

“It honestly doesn’t hurt.” He mumbled, more surprised than anything else. “I don’t know what was in that, but it… it worked.”

“Holy shit.” Tubbo muttered, kneeling down to look at Tommy’s ankle, which he stretched out, rolling his heel carefully, and then with more confidence as there was no twinge of pain the first time around.

“You’re…“ Tubbo sighed heavily. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

He nodded again. “Yeah, I’m sure. It… It felt kinda like… you know last summer when we were hanging out at that pond in Mr. Thompson’s backyard?”

“I… y-yeah?”

“Remember that day he chased us off?”

Tubbo nodded again.

“Well… I went back the next day, and he’d bought a dog.” Tommy laughed breathily. “This great big dog, I don’t know what kind, but he was real mean. Chased me through the yard and bit my foot as I climbed over the fence.”

“Tommy!” Tubbo chided, hitting him in the shoulder. “What the—“

“It felt like that!” He defended, pointing toward his foot. “It was the same foot and everything!”

“Did you go to the hospital?!”

“I couldn’t tell my parents I went back there, my dad’d kill me!”

“You were bit by a dog!”

“Tubbo, I just got shot!”

They both froze, Tubbo’s face falling in shock and Tommy’s chest tensing up. He swore under his breath. “…I didn’t mean it like—” He sighed through his nose. “Look, I’m fine.”

“Are you?” He asked. “You’ve got… a bullet in you.”

Tommy scoffed, coving his mouth with one hand as a string of laughs bubbled up from his chest. “What?” He asked, leaning away with a confused smile on his own face. “What?!”

“Just the way you said it- ‘you’ve got… a bullet in’— hah!” He shook his head, letting out a heavy, relieved sigh. “…I promise, I’m really okay.”

Tubbo sighed through his nose and gave Tommy a small, apprehensive smile, before nodding toward the office door. “…We should pack up. I don’t want to be this close to that tower anymore.”

They started gathering all the supplies they could carry immediately, shoving the blanket into the backpack, grabbing anything that looked useful. Tommy looked through the garage, trading his rusted adjustment wrench for a heftier one. It was heavy, but would pack a harder punch if they ran into anymore giant bugs.

“Ready?” Tubbo asked, adjusting the straps of the backpack as he stood on the sidewalk outside, the golden evening light reflecting off the profile of his face.

Tommy stepped out, tucking the wrench into his belt loop, hands on his hips with a sigh.

“Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

They set out the following day just as the morning sun peeked over the hills to the east, their shadows cast long against the pavement. Tommy spent his time scraping the soles of his sneakers against the asphalt, a harsh grating sound that normally would’ve annoyed Tubbo if he hadn’t been so entrenched in his own thoughts. He’s run up ahead of Tubbo and stop short, scuffing the rubber and tripping over cracks and breaks in the road.

Tubbo looked up from the road, where his eyes had been glued for the past few hours. “…You’re gonna fall flat on your face, and I’m gonna laugh.” He called as Tommy did it again, his shoes slick enough at that point he slid for five feet before catching the edge of a piece of pavement and careening forward, barely staying on his feet.

“I’m fine!” He insisted once he’d regained his balance, waving his arms out to his sides. “You worry too much.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes, following along the path as Tommy once again ran forward, sliding on the soles of his shoes for a decent distance before finally skidding to a stop. He managed to save himself from a nasty fall by catching himself on his hands and pushing back up to stand. He looked back at Tubbo, the shorter boy smirking at him in an ‘I told you so’ manner.

“Shut up.” He muttered, before going back to running and sliding on the soled of his shoes.

“I didn’t say anything!” Tubbo defended, still following after Tommy at a leisurely pace. “Have you got any real idea of where we’re heading, or are you just trying to see how far you can slide before you smack face-first into a slab of concrete?”

“You’re no fun.” He muttered, but the smile on his face told Tubbo he didn’t mean it. “Besides, you’re the one with the weird computer thing on your wrist. It has a map, doesn’t it?”

Tubbo puffed his lip out as he looked down at the Pip-Boy, the screen flickering to life with it’s usual neon green glow. He twisted the knob back and forth a few times before finally settling on the ‘MAP’ tab, which showed a fairly blank canvas, with a few landmarks here and there like the river, and their neighborhood, as well as the vault they’d come from. When he tried zooming in on other areas of the map however, a small text box appeared on the screen, blocking his view:

‘You have not discovered any new locations.’

“…I don’t think it’s going to be much help.” He muttered. “I guess… it can only tell us about places we’ve already been?”

“That’s fucking stupid.”

“Tommy!” Tubbo hissed, looking around for anyone who might’ve heard. “Don’t say that!”

“What? Stupid?”

“No! The other thing!”

“Fuck?”

“Yes!” He pushed Tommy roughly by the arm. “Someone might hear you!”

Tommy scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Right, like my dad is going to hear me? I can say whatever the hell I want to say!”

“Just ‘cause the world ended doesn’t mean out parents would want us saying bad words.” Tubbo muttered with a sigh, kicking a loose portion of cement with the toe of his sneaker. “We’ve got to… I dunno, be good, for them. Still.”

Tommy stopped, turning toward Tubbo with a deadpan look. “…‘Be good’?…”

Tubbo bristled in defense. “Yeah! Be good! My dad always said people who say those words don’t have any smarter, nicer words to say. Using them is… mean. Saying them is like being mean to yourself, it’s bad for you.”

“How many curse words do you even know?"

That question caused him to pause. They’d come to a stop together in the middle of an abandoned intersection, a four-way stop with a few rusted out cars laying like metal skeletons under the autumn sun. “…I know… a few.” He admitted quietly. “Five or six. I don’t remember where I learned a lot of ‘em from. Maybe Fundy?”

“I learned at least three from Fundy.” Tommy agreed. “My dad taught me the rest.”

“Your dad told you swear words?!” Tubbo gawked, eyes wide as Tommy grinned and puffed out his chest.

“Hell yeah he did! When we’d go to the Maizer’s stadium guys in the stands would yell all sorts of things. If I asked, he’d just tell me. It was like a secret code. The Man-code. He’d say like ‘Don’t you dare tell your mother any of those words now, or you’ll stop her poor heart. Understand?’ And then he’d tell me what they all meant.”

“How many swear words do you know then?” He asked, kicking up a small spray of dust before gently guiding Tommy to trek onward.

They were continuing toward the south, since the main road that led directly into the city snaked down that way. The gunman at the radio tower had freaked them both out, especially what with Tommy having gotten… —Anyway. Tubbo wanted to be on his toes in case something like that happened again. They were still far enough away that it wasn’t a necessity, but… when they got closer to the city, they’d need to be way, way way more careful.

“Hell, Shit, Ass, Damn. Uh, Bastard…” Tommy held his hand up, counting on his fingers as he went. “There’s a couple more. Oh! Fuck. Fundy taught me that one.”

“He taught me that one too!” Tubbo said, skipping forward a few steps to keep up with Tommy. “Fundy was a pretty cool.”

“Nah, he was just older than us. Not even by much, he couldn’t have been over twenty.” He said with a shrug. “I bet if I were as old as Fundy was, I would’ve made fun of him.”

Tubbo laughed, bumping Tommy in the shoulder. “You’re rude to Fundy dude.”

“If Fundy were here he would one hundred percent agree with me.”

“No he wouldn’t!”

“Yeah he would!”

“He would not!”

“He so totally would.”

Tubbo scoffed as Tommy backed up, once again took a running start, and slid on the slick bottoms of his sneakers. “Whatever.”

They continued on, heading toward the city in the distance, the atmosphere between them obscuring the larger towers in a blue haze. He sighed, tucking his hands into his pockets as he watched the peaks of those buildings. “If we keep walking, we’ll get somewhere. The city’s not that far away. And anyways, I’d be more surprised if there aren’t any people there.”

“Oh, so now you’re convinced we’re not the last people alive?” Tubbo asked with a smirk, enjoying the ay Tommy scrambled to an anxious stop.

“I was sleep-deprived, you can’t hold that against me!” Tommy protested.

“I so totally can and so totally will.”

After another hour the crumbling road came to a cross, the street they’d come from continuing toward the city while another other intersected it, stretching to their left and right. Tubbo sighed, taking a seat on the asphalt as he looked in either direction, then straight ahead.

“Are we stopping?” Tommy asked as he walked up behind him.

He didn’t respond, staring ahead as he went through the options laid out before them. Tommy came up to his side and sat down, elbows resting over his knees as he looked out too, observing the barren landscape on the outskirts of their hometown. On one hand the city was right there in front of them. It was miles and miles away, they definitely wouldn’t get there within the next day, even if they ran the whole way which they definitely couldn’t do. And if they did make it in one day… Tubbo had no idea where they were going to sleep. Even the idea of getting ambushed by giant bugs had him rethinking their options.

Those other options were the intersecting road. They could go either direction, but neither of those roads guaranteed a place to stay. But… there might be somewhere safe there. The road to the city guaranteed there wouldn’t be any place to stay. “…Which way should we go?” He asked, resting his chin in his hand.

“What’d you mean? We’re heading into the city, aren’t we?” Tommy asked, looking at Tubbo with a quirked brow.

“We’re not gonna make it there for the next few days, we’ll have to find someplace to stay for the night along the way.” He reasoned. “We can either look for somewhere to sleep around here, or… hope we find something later.”

“The closer we get the more people there’ll be, the more places there'll be to sleep.” Tommy explained. “We shouldn’t wander from the road, we’ll just get lost.”

“Well, I mean… the city’s right there.” Tubbo said with a shrug, pointing toward the large spindle-y towers in the distance. “I hardly think we’ll be able to lose track of it even if we tried.”

He gave him a long look, glancing between Tubbo and the city in the distance. “…The longer we wait around the less daylight we have.” He tucked his hands into his pockets, the cloth bandages over his fingers bunched up around the bases of his knuckles, revealing the red scabs along his joints. “What’re we gonna do?”

Tubbo bit his lip, tapping his fingers against the back of his other palm. “…Lets head left, Concord’s over that way, right? We’ll sleep there and get back on the road tomorrow.”

“A'ight.” Tommy said with a nod, trudging back toward him with a small sigh, but a smile on his face. “Whatever you say, boss-man.”

“Boss-man?” Tubbo asked with a laugh. “Since when am I the boss? You don’t get to make me the boss.”

“You’re older!” Tommy insisted, quickly following after as Tubbo began walking down the road. “It would make sense for you to be in charge, what, you want me to be in charge?”

“Why does one of us have to be in charge?” Tubbo asked suddenly, shaking his head. “It’s just us, I’ve never been ‘in charge’ of you before, and I’m not gonna start now.”

“Oh don’t even, you love being in charge.” Tommy said with a laugh, rolling his eyes. “You always have to make the rules, or check the rules, or double-check the—“

“Okay, okay, okay, fine… maybe I’m just a… um,”

“You’re just, bossy?” Tommy finished with a smirk, raising a brow at him.

“…Shut up.” He muttered as Tommy’s cackling laugh echoed off the nearby trees.

________________________________________

The sun was quickly setting, already the last dredges of evening were disappearing behind the distant hills leaving the sky a dark magenta that faded to indigo, and then black. Tommy was, once again and as always, up ahead of Tubbo by about twenty of thirty feet. Kicking stones and throwing twigs as he bounded from one side of the road to the other.

Tubbo’s hands were balled into the insides of his pockets, his eyes constantly cast toward the sky, his mouth a thin line as his nerves snapped, a chill crawling up and down his spine. They weren’t any better off on this road than they would have been heading toward the city. It was getting cold… if they didn’t find somewhere to stay soon, they were just going to have to sleep on the side of the road, and Tubbo didn’t want to let that happen.

“See anything?” He called to Tommy, who stood at the summit of a small hill up ahead, his head and shoulders silhouetted-black faintly against the slightly lighter lavender sky.

“Yeah!”

Tubbo’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he began to jog to meet Tommy at the top of the hill. He pointed down the slope, and they saw the outline of the town just a short walk away. “We’ve gotta get moving.” He breathed, the ghost of a smile on his face as he turned to Tommy, a grin on his to match.

The walk down the hill was easy, their feet flying underneath them in quick strides, the distance closing swiftly between them and the buildings ahead. ’Maybe there were people there’, Tubbo hoped. ‘Maybe they can tell us what’s really happened, what’s been happening since the vault door closed.’ Another part of him, the scared, fearful part said ‘What if they’re just like the shooter from the radio tower’.

He shook off those thoughts, preferring to stick with the more optimistic approach that, if they did happen to run into anybody at all, they’d be friendly and helpful. It’s not like they’d been followed, there was no one traveling the roads but them. But as the sky continued to darken, he couldn’t help but feel that encroaching fear clawing at his chest.

By the time they could see the streets in more detail the sky was completely dark, the long downtown street like a shroud in front of them, towering with shattered window panes high up near the rooftops, reflecting what little moonlight there was. Tommy trudged forward first, picking his sneakers up over the tall spine weeds that grew from the pavement cracks, stamping them down here and there before Tubbo followed suit.

The first thing Tubbo noticed was the boarded up planks covering nearly every doorway and window down the line on either side of the street. What windows weren’t covered poured debris like an avalanche out onto the street. And even beyond that, some of the doors were simply locked up tight, the hinges rusted and keyholes so worn and warped that fitting a key into one would be impossible.

Still, the fact that the windows had been boarded at all meant that someone had been alive long enough after the blast to nail them there. He glanced in Tommy’s direction, seeing the knowing look in his eyes told him he’d come to the same conclusion.

“What about this place?” Tommy asked, pointing toward a small shop, a rusted metal sign swinging above the door read: ‘C FF E’. The ‘O’ and ‘E’ having either fallen off or dissolved after so many years under the hot sun. It looked just as good a place as any other.

“Let’s see.” Tubbo muttered, not getting his hopes up at the sight of the nailed-shut windows. He tried the handle first, but found it either jammed, or locked. “Shit.” He whispered, jiggling the handle forcefully for a second too long before letting go with a strangled groan.

Despite his optimistic, bordering on day-dreamy nature, Tommy was not inattentive. He’s perfectly happy entertaining himself, like sliding the grips of his sneakers away on the asphalt, but he knew the situation they were in, and even if he put on an energetic facade, Tubbo knew better than to take it at face-value. Tommy was tired, thread-bare, and paper-thin, just as he was. They both needed this win.

“Let me…” Tubbo muttered, kneeling down in front of the door and brushing his thumb over the rusted keyhole. If he could just…

“What?” Tommy asked. “What are you looking for?”

“…Nothing.” He muttered, leaning away with a sigh. “It’s too rusty, I can barely see.”

“Let’s just sleep on the porch.” Tommy pleaded, growing more and more preferred to giving up and going to sleep. His arms folded and tears obvious in his voice. His energetic facade had completely melted by this time, the disparity in him obvious, the exhaustion even more so.

“Hey, there’s got to be another door.” He suggested. He took Tommy by the shoulder and lead him around the side, down a small alley between it and another building. “There can’t be just one, right? This place is big enough, there’s bound to be another entrance, a backroom or something.”

“Maybe.” Tommy muttered, obviously miffed.

However, save for a padlocked tornado shelter entrance they wouldn’t be able to get into even if they tried, and despite all their attempts, the search for any kind of second entrance came up short.

“Come on, there’s got to be a way.” Tubbo whispered, more to himself now than Tommy, who was no longer listening. He took a few steps back and looked up, catching the faint reflections of window panes. They were small, and… many were missing. In fact there were whole sections that had been completely shattered, leaving gaping holes. Holes large enough for them to slip through. Tommy was tall enough, and Tubbo had a decent wingspan… if they boosted one another up they could probably get inside.

“Tommy, look up.” He said, pulling him backwards and taking him by the shoulders. “Look, see? Think you can help me get up there?”

“Huh?...” Tommy looked up, squinting at the top of the building with a skeptical glare. “…I can try.” He trudged forward and leaned down, threading his fingers together.

Tubbo stepped forward, planting his hands on Tommy’s shoulders before placing one shoe in his hands. “On three, ready? One, two, three!” He called, bending his knees with each count until the last. Tommy lifted him up as high as he could, and Tubbo reached up even higher, fingers barely gripping the ledge. He scrabbled to get a better grip as fast as he could, and found a wooden rail on the inside.

He lifted his feet up, one planted on the outside of the building while the other he swung up with, and managed just barely to roll in through the window. Unfortunately though, there was no rail or platform for him to land on. The floor was ten feet below, and Tubbo fell all ten of those feet, hitting the ground on his side with a painful cry.

“TUBBO?!” Tommy shouted, his voice frantic as it echoed inside. “TUBBO, YOU OKAY?!”

“I’m alright!” He called back, pushing himself up to his feet. “Just fell, but I’m okay!”

“What do you see? Can you open the door?” Tommy yelled, the sound of shaking weeds following as he presumably ran back toward the door at the front of the building.

Tubbo brushed his hand against the wall, tracing his way back to the far right side where he could feel the outline of the door there. “It’s dark in here.” He said, pressing his shoulder against the door. “Give me a second to see, I can’t find the lock.” For a terrifying moment the thought that the lock might be broken, that he’d just climbed a high wall and fallen into what could possibly be a doorless cage dawned on Tubbo, and his hands started to shake.

”Tubbo, what’s wrong?” Tommy asked, his voice muffled through the heavy door. ”What’s happening?”

“Y-yeah, yeah I just… just need to get the door open.” He whispered, voice tight and high. Tears blurring the edges of his vision. He brushed his hands over the edges of the door, searching for a knob or bar of some kind, and managed to find the edge of a cold metal handle to his right, a shaky sigh escaping him as he pulled. But nothing happened.

”Tubbo take a breath, I can hear you from this side.” Tommy said gently. ”Try pushing on it.”

Tubbo nodded to himself in an attempt at self-assurance as he pushed the door, but still nothing happened. It stayed stubbornly shut.

”Okay, okay that’s fine.” Tommy muttered, cursing softly. “Um… Try… try an’ see if there’s a lock. Can you feel a latch?”

“Um-m—” Tubbo stammered, a trembling hand searching again. “Yeah, yeah! There’s a latch here,” He snapped the latch in the other direction, and immediately the door slipped away from his shoulder, swinging open outward.

Immediately Tommy was there with arms wrapped tightly around Tubbo’s shoulders. He reached up, brushing a hand through Tubbo’s hair the same way his mom would do for him when he was scared. “I thought it m-might not open.” He whispered, squeezing his eyes closed. “Thought I was stuck in here.”

“You’re not stuck.” Tommy reassured. “Come on, we’ll keep it open, it’s a warm night.”

So, the door stayed open. The next day Tubbo awoke to sunlight filtering through the windows, dust particles dancing in the rays as he lifted his head. It was cold. Tommy was still asleep beside him so he got up as quietly as he good, leaving him to sleep while he looked around the place they’d… well, broken into last night.

He checked the door first, and noticed the weeds poking through the pavement were covered in dewdrops, tiny beads of water that caught the sunlight as it rose up above the distant hills. He smiled, sitting down on the doorstep, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands as the sun slowly rose higher and higher. Somewhere nearby birds were singing.

“Morning.”

He turned, the ghost of a smile on his face as he looked at Tommy, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he walked up and leaned against the door frame. “Did I wake you up?”

He yawned, shaking his head “No, it’s fine. What’s going on?”

Tubbo sighed through his nose, his shoulders un-tensing slightly as he looked back at the misty road. “…It’s a nice day out today.” Tommy hummed in agreement and closed his eyes, leaning his temple against the doorframe as he listened to the birds, the wind brushing through the nearby trees.

“…We should get moving if we want to get closer to the city, in any substantial amount.”

“Meh meh meh, ‘any substantial amount’—“ Tommy laughed, holding his hand up to puppet Tubbo’s words back to him. “—You read too many books as a child, now you sound like a dictionary.”

Tubbo scoffed, rolling his eyes before pushing himself to his feet. “You should have read more books. Not comic books either, like actual, real thick books.”

“Well, not to alarm you Tubs but that ship’s sort of sailed. Permanently. The world’s ended, I don’t think reading books is going to help.”

“It might help you.” He said with a laugh. “Not everything you do has to save the world. Reading can just be fun.”

Tommy scoffed and pushed away from the wall, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Well, come on then, we should start walking if we’re planning on getting anywhere, like you said.”

Neither of them had unpacked anything the previous night, so it didn’t make sense to stick around any longer than they needed to, but… something held Tubbo back as they headed for the door, his sneakers pausing just before he stepped through the threshold.

Tommy had already jumped off the porch, gravel and sand crunching under his shoes as he headed for the street, but when he missed the sound of Tubbo’s footsteps behind him he too paused and looked back, one brow quirked upwards. “…Tubbo?”

“Let’s…“ He hesitated, a hand reaching up to grip the strap of his backpack nervously. “Let’s wait a second. There could be some useful stuff in here too, right? Food and blankets and things. Just like there was in our neighborhood.”

Tommy turned toward him and took a step back, giving the building a once-over. It was old and decrepit, the windows shattered and the door rusted, but… so was every other building. Suddenly it dawned on him that… they might not have had permission to stay here. Despite the look of the place, this was the end of the world. Someone might live here.

They’d squatted. They were squatters. The fact that Tubbo was asking the question at all raised the possibility that they’d done something wrong. Something very wrong. “Someone might live here.” He muttered, taking a microscopic step backwards. “We’ve already overstayed our welcome if that’s the case.”

“But what if no one does?” Tubbo retorted, stepping out onto the porch. “It wouldn’t hurt to take a look around. No one’s here now, right? It’s probably abandoned anyways.”

“We don’t know that.” Tommy insisted, shaking his head. “Stealing from the neighborhood was bad enough, at least we knew those people wouldn’t miss what we were taking.”

Tubbo scraped his sneaker against the porch, looking down as he stepped backwards. “…Gimme a minute, I just want to take a look around.”

“Tub—!” Tommy started, reaching forward with an outstretched hand. But Tubbo had already disappeared back into the building, the sounds of rummaging following not soon after. He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking around nervously.

He jogged quickly to the edge of the road and looked either way, but… it was all deserted. It would be a shame if the first person they saw was the owner of a building they were stealing from. The shooter at the top of the radio tower didn’t count.

“Tubbo, hurry up!” He called, running back to the door with a nervous look on his face. “You’ve looked long enough, let’s go!”

“What the hell’s goin’ on over here?!”

Tommy gasped, the sound of another person’s voice so foreign to his ears after a week of just himself and Tubbo that his heart hammered against his ribs at the noise, his eyes wide as he turned, scanning their surroundings. It didn’t take long for him to notice the man. He was shambling toward them with an uneven gate, his frame broad and hulking.

Tommy thought he’d be ecstatic the first time he saw another person, his heart soaring as he ran to their aid, explaining everything that had happened to him and Tubbo whilst begging for help. But this man… something about him made him take a step backward.

Unfortunately at that exact moment Tubbo came bounding up to the door, straight into Tommy’s back as the two scrambled around one another, Tubbo’s eyes widening as he took in the presence of the stranger. He was broad-shouldered and had a long scruffy beard, the edges of it silver and grey but the middle near his mouth brownish and stained. His brow was wrinkled, with a white scar over his right eyebrow that stood stark against his tan skin.

“This is my property you’re on. What the fuck are you doin’ out ‘ere?!”

“We— We’re trying to get to the city!” Tommy insisted suddenly, taking a step forward. “We’re from the neighborhood on the hill, there’s a vault back a few miles that way.” He pointed down the road in the direction they’d come from, “We’ve been walking for days, and we— we just needed a place to stay for the night.”

“We’re really sorry!” Tubbo insisted. “We knew it was wrong but we- we didn’t have anywhere else to go. We were tired, and there was—“

“You’re vaulters.” He chuckled, something in the noise made a shiver run down Tubbo’s spine. “‘S not somethin’ you see every day. Vaulters, don’t last long in the wastes. Most don’t last more than a couple days. Gettin’ eaten up by molerats, or dyin’ a’ rad.” He shakes his head and turns to the side, spitting a wad of brown spit onto the side of the road before facing them once more. “You boys don’t wanna be seen’ any of that. Insides all over the road. Even their damn blood reeks to high heaven, there’s no savin’ nothin off a sod stupid’nough to get close to rad-zones.”

Tommy could feel Tubbo’s arms tense against his back, a silent warning that he already knew. Danger. Run at the first possible moment.

The man’s gaze lowered, looking right at him. “Yep, I’ll tell ye that much, bein’ a vaulter ain’t such a great thing. You’re better off sittin’ in whatever hole you two crawled out of than testin’ yer luck up here with the rest of us.”

Tubbo scowled, turning his head away so he didn’t have to look at him anymore when suddenly the man’s hand surged forward and grabbed him by the jaw, pulling him forward from his place behind Tommy’s shoulder.

“Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you boy—”

“DON’T TOUCH HIM!!” Tommy screamed, pulling his arms back from Tubbo’s shoulders to hit the man away. But it was like a fly biting a horse, the man batted Tommy away easily with a slap to the side of his head, causing his ear to harshly ring.

Tubbo couldn’t breathe, the man’s thick knotted knuckles gripping his jaw hard enough he could feel his teeth aching, rubbing together, a pair of crazed yellow eyes inches away from his own, the man’s alcohol-scented breath puffing in his face.

“You dunno what yer gettin’ into out here. You’ll be dead in the week, mark my words you little bastard. Ain’t no one out here gonna give you nothin’, you won’t cause nothin’ but grief for anybody you come ‘cross.”

“GET OFF HIM!!” Tommy shouted again, pulling the wrench from his belt loop. And hefting it up over his shoulder like a baseball bat. The man chuckled again and shoved Tubbo away by his face with enough force to send him skidding across the pavement on his back. Tommy grimaced, his sweaty palms wrapping tighter around the metal tool.

He reached into his coat, revealing a long hunting knife that made Tommy’s stomach bottom out just looking at it. It glinted in the sunlight, the light shining off its serrated edge. He growled, stepping toward Tommy slowly. “You think you can fight me boy? I’ll gut you like a damn fish.”

Tommy let out a scream as he waved the wrench in front of him, a warning for the man to stay back. Despite this he stepped closer, watching Tommy with a hungry look in his eyes. He swung the wrench at him again as he backed away, his eyes wide and terrified.

“Don’t make this hard for the both of us boy.” He warned, holding the knife out. “You’re not meant to live much longer than y’already have.”

“SHUT UP!!”

Suddenly a sickening thud echoed through the air, the man fell forward onto his knees, then flat on his face, a splatter of red decorating the road in front of him as Tubbo stood behind, a huge rock held in both his hands, it’s blunt edge coated in a glossy sheen of the same shade.

Tommy’s eyes widened as he staggered backwards, looking between Tubbo and the man’s bloodied body. They both breathed heavily, his blood rushing in his ears. Nothing seemed real, everything was moving too fast.

“You okay?” Tubbo asked, voice trembling as he dropped the rock and ran to Tommy, bracing his hands against his shoulders. “Did he hurt you?!”

He frantically shook his head back and forth, shoulders heaving as he looked at the man’s body laying limp on the ground, face down. Tubbo did too, the two stepping further away.

“…Is he… is he dead?” Tommy muttered, his fingers digging into Tubbo’s shirt.

He was breathing deeply in and out through his nose, his eyes locked on the man’s body. For a second Tommy thought he might be willing himself to walk back up to it, maybe try to kick him in the ribs or something, but all he did was shake his head. “I don’t know, and I don’t wanna wait around for him to wake up if he’s not.”

“…Wait.” He muttered, taking a step toward him as Tubbo backed away.

“What—?”

Tommy held a hand toward him as he took another step closer and leaned down, reaching a hand out toward the man’s coat lapel. With his fingertips he brushed the fabric aside, very deliberately ignoring the steadily growing pool of deep red gathering beneath the man’s head, blood streaming down the sides of his skull, dripping from the peaks of his face and forehead. He was built sturdy, he looked like the kind of guy who could survive in the woods for years without talking to a single person, or get any kind of help. He had to have something on him that… that they could use.

“Tommy.” Tubbo warned breathily, his sneakers scuffing the pavement as he stepped backwards. “What are you doing?”

Something silver glinted in the sun near his hip, and Tommy reached down with a trembling hand, pulling the gun from a leather holster, testing the weight of it in his hand.

”Tommy.” Tubbo hissed, his voice pleading. “Please, we gotta go, now.”

He nodded, backpedaling and letting the coat fall back to cover his side again. He shoved the gun into his pocket. “Come on let’s go.” He whispered, never once taking his eyes off the man as he took Tubbo’s arm, only tearing his gaze away as they turned, leading him away.

They walked in a cold, fragile silence down the road. He had no idea if they were doing the right thing by heading into the city anymore. What if everyone left alive was like him? He was some kind of crazy, no doubt. He couldn’t defend Tubbo from someone like that again. He’d swung a knife at them, god knows what would’ve happened if he’d pulled out the gun.

They’d been going for hours at this point, and could tell Tubbo’s energy was beginning to wane. Wether they wanted to or not they were going to have to stop. “I think it’s time we rest for a while.” He offered gently, stopping in his tracks and pulling on his friend’s sleeve to get him to stop too. “We’ve gotta stop somewhere, I’m getting tired.”

“Can it wait just a little longer?” He asked, tilting his head up toward Tommy with a pleading look in his eyes.

Tommy opened his mouth to say something, to protest and insist they sit in the shade, even if it was just for a few minutes, but something caught his eye. He leaned in, resting a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder as he searched his face, but not his eyes. “You’ve got—” He started, but couldn’t bare to finish the sentence, instead reaching one hand up to ghost the pad of his thumb over the edge of his jaw, where a purple spot had begun to form.

“Tommy?” He asked, his own eyes darting back and forth as he leaned away, his brow furrowing in confusion. “That… that hurts.” The wrinkle between his brows deepening as Tommy’s hand fell away, the two finally meeting eyes.

There were five finger-sized bruises dotting Tubbo’s face like purple stains, their edges ugly and brown, and one especially deep in the center of his right cheek where the man’s thumb had dug in the deepest. Seeing them made Tommy want to throw up, or punch something, or find that man again and shoot him.

“Tubbo.” He whispered, pulling him in to a tight hug.

“I’m okay.” He whimpered, though his shaking chest and hiccups said otherwise. “I’m okay.”

Despite his shaky reassurances, Tommy refused to be convinced. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders, allowing Tubbo to lean against him, hiding his face as they continued to walk. Heading, as they had since they began, toward the city in the distance.

Chapter Text

The sun sat high in the sky, a bright crisp autumn afternoon. The trees were already bare, and the frigid air told Tommy winter was much closer than they’d like to believe. Snow would be coming soon, the thought of it felt fuzzy and far away, but he knew it would be all to real all too soon.

As they walked t came across a river that cut underneath the road. Calling it a river was charitable, it was more of a trickling stream, and the passage below the street wasn’t pretty, no cobbled bridge or archway, just a small tunnel through the dirt from one end to the other. Even so, Tommy stopped to lean over the edge and take a look.

“What?”

He glanced back over his shoulder to look at Tubbo. The bruises were getting worse, the left side of his jaw puffy and purple, turning brown and yellow around his mouth. The one spot on his right cheek had grown especially dark.

He turned back to the stream. “This river probably leads to the one by the neighborhood, right?” He asked, looking back with a small, almost wistful smile.

Tubbo raised a brow, but pulled up the Pip-Boy’s map regardless. “…It’s not even marked on here, it’s so puny.”

”You’re so puny.” Tommy muttered on instinct, chuckling as he heard the telltale sound of a pebble being tossed in his direction. “Missed me.”

A ’thwack!’ Against the bottom of his sneaker. “Hit you that time.”

He could hear the smirk in Tubbo’s voice. He smiled, watching as Tubbo gathered more pellet-sized stones into his pockets. Maybe once they got to the city they could talk to someone about it. An adult who knew what to do about those kinds of things. Maybe they’d be able to find the man and shoot him. A few times. That’d make him feel a lot better.

“Let’s see where it goes.” He said, a hint of excitement in his voice as he hopped off the street and into the long grass alongside the little drainage ditch.

“Tommy, we need to keep moving toward the city.” He said, shaking his head. “We’ve got to—”

“It’s headed in the same direction! Come on, we have time to check it out.” The distraction of finding the stream in the first place had worked well enough, and it’s not like they needed to be anywhere fast, the city could wait.

Tubbo sighed, but Tommy was already halfway down the trail, and… it was still technically heading in the direction of the city, once they’d curve around the bend. “…Fine.” He muttered, mostly to himself. He jumped down from the road and headed after him. “This isn’t productive!” He called forward, exasperated as he crushed weeds beneath his sneakers.

“You sound like my father!” Tommy called back with a snarky grin, which only grew when he saw the annoyed glare Tubbo was giving him. “Come on, keep up old man!”

“I am seven months older than you!”

“One foot in the grave!”

He rolled his eyes. “Tommy please, wait up!”

Tommy stayed a decent distance ahead of him as they explored, as he seemed to enjoy doing. Tubbo watched him jump from one side of the bank to the other, though really there wasn’t enough water at the bottom to justify doing so.

Tubbo stayed on his side of the ditch, checking the angle of the city every so often to make sure they weren’t getting too off track. At this point it was going to be time for them to find a place to rest up soon for the night anyways, the sun had just past it’s midday mark in the sky, if they didn’t want to be short on time like they’d been last night for finding a place, they needed to get back on track quickly.

Slowly he staggered to a stop, squinting against the harsh sun as he watched Tommy trotting onward and cupped a hand around his mouth to call forward to him. “I changed my mind Tommy, let’s go back! It’s too far, we’re gonna get lost. We need to get to the road!”

“Tubbo come here!” He shouted, looking back with a wide-eyed glance. “Come look at this!”

“Jesus Christ almighty—” He muttered under his breath as he trudged onwards. “Tommy please we need to—”

Tommy reached back and stopped him as he approached, before gesturing forward and stepping out of the way to reveal a canal. He took a step back from the edge, a brick wall that went down maybe eight feet or so, to a deep river of cold water that flowed into a large tunnel to their left. The drainage ditch they’d been following flowed down a small spigot leading into the larger one.

“Woah…” He breathed, taking a step back as well. “…How have we never seen this before?”

“We’ve never been out this far on our own. We’ve been walking for days now Tubbo.” Tommy knelt down, rocking back onto his heels as he rested his elbows on his thighs. “There’s probably a lot of shit out here we haven’t seen before.”

“Look over there.” Tubbo muttered, placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder as he pointed downstream where a small shack clung to the side of the riverbank.

“Shit!” Tommy shot to his feet, a shower of gravel falling over the edge of the canal into the water below. “You think— It couldn’t be that guy, right? There’s no way…”

“He said that warehouse was his, didn’t he? Besides… I don’t think he’s going anywhere after that hit.”

They both went quiet for a moment after that, neither one wanting to comment further on what Tubbo had done. Even if it was life and death —which it had been— leaving some stranger on the side of the road, maybe alive… “Yeah.” His heart starting to race. They were ahead of him at the very least, if he was still alive. And stealing from him would be a good ‘fuck you’ for what he’d done to Tubbo.

Suddenly Tommy felt a rush overtake him, quickly pressing forward as he felt a duty to swipe everything he could carry from the man’s evil lair. He could hear Tubbo call anxiously behind him before the sound of his sneakers matched Tommy’s, raising in volume as he caught up.

The closer they got to the shack the less and less sure they were that someone lived in it. A set of old rusty sun-stained barrels floated haphazardly in the water. That, and the back left corner of it had collapsed into the water, moss and weeds climbing up, devouring it from the outside in.

Tommy noticed too, his pace dwindling from a sprint to a jog, finally slowing to a stop as they reached the bank together, looking over the rickety place. “…Well there goes that.” He muttered, kicking a bit of loose grass into the water, watching it tumble in with a splash.

“You were so sure someone lived at that run-down cafe, how come you think no one lives here?”

“Do you think someone’s in there?”

Tommy folded his arms, but Tubbo didn’t have anything to remark with, so he stayed silent, which seemed to only further prove his point. “Well, if no one’s here we should think about staying the rest of the day. We’re not gonna make it back to the road before night, and by then we’ll need to find someplace to sleep anyways.”

“Well I won’t complain. It’s kinda cool, isn’t it? We’ve got the forest behind us, the river right here, and this little place.” He followed Tubbo as he jumped down from the bank to the creaky dock that wrapped around the building’s outer side, his sneakers splashing against the wet wood. “Maybe we could stay here for a while instead of going to the city.”

“Hell no, I don’t know about you but I don’t want to live off two-hundred year old macaroni and dessert cakes for the rest of my life. ’S not like those are going to last forever anyways.” Tubbo ambled down the dock, his hands stuck in his pockets as he disappeared around the side of the shack.

Tommy hopped over a missing section, following after him, shielding his eyes from the sun“What, you want us to hunt? We don’t have a gun big enough for that, and I’m not about to eat whatever’s inside those giant bugs.”

Tubbo gave him an unimpressed look. “There’s gonna be people in the city. People who know how to get food. That’s why we’re going. Because we don’t know how to do that ourselves.”

Tommy made a sound of indignation, but Tubbo still felt he’d won the argument as they stepped in front of the door. They both stared at it for a long second, neither one really wanting to be the one to open it. After all… there could be more bugs inside. Bugs loved old buildings, especially ones near the water.

“…Come on.” Tubbo sighed, reaching forward to grab the knob. But at they’d feared, the place was locked up tight, and there were no broken windows to climb through this time.

“God—” Tommy sighed sharply and rolled his eyes. “What is it with people and locking doors? Why did we ever invent locks?!”

“Shut up man.” Tubbo muttered under his breath. He knelt down on one knee and began searching his pockets. “Look through the bag and find me that screwdriver.”

“What?” Tommy turned back to him with a raised brow. “Why?”

After several moments without a response from Tubbo he rolled his eyes, apparently being ignored. He pulled the backpack from his back, tucking one strap over his arm as he yanked the zipper open, shuffling through the contents before finally finding the orange handle of the tool.

“Here.” He muttered, holding it out for Tubbo to take.

Tubbo reached back without looking up from his search, but paused suddenly when he grabbed the screwdriver.

“What? What is it?”

“That’s not how you hand someone a screwdriver.” Tubbo said, looking up at Tommy with a chiding expression, but with a somewhat apologetic undertone.

Tommy scoffed and rolled his eyes, tossing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “Oh my god— how can I hand you a screwdriver wrong?”

“You’re supposed to hand it to me handle first! That’s what my dad always said!” He insisted, voice raising in pitch as Tommy continued to roll his eyes at him. “He said that’s how the mechanics do it, that’s how professionals do!”

“Fine! Fine fine fine, here.” He said, jutting the screwdriver in Tubbo’s direction, ‘handle-first’ as he’d been instructed.

“Thanks.” He took the tool in his left hand, something small and metallic in the other.

Tommy watched, taking a step closer as his brow furrowed, his annoyance at Tubbo from moments before suddenly dissolving. “…What’re you doing?” He mumbled.

Once again Tubbo neglected to respond, his eyes focused on the knob in front of him. He lodged the tip of the screwdriver into the bottom of the keyhole, the metallic thing on his other hand held between his fingers, jiggling it this way and that as he attempted to open the door… without a key.

“What are you doing?” Tommy hissed again quietly, his tone far more frantic as he looked around. He leaned a hand against the shed to block any passer-by’s view of them.

Tubbo shushed him, turning away from his work momentarily to send Tommy a cocky look. “I saw this in a movie once, you’ve just gotta—“ Something in the knob clicked, and a smile bloomed on Tubbo’s face, a look of awe and disbelief on Tommy’s as the door swung inward, revealing to them the space within.

“You… are… insane.” Tommy muttered, shaking his head with a laugh as they stepped inside.

It wasn’t very big, but it was empty. Nothing more than a counter on one side and a bookshelf on the other to take up space. It obviously hadn’t been used in a long, long time, a running theme with buildings around these parts apparently, but this one more so likely because of the water that was sitting stagnant in the corner of the building.

“What is this place?” Tubbo asked as he pushed the door open, his voice echoing off the empty walls.

“It’s probably an old water pump station or something. My dad told me about these once when we were on a roadtrip. They’re supposed to test the purity of the water. Guess this one’s broken.”

“I’ll say.” He muttered, laughing. He took note of the moss and weeds encroaching on the rest of the building from the sunken corner. The wood-boarded floor was slanted in the opposite direction as if to pull them in. It wouldn’t be the best idea to stay here long-term, no matter what Tommy preferred. Definitely not permanent, but they could stick around for one night… maybe. It was a roof over their heads, a place they could get some semblance of sleep before finding a better place to set up camp.

A strange sound from outside had both boys freezing in their tracks, their ears trained on the door. It sounded like… the wood creaking, maybe. But louder, and scratchier.

Tommy turned to him inch by inch, eyes wide as dinner plates, showing off icy blue irises. His mouth formed the shape of the word without making a sound, jaw trembling. “…What was that?”

Tubbo breathed out, taking a hesitant step away from the door. And as he stepped back, Tommy stepped forward, one hand reaching for the rusted handle. He wrapped his fingers around it one by one, leaning away from the cracked frosted window panes through which they could see the silhouette of someone… or something that was making the noise. Tubbo watched from a distance as he began to open the door, silently as he could.

The hinges of the door squeaked quietly, and a groan from right outside caused him to gasp. A rotten head turned in his direction, a pair of milky-yellow eyes stared right through him, and for a second nothing happened. For that one second Tommy was made of stone, staring up at the most grotesque face he’d ever seen through the sliver of space between the door and its frame.

And like that the spell of silence broke. The— the thing lunged at the door, and it flew open before Tommy rammed it shut with his shoulder, forcing the thing out onto the porch.

Tubbo’s legs gave out beneath him and he cried out sharply as he fell to the floor. Tommy had one arm braced against the wall to his right, gripping an edge of the raw metal he’d managed to find in his frantic search for a handhold. With his other he held the wrench, and he found a pipe protruding from the counter to his left that he jigged the tool into like a pry-bar, forming a makeshift handle to grab onto.

The door slammed against his back and he cried out as it wedged itself between his shoulder blades. He craned his neck as far from the opening as he could as arms— four, five, six, there were more of them —tried to burst through, pounding on it with unnatural strength and guttural wails.

“TUBBO!!” He shrieked, voice grating like nails dragging down his throat.

The air in his lungs sucked out of him. Tubbo scrambled backwards, looking through the frosty broken glass. He caught sight of milky eyes, clawed hands.

Tommy’s arms bent at an awkward angle as he held tight. The strain pulled an animalistic scream from him, and Tubbo shuddered in fear. “TUBBO, DO SOMETHING!!”

He pressed his hands to the ground and stood, looking around the room with a new sense of urgency. He had to think quickly, there were some cupboards above him, a counter and cabinets to his left and a shelf with drawers to his right. He tried the cupboards, throwing the doors open but finding nothing of use. He moved immediately to the next. This wasn’t scavenging, his friend’s arms weren’t going to last long against three of those things pounding on that flimsy door—

The third cupboard had a brown bottle half-filled with clear liquid. As he pulled it out he scanned the text, the biggest word jumped out at him first. In all-capped letters: ‘VODKA’ across the label. He gasped, scrambling to open the first cupboard again. There was— yes, yes! A pack of matches, he swiped them off the shelf and pulled a cloth from the counter. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth and stuffed the cloth inside, stuffing it back over top.

Tommy’s screams rang in his ears as he scraped a match against the bottle’s label, a light flaring up before dying to an ember on the tip of the stick. He hovered it under the cloth, waiting just until the edges of it began to smolder.

“TOMMY, LET GO OF THE DOOR!” He screamed, rearing back his arm. “LET GO LET GO LET GO!”

Tommy’s eyes had been squeezed closed, he opened them just enough to see Tubbo with one hand held above his head, a light in his hand. He must’ve had something, so he did as he was told and dove away from the door, falling onto his arms in the dirty river water. Tubbo threw the bottle at the open door and threw himself to the floor beside him.

Flames sprung to life the moment the bottle hit the door, shattering into a million pieces. The heatwave was unbearable, so hot and bright that he was sure their skin would burn off. He collided with Tommy’s side and threw an arm over him. But Tommy moved to look, so Tubbo looked with him, and there over their shoulders, the bodies…

There was another shriek, like those they’d heard before, that awful cry. Tommy gasped, pulling the gun from his pocket and into trembling hands. He nearly dropped it more than once until finally he got a grip, one finger hooked on the trigger.

“Tommy, Tommy,“ Tubbo muttered, grabbing onto his arm. Tommy didn’t know how to use that thing, hell, neither of them even knew if it was loaded.

But there was a monster shambling toward them from the porch, and the flames were beginning to die down, much of them doused by the damp wood, it wasn’t going to die to the flames, and Tommy had dropped the wrench when he let go of the door—

“Tommy, wait!” He cried, grabbing him. He gasped sharply as Tubbo jostled his arm, the air dragging in through his tensed throat and suddenly the world became awash with in neon green.

Everything was too bright, it all looked sickly. Radioactive. The monster running toward them now moved in slow motion, it’s mouth hanging open in an eternal scream, showing of bleeding gums and sharpened teeth. It’s white, sightless eyes bore into him.

WANDERING GHOUL
|===========================|

HEAD: 95%
 TORSO: 89%
LEFT ARM: 54%
RIGHT ARM: 67%
LEFT LEG: 35%
RIGHT LEG: 36%

[ CRIT ] |====================|

|| SELECT || ACCEPT || RETURN || BODY PART || CYCLE TARGET ||

His eyes darted over monster, trying in vain to understand what the hell he was looking at. The text obscured his vision, he’d never seen anything like it, it was like his eyes had become fused to the screen of a television. The only thing running through his head was ‘I have to kill it, I have to kill it, I have to kill it—’

Suddenly, as though in response to his thoughts, the head of the monster became highlighted in bright green, a red square appearing around it, several layered over top of one another.

[BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!]

It felt like all he’d done was blink. When he opened his eyes again the monster was splayed across the floor, dead, inches from the tips of their shoes.

He could feel Tubbo’s breaths beat heavy and frantic against his neck and in his ear. Tommy gasped himself, realizing how long it had been since he breathed thanks to the burning in his chest. Save for them the world was silent, only the gentle sloshing of water against the outside of the house, and the creaking of old wood above and below them to indicate they hadn’t gone deaf.

Tubbo moved first, inching away from Tommy and stepping out of the knee-deep water onto the soaked floorboards, offering him a shaking hand. Neither of them wanted to touch the monsters blocking the door… but there were no other exits.

After a beat of hesitation Tommy went first. He planted his shoe on the back of one of the bodies and pushed himself through the front door as fast as he possibly could, reaching back to offer Tubbo an outstretched hand to help pull him through.

Neither of them spoke as they ran through the forest in search of a road. He didn’t care what road, so long as they had somewhere to follow that led away from that awful fucking place.

After a minute or so they finally broke through the trees, and Tubbo cried out in relief as the sight of a dirt road just ahead. He trudged forward, but was suddenly brought to his knees as Tommy fell behind him, his hands clenched so tightly into the back of Tubbo’s shirt that they went down together.

________________________________________

Tommy hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep until he woke on the roadside, the morning light above announcing that an entire night had passed them by. Tubbo laid beside him in a similar state, their clothes stiff with river water. The grass tickled his nose, so he lifted his head, lowering Tubbo down from where he’d been leant against his shoulder to the ground. From there he pushed himself slowly, shakily to his feet and looked out over the road.

It was misty, anything further than the tree line was obscured in dull grey, the skeletons of blackened trees standing guard against the morning light. He stepped up onto the road, gravel and dust crushed under the slick soles of his sneakers. A low wind brushed his sweat-dried hair from his face.

He took a shaky breath, turning in a slow circle as he felt the reality of it all really sink in. The emptiness of the world. It was insurmountable in that moment, and not for the first time he felt a lump lodged in his throat and a burning behind his eyes.

The world they’d known was dead and gone, not just their neighborhood but the city, the country, it was… nothing was the same. There was no telling wether going to the city meant salvation… or not.

He felt like he was choking, his face morphing into a painful grimace as his chest began to ache. He reached up, pulling at his hair as he let out a seething breath through his teeth.

Finding other people could be a death sentence. They were lucky to have made it out of the encounter with that man— he’d had a gun, he could’ve shot them both dead in a second if he’d wanted to. He’d been playing with them when he pulled out the knife.

Suddenly fear gripped him. The knife. The huge serrated hunting knife the man had threatened him with. They’d taken the gun off of him but they hadn’t taken it, how could he be so stupid?! If he wasn’t dead surely he was after them now, and they’d just left that knife laying on the road beside him, within arm’s reach.

A strange guttural sound he hadn’t willingly let out escaped him, his fingers threaded together behind his neck as he staggered down the road. They were as good as dead, just like he’d said. They weren’t going to make it out here on their own, they—

“Tommy—?”

He screamed, jumping a foot in the air before swinging around, coming face-to-face with a wide eyed Tubbo, his back arched away as he sent a confused look in Tommy’s direction.

“…Y-you okay man?”

He expelled all the air from his lungs until he felt himself choking, dragging it back in as he staggered backwards. “NO! No I’m— I’m not okay, are you kidding?! How— how are you okay after that?!” He pointed sharply toward the trees, tears dripping to the pavement. “We just got attacked by five monsters that looked like people! We hit some guy over the head with a rock after he grabbed your neck and waved a knife at us! I’ve never been less ‘okay’ in my fucking life!!”

Tubbo held his hands up, palms splayed out as he crept closer. “I know, I know, I feel that too, but you’re gonna choke if you keep crying like this.”

Tommy gave him a confused look, shaking his head before he realized… he had tears down his cheeks. His chest was heaving, he couldn’t get a hold on his breaths. He pressed a hand to his face, and another to this throat as panic surged through him as he realized what was happening.

“You’re okay! We’re okay.” Tubbo insisted, doing his best to sound reassuring. “I know it’s scary, this is all really, really bad, but we’ve got one another, right? Right?! Once we make it to the city everything’ll be—”

“Fuck the city!” Tommy spat, wiping his face with the sleeve of his sweater, “anything left in the city’s either dead or shambling, like the freaks we saw yesterday. I can’t do this, I wanna go home!”

“We can’t go home!” He shouted, reaching for him and shaking him hard by the front of his shirt. Tommy stumbled backwards as Tubbo pushed him away, nearly falling to the ground. “There is no home anymore! This is it! This is what’s left, and it sucks, and I don’t know if we’re gonna make it— fucking hell, I don’t know if we’re gonna make it through the day!”

Tommy stared at him, eyes as wide as Tubbo’s had been. They were both breathing heavy now but Tommy’s were thankfully less-so than moments before. For a long moment that’s all they did, stare, until Tubbo’s expression broke from one of anger to exasperation, his brows pinned together and chin wrinkled, the lines of his face creasing.

“You’re my best friend, I can’t deal with this without you!” He whined, gesturing toward the world. “I’m sorry if this is all freaking you out, it’s freaking me out! I’m freaked out! But I’ll be damned if I’ve gotta deal with it by myself!”

“Tubbo, I—” Tommy cut himself off, his arm falling to his side. “I’m… sorry, I didn’t realize.”

He looked away, expression torn. “I’m as scared as you are man.”

That made Tommy laugh hollowly. He reached up a one hand to wipe the remnants of tears from his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, pinching the bridge of his nose before wiping them on the hem of his jeans. “…The knife. the one that guy had, we left it back there. With everything that happened yesterday, after finding the gun on him I just… forgot about it.”

He sighed, staggering to the side of the road where he all but threw himself to the ground, burying his head in his hands. Tubbo walked over to him and sat down at his side. “I freaked out, and I feel bad when I-I get all emotional and you— you stand next to me, put a hand on my shoulder, or you say ‘it’ll all b-be okay’, and it never feels like it will.”

Tubbo nodded, a solemn look on his face as they watched the trees through the mist in the distance. “…I’m sorry. I didn’t know me being so… so ‘nothing’ about it all meant that much. I thought is was good, for us both, y’know? One of us needs to keep a level head.”

“It just makes it all feel worse.” Tommy muttered. “I’ll be honest— seein’ you blow up like that just now? That’s the first time I’ve felt like we might make it through this okay.”

Tubbo chuckled, running a hand through his hair in disbelief. He let it fall back to his lap as he sighed long and heavy.

“…Hey Tom?”

“Yeah?”

He hesitated, looking out over the misty hill. Tommy looked too. “…Pretty sure I killed that guy.”

He turned to look at Tubbo, eyes wide.

“You think?”

“Mhm.”

“...Shit.”

Tubbo chuckled. “Don’t worry so much about that knife anymore.”

Tommy looked back at the trees, reaching one hand up to rub at his face before letting It fall back to rest on his knee.

“I’ll try not to.”

Chapter Text

”I was walkin’ along, minding my business,
when out of an orange-colored sky,
Flash! Bam! Alakazam! Wonderful you came by!

I was humming a tune, drinkin’ in sunshine,
when out of that orange colored view,
Flash! Bam! Alakazam! I got a look at you!

One look and I yell ‘timber!’ Watch out for flying glass!
Cause the ceiling fell in and the bottom fell out,
I went in to spin and I started to shout:

I’ve been hit- This is is, this is it! I-T it!”

Niki sighed sharply as she rolled her eyes. “That radio has been playing the same three songs for the past hour.” She kicked her feet in a gentle protest. “Can we please change the channel?”

“There’s only two channels this far north: Diamond City Radio, and the Classics, and I am not listening to classics.” Jack adjusted the grip on his gun, his leather gloves squeaking against the cool metal. He didn’t look back to address her, but did turn the radio down by a few notches.

“Jack!”

“What?” He turned around, tossing one hand in the air in annoyance. “As if you like classical that—” Niki shoved him forward, tossing him off balance before yanking on the back of his coat to pull him backwards, her arm extended out to point in front of them.

“Look!” She hissed.

“What?“ He whispered, training his neck to look where she was pointing. “I don’t—” But suddenly he saw it, there, balled up at the side of the road.

A body.

“Shit!” He cursed, snapping his gun up instantly. The crosshairs hovered over the center of the figure, it’s shoulders visible poking above the long grass. He focused his gaze. There was some torn cloth over the body that blew with the wind, it seemed to tremble.

”Jack!” She whispered. “Put that away!”

“What?! Are you crazy?!” He hissed, lowering it for a moment to give her a bewildered wide-eyed glare. “Do you want to get attacked by ghouls?!”

“Put it down!” She whispered again, slamming the neck of the rifle with her fist, throwing his aim and nearly causing the butt of the gun to slam against the bottom of his jaw.

“Niki!” He cried as his hands flew to the nose of the rifle. Much to his disdain she completely ignored him, jogging up to the edge of the road instead and stopping a few feet from it. “Niki get back from there!” He warned, pulling his gun back up to aim it at the figure.

He gasped suddenly, pulling his eye away from the sight to look. Niki was kneeling beside… It wasn’t a ghoul, it was… it was—

A kid.

The closer he got he realized it wasn’t just one kid but two, lying on the side of the road in a heap. He could see a head of brown hair, an arm thrown over the other’s side. “Holy shit—“ He swore, pulling on the strap of his gun to flatten it across his chest. He pushed the rifle onto his back in stead of resting in his hands, and watched pensively as Niki reached forward, one hand gently grazing over the kid’s shoulder.

Jack tensed as though to step forward, but he didn’t want to put Niki in anymore danger than she already was. Were these ghoul children? Was that a thing that could happen? Throughout all his travels he’d never seen one, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. “What do you see? Are they…?”

Niki sighed through her nose, giving the boy’s shoulder a squeeze, shaking him gently. “I can’t tell, they’re—”

Suddenly the boy beneath her hand darted backward, scaring her bad enough that she flinched in the opposite direction. Jack staggered backwards and reached for his gun, ready to pull it around should he need it, but… as he looked at the kid in front of them, he had no radiation burns, his eyes were clear, if frightened. He had a smattering of bruises along his jaw that were blooming terribly, she did her best not to wince just looking at them.

He took in quick sharp breaths as he stared. Niki stared back, one hand clutched close to her chest and the other pressed to the ground at her side, and he watched her tentatively, eyes searching over her for a few seconds before muttering: “…Y-You’re not one of those things.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around the other boy collapsed against him who’s shoulders had also started shaking, showing his awareness and terror simultaneously.

“What on earth happened to you?” She whispered. “You’re both soaking wet.”

He hesitated for a few seconds, long enough to move an inch forward and push the other behind him, putting on a brave face. “A-… Attacked.” He whispered, voice shaking as he took a sharp breath. “We got attacked by these— evil things, monsters with claws, and white eyes.”

“White eyes?” She whispered, her brow creased in worry. A monster with claws… that could be any number of creatures. Deathclaws had white eyes, hell, they could be talking about synths.

“Did they look human?”

“Zombies.” The blond one mumbled, the first word he’d spoken. “They looked like… zombies.”

“Ghoul.” Jack muttered, drawing their attention. The blonde turned toward him, leaning against his friend who wrapped an arm around him protectively. He looked to the side, licking his lips as though he were preparing to eat something he knew he wouldn’t like, kneeling down beside Niki in front of them. “What you were attacked by is called a ghoul.”

”Ghouls.” The brown-haired kid insisted adamantly. “There were at least four of ‘em, probably more.”

“Four?” Niki exhaled, fingers tightening in the fabric of her sleeves. “You two took down that many ghouls on your own?”

“Tubbo threw a…” The blonde turned to him, a furrow between his brows and a look of disbelief on his face. “What was that?”

The other kid, ‘Tubbo’ apparently, leaned his temple against the blonde kid’s side. “My dad. ‘Said it was called a… um, Mazel tov cocktail.”

”Molotov.” Jack corrected with a dull half-listening tone. “Molotov cocktail.”

“Yeah, one of those.”

“I shot one of ‘em.” He muttered, gaze lowered and distant. “I don’t… remember how.”

Niki hummed softly, a hundred thoughts speeding through her mind simultaneously. She looked back at Jack, and he could see the worry on her face as easily as she could see the apprehension on his. She rolled her eyes and turned back to the two boys. “What settlement are you from?” She asked, because there must be someone out there looking for these two. But to her surprise and horror both boys shook their heads.

“We’re… not from one.” Tubbo replied quietly. “We came from really far away.”

“I’ll say.” Jack mumbled, shaking his head. “If there’s no ghouls where you’re from, I want to know wherever the hell that is.”

“Jack, shut up.” Niki warned sharply, sending him a nasty look that made him roll his eyes and toss his hands up from his sides. She turned back to the boys with a well-meaning smile. “Don’t pay attention to him, he didn’t sleep well last night.”

The boys shared a look before laughing half-heartedly, not quite understanding her joke. “I know the feeling.” Tubbo responded nervously.

They were obviously terrified after what they’d seen, and rightfully so. Ghouls were no laughing matter, and to be up against half a dozen of them as a kid as old as they were… But at the same time they seemed just as scared of her and Jack as they were of a bunch of ghouls, which worried her greatly.

She stood up and offered a hand to them, but neither moved. If it was any quieter Niki swore she’d be able to hear their hearts beating. But then the taller of the two reached out, allowing her to pull him to his feet easily, sensing the light weight of his frame. The shorter stood on his own, but she could tell he too was skinny for his age.

The other boy pushed himself to his feet, quickly taking his place beside the other, though now it appeared the blonde one was the one facing them while ‘Tubbo’ hid behind his shoulder.

“What’s your name?” She asked. The two were just kids, and they’d been traveling on their own for who even knew how long? These boys looked out of their depth, more than she’d ever seen.

“I’m Tubbo.” He replied, nudging the other boy with his shoulder. “An’ he’s Tommy.”

“Tubbo and Tommy.” She muttered, nodding to each of them in turn. “I’m Niki, and that’s my friend Jack.” She explained, keeping her tone light and gentle as she could, pointing a thumb toward the stoic gunman behind her. “Why don’t you have lunch with us? We have plenty to share, you’ve gotta be hungry being out here all on your own.”

She thought they’d jump at the chance, there was hunger written into their posture, but the look they shared told her they were more apprehensive than she’d assumed, which was good. It meant they weren’t accepting every little thing from any stranger they ran into. That was the quickest way to get yourself killed in the wasteland.

Tommy gave Tubbo a minute nod before turning to her again. “That would… That sounds good.” He agreed, though it sounded more like an admission than anything else. “We haven’t r-run into anyone else on the road yet.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve run into anyone either. There’s not much to see this far north. No settlements, a few farmers and traders that pass through from time to time like us, but other than that…” She shrugged.

“We were trying to get to the city.” Tubbo explained, pointing toward the tall misty towers in the distance. “We wanted to find someone who could help us, uh… well… help in general would be good.” He whispered the last part, adding on a half-smile that Niki returned in kind.

She waited for him to continue, but after a few seconds it was apparent he wasn’t planning on finishing the thought. The other kid, Tommy, stood behind him, and she noticed his gaze was centered on Jack, eyeing him warily. “…Do you have somewhere to stay for the night? I know it’s only afternoon, but if you don’t have any sleeping bags, no lanterns or weapons, it’ll be tough to find a safe place to stay.”

The boys shared another tense look. After a long pause it was the taller, Tommy, who spoke. “We were planning on finding some place along the way, if we walk fast we can probably make it to the outskirts, right?”

Jack chuckled, shaking his head. “No way, the city’s still a day and a half from here at least, even if you jogged. If you’re trying to get there, you’ve got a long way to go.”

Both boys’ expressions broke simultaneously, Tommy’s eyes widening with a wrinkle between his brows and Tubbo wincing as though he’d just been punched.

“It’s alright,” Niki reassured them quickly, “we have a supply cache a little further east from here, that’s where we’ll eat lunch together. We’ll probably sleep there too, and then tomorrow we can set out at dawn for the city together. It’ll be easier to travel with a group, we have some spare sleeping bags you can use.”

“That’s really nice of you, thank you.” Tommy said quietly, nodding in her direction, his hands still clutched into the fabric of Tubbo’s shoulder.

________________________________________

The boys followed as they headed toward the nearby cache. They followed… from a distance. The taller the two, Tommy, clung to Tubbo’s arm like a lifeline, terrified of every noise that came around them. They stayed twenty feet back or so from him and Niki, even though they were all going to the same place.

“What do you think happened to them?” He muttered, adjusting the strap of his rifle to sit smoothly over his chest.

“They just told us Jack, they were attacked by a group of ghouls.” Niki muttered, rolling her eyes. “Of course they’re shaken up. Imagine you got attacked by—“

“No, it’s more than that.” He muttered, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. “Two kids traveling the wasteland who’ve never in their entire lives heard of a ghoul. Come on Nick, I knew what a ghoul was by the time I was seven.”

“What, you think they’re lying?” She whispered, raising a brow sharply in his direction, though keeping her voice low. “Why would they lie about something like that? They’re scared, I don’t doubt it’s their first time seeing one. I’d never seen a ghoul until I was a teenager.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “No, no no, that’s what I’m saying, exactly that. I… I think they’re like,” He bit down on his bottom lip. “They’re acting sort of… amnesic don’t you think?”

Niki stopped walking, her gaze steady straight ahead with a leveled stare, before she turned sharply in his direction. “Are you insinuating they’re synths?”

“I’m not saying they’re not!” He hissed, grabbing her sleeve and pulling her to continue walking. “Think about it. We find them lying on the side of the road unresponsive, they don’t know what ghouls are, and when we ask them where they’re from, they say ‘Oh, uh, far away, really far’. That’s suspicious as fuck.”

“They’re just kids, leave ‘em alone.” She rolled her eyes. “You have to be one of the most paranoid people I’ve ever met. I can’t stand you sometimes.”

Jack made a shocked noise like a goose, his eyes wide and brow knotted. “Wha, you—!”

She scoffed as his floundering, pulling on the lead of her Brahman to urge them onward.

They arrived at the train soon after that, and while Jack hopped up onto the storage container to unlock the door and pull it open, he noticed the two strangers creeping toward them, closing the distance between their traveling groups.

It was a rusted-out cargo storage unit on the back of a stationary train. They’d discovered the place on a previous trek and decided to use it as a stash. There was very little traffic in the area, practically no creatures, and lockable. Perfect for traders to keep their excess wares safe.

He scowled at it, pulling hard on the handle of the rolling door and giving it a good yank. It was unlocked, he knew that for certain, but the constant rain wind and sun wasn’t doing them any favors. Thankfully with one final hard pull, whatever rust was clogging the mechanism broke free, allowing the door to slide upwards smoothly. Or, as smooth as any machine could run nowadays.

“There!” He sighed, standing back with his hands on his hips. He turned to Niki with a smirk, seeing a similar expression on her face, and to his surprise, the two boys standing a foot or so behind her.

They still clutched one another like they were scared of being separated but… the entire time they’d been traveling they’d stayed at least twenty feet back. Now that they’d stopped, suddenly they were fine with getting close?

Or maybe… it couldn’t be him, could it? The moment he and Niki separate suddenly Niki is ‘safe’ to get close too? He knelt down on the platform, offering Niki a hand up to climb inside which she took, allowing him to pull her up beside him.

Inside the train car was a large cache of supplies, all kinds of things from food to ammo to clothes and chems, all kept safe away from the prying eyes of southern settlements. They’d also liberated an old recliner from one of the nearby houses and a side table along with it, on which sat a half-melted candle which Niki re-lit before going about finding something for the four of them to eat.

Jack glanced at the two, a tense air lowering around them. Tommy squeezed the other’s hand once before letting go. And with significant struggle, he hauled himself up into the train container on his own, before offering his own hand to the brown-haired boy, who took it easily, planting one foot on the edge of the container while Tommy pulled him up.

Jack sighed and rolled his eyes before heading further in.

The storage crate wasn’t just a place for them to keep their excess stock, although that’s what its main use was. They would also stay in the crate for a night— or sometimes two —when they needed to restock, or drop off excess stock. They had an electric lamp hooked up to a small generator outside, and a recliner that Niki had said Jack could keep in there so long as he’d moved it in himself. It had taken him two days to push it all the way from Concord to the crate, but in his opinion it was still completely worth it.

He slipped the rifle off his back and throwing himself haphazardly into the old mildew-y recliner, it’s floral fabric browned and sun-bleached in some spots. He set his gun beside him, propping it up against the wall before leaning back with a sigh and crossing his ankles.

Niki knelt to his right and the two strangers to his left. She searched through their stores, unaware of the awkwardness happening just a few feet away.

The boys on the other hand stood nervously near the mouth of the cargo box, Tommy leaning against the wall with his arms crossed while the other sat down on the floor, hugging his legs to his chest.

Jack looked up and froze, stunned to see icy blue eyes staring straight into his own, an intense flare of something akin to anger. He turned quickly away, the kid’s glare still burning the side of his face. “So, what have we got?” He asked instead, pointing his attention in Niki’s direction.

“Looks like a lot of Salisbury Steaks and Dandy Apples. There’s some preserved gourds and mutfruit too. I found some colas though! I didn’t think we had this many.”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, leaning over to get a better look. “How many we got?”

“There’s at least a case down here. Here:” She leans back, pulling a wooden crate out from the lowest tier of a metal shelf. The clattering of glass bottles against one another made a smile bloom on Jack’s face.

“Hell yeah, that’s caps bab-y! How many of these do you think we can down in an afternoon?”

“We are not wasting these just for the toppers.” Niki warned, pulling the crate an inch closer to herself, and away from Jack, who had already been reaching out to take one. “I can sell these for at least twenty caps a piece, we can share one if you want.”

She looked up, past Jack to their two guests, still hovering anxiously near the entrance. She gave them a friendly smile and waved them in. “Come on in you two, want a soda? You can pick one, there’s a couple flavors to choose from.”

As they always seemed to do before deciding anything, the boys looked at one another, and Tommy leaned his head down an inch as Tubbo cupped his hand around his ear, whispering something to him.

“No thank you.” Tommy whispered lowly, taking a step backwards. “We don’t w-want any.”

` “Uh-uh, I’m not buying that. You both come over here and pick one out. A little bit of sugar would do you some good.” Jack quirked an eyebrow upwards, leaning over to mutter something in Niki’s ear before she elbowed him in the leg, effectively shutting him up.

The boys shared another hesitant look, but this time it was Tubbo who took a step forward, slowly making his way toward them. Tommy followed behind, though keeping his distance of a foot or so away. A furrow formed between Jack’s brows as he watched them. Something small in his chest began to ache.

“I’m… gonna make sure Bessie’s tied up right outside.” He muttered to Niki quickly, standing from his seat. The two inched themselves backwards as he passed by, hoping down to the group below.

It only took a few seconds to check the brahman’s tie, which wasn’t his main reason for leaving. The boys weren’t synths, or raiders, or ghouls. They were being short with them, cringing and flinching and terrified because of him for some reason.

Had he met them before somehow, and just didn’t remember? But that wouldn’t explain why they seemed so scared…

He hopped back up into the storage carrier, unsurprised to see that in his absence both the boys had grabbed a soda, and were sitting against the leftmost wall, closely watching Niki as she separated out four portions from their food stores. He sat back in the recliner, leaning his chin onto his hand before a plate was poked against his knee, which he took from Niki with a quiet thanks before she stood and handed the other two to each of the boys.

“So,” She began, sitting on the floor beside Jack’s chair. “You’re from further north? You mentioned it was far.”

Tubbo’s eyes widened, and Tommy shrunk in on himself, keeping his legs tight and close to his chest. “We—” he rasped, clearing his throat before trying again. “Uhm… are from around here, actually. There’s a neighborhood to the…“ He paused, waving his hand haphazardly in one direction. “—that way, we were neighbors.”

Niki nodded to them and Jack hummed, though she was more focused on the conversation than he appeared to be. “So you’re from the Commonwealth then. A settlement to the— what, the east? There’s not too much out that way.”

They nodded, but neither said anything more, which worried Niki. They were getting nowhere fast, and the idea of going their separate ways from these two was grating on her nerves. There was just something about them that made her concerned. “…Well, you’re heading south then, you’ll need a geiger counter if you’re planning on getting anywhere near Cambridge.”

“A what?” Tommy asked, picking his head up, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

“A geiger counter.” She repeated easily, despite a ‘tsk’ and a scornful chuckle from Jack’s direction. “It’s a little device that tells you how much radiation is in the air.”

“Radi…ation?” Tubbo muttered, a fearful look on his face.

“Oh come on!” Jack scoffed suddenly, leaning back in his chair. “You cannot tell me with a straight face that you two’ve never once heard of rads.”

The boys shared a look with one another before staring at Jack like he’d gone insane. Tommy shook his head solemnly, dead serious. “…No, I don’t know what that is.”

Niki turned to Jack and gave him a pointed glare.

“What!” He defended, throwing his hands in the air. “This is ridiculous. You’re honestly telling me you’ve been wandering around the wastes just not knowing what’s going on? What rock have you been living under? What’s wrong with you two?!”

“Hey!” Niki snapped, slapping Jack’s leg. “You. Quiet. You don’t get to talk. We’re not fighting about this.” She watched the expression of both boy’s pale and drop, Tommy’s eyes widening in fear and Tubbo attempting to bury himself into the other’s side.

“We didn’t—!” Tommy whispered, his voice soft but adamant. He ducked his head to avoid Jack’s condescending stare. “We didn’t know.”

“Jesus,“ He rolled his eyes, shaking his head and pointedly looking away as he ate another bite of his food. He stayed silent, though that hardly helped.

Niki watched the boys with a pitiful look, her gaze soft as she took them in. Wherever they were from, they didn’t have anyone to explain what happened. They’d been born into a world that was confusing, dangerous, and no one bothered to show them the kindness of a simple explanation.

“Radiation is what happens if you go to the more dangerous places down south.” She started with something easy. “Because of the bombs, the area down there isn’t safe to walk through without protective gear. It’s hard to explain, but… radiation is something that ‘infects’ things it touches. People, animals, water, food and clothes, even whole buildings. It will really hurt you, and if you get too much in your system it can be deadly.”

Tommy’s eyes widened, and he looked down at himself, searching his clothes as though he could see any ‘radiation’ on them. Tubbo on the other hand set down his soda bottle, rubbing his hands on his shirt before clenching them into fists.

Niki laughed softly, shaking her head. “Radiation isn’t something you can see, or taste. It doesn’t have a texture or smell— not to humans at least —it’s very hard to detect.” She reached forward and picked up Tubbo’s drink, taking a square device the size of her palm with a little screen from her pocket. “That’s why everyone carries one of these. It’s called a geiger counter, it helps you detect radiation anywhere you go. It can tell you how much radiation is in the air, or if you point it as an object that you think is radioactive, it can tell you if it’s safe or not.”

She clicked a switch on the side of the box and began waving it over the soda bottle, before handing it back to Tubbo with a reassuring smile. “See? No beeping, no chiming, no radiation.”

Tubbo still seemed skeptical, but he took the soda back anyways, examining it thoroughly before popping the tab and taking a hesitant drink.

“Jack, you got anything active?”

The gunman had gone quiet as he sulked, but he glanced toward her with an upturned brow, face otherwise slack as he pulled his pack from the floor and began shuffling through it, tossing a small fruit to her, which she caught easily. “Mutfruit, it’s pretty active.” He muttered before hunkering down in the ratty chair.

“This is how the counter reacts to something active.” She explained, waving the box over it. At first nothing happened, but slowly a sound like static began to erupt from the little thing, the screen lit up with a dim yellow light, and the red pointer started ticking upward more and more.

Tommy gasped and grabbed Tubbo by the front of his shirt, pulling him backwards as they scrambled to get away.

“Hey! Hey hey hey, it’s alright! This isn’t enough radiation to kill anything.” She reassured before tossing the mutfruit back to Jack, who let it fall back into his bag. “You’ll need to be careful, it’s good to have a healthy fear of radiation, but you are going to encounter it out in the world. What you need to do is deal with it when it happens.”

“How do you cure it?” Tommy asked.

“Rad-Away.” She explained, reaching back toward the shelf for a black milk crate. “It’s medicine… kind of. It’s able to remove radiation, but taking too much can also be dangerous.”

“Rad-poisoning’s no joke.” Jack said. “We sometimes go south to do trading. There’s a huge highway there, think of that as the border. Never cross that. It’s not safe for Niki and I, and it’s definitely not safe for you.”

Tubbo gave him a curt nod, after which the conversation dwindled into something more relaxed. Niki learned that they’d stayed a few nights at a gas station, that they’d had to fight of radroaches, ‘giant evil beetles’ Tubbo called them.

Tommy told her how they’d gone to the radio tower looking for help, but got ran off by someone who’d shot at them from the top of the satellite.

That caught Jack’s attention. As they’d been talking, he’d been mostly focused on de-knotting a length of rope he’d found in one of the crates, a mindless activity that allowed his thoughts to wander while keeping his hands busy. But the mention of a shooter, a gunman, brought him back to the present.

“Jeez, some asshole shot at you two?” Niki asked, her brow furrowed in irritation.

“He was up high on the railing, probably just saw two people and didn’t look further than that.” Tubbo muttered, shaking his head. “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t scary.”

“No it doesn’t.” Niki agreed with a laugh and another shake of her head. “Damn raiders.”

“Raiders?” Tommy asked.

“‘Bunch of assholes who think they own the whole wasteland.” Jack interrupted, his own brow knotted in thought. “They’re ruthless, violent, some of ‘em are just genuinely insane. They recruit people who don’t care about morals, narcissists who’d kill anyone for the chance to search their pockets.”

Niki nodded, a solemn look on her face. “Jack and I used to know this guy who we travelled with for some time. Schlatt. Back then I had more than a few hired guards. Jack was one of ‘em, but there was Schlatt and two other guys too, Sam and Phil. One day Schlatt went missing from our campsite, turns out he’d sold us out to a group of local raiders. He joined them, and Sam…”

She looked toward Jack, who lowered his head and turned away.

“…I don’t know what happened to Phil, but Jack and I were the only two who managed to make it out together. We’ve kept close and… well, it’s been hard to trust anyone since then. It’s been us for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” Tommy said softly, nodding toward her apologetically. “About your friend Sam.”

Niki smiled tearily as she took a deep breath. “Thank you. It’s alright, it… it’s been over a year now. He was a good man. A great shot, sure, but more than that, he was an… an excellent person.”

“He was the best of us.” Jack muttered. “He had a sister somewhere I think, never did manage to get word to her about what happened.”

A suffocating silence fell over them after that. A few tears fell silently down Niki’s cheeks before she took a breath and sighed, brushing them away with one hand before standing up. “Go on and drink your sodas, I’ll go wash the plates outside.”

________________________________________

That night, after the boys had fallen asleep, Niki and Jack sat outside the cargo unit in front of an open fire, heating some gamey meat for a late dinner. He had all his focus on finishing cooking while Niki was left to sit and daydream to herself, both of them sitting in silence.

“Have you noticed how they don’t let go of one another?” Niki whispered suddenly, catching Jack’s attention in the otherwise silent night, save for the crackling of the campfire.

He waited a long moment before responding, poking at the fire gently with a long branch before sighing through his nose. “…How could I not notice. They haven’t let go of one another since we found them.” He pulled the spit of meat back from the fire, blowing gently on the side before sliding the two pieces onto a plate, passing one to Niki.

She hummed low, taking the plate from him and looking back over at the boys, not for the first time wondering just how they got to where they are. “…They’re pretty small.” She muttered as an after thought. “How old ‘you think they are?”

“Something like ten maybe.” He mumbled, chewing on his nails. He spoke with the same tone he might use if Niki’d asked him how many cans of cram they had I stock, sighing as he leaned against his rolled up sleeping bag. “If I ever manage to find the kids’ dad, bastard’s getting a lead facial. I’ll open his third eye. Forcibly.”

That made Niki chuckle, shaking her head. “You like to act so stoic all the time, but you can’t help it can you?”

“What? Can’t help what?” He asked, sitting back up straight with an indignant look on his face. “I’m not unfeeling. It just takes a lot to get under my skin.”

“No it doesn’t.” Niki rolled her eyes.

“Why bring this up anyways?” He asked, taking a bite of his dinner. “They’re clingy, so what?”

“It’s more than normal. A lot more.”

Jack brushed her off, shrugging his shoulders. “Big deal, they’re friends. They don’t want to lose each other out in the wastes.”

“We don’t go around clutching one another’s hands for dear life do we?”

“They’re kids, it’s different.” Jack set his empty plate down on the ground and stood up, dusting off his shirt and grabbing his sleeping bag to unroll it for the night. “…I was thinking about something I noticed earlier too. They really avoid me. Not us Nick, me. I don’t know, 'might have something to do with it.”

“You think they’re scared of you?” She asked, a concerned tilt to her brow as Jack adjusted himself on top of his sleeping bag. “They don’t even know you.”

“No, it’s something more general than that. Maybe there’s a guy out there who treated ‘em bad, who knows. I’m just sayin’ they wouldn’t get within twenty feet of us the entire time we walked here, but the moment I leave the room they’re drinking sodas and getting chatty with you.”

“They mentioned that shooter back at the radio tower.” Niki muttered, tapping her fingers against her bottom lip. “Your gun, Jack. It’s not you, or… well it might be you, but they’re probably scared of that gun on your back.”

“…That’s a good point.” He muttered, turning back toward her with a thoughtful glint in his eye. “You think we can fix that?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to try. It’s not good to be scared of guns out here. They’ll have to face facts eventually, and it could help to start sooner rather than later. They should have one person out there taking responsibility for them, at least. And there’s two of us which is better than most can say.”

“Niki.” Jack said, tone warning. “We’re not taking them on. We can’t.”

She waved her hands in front of her. “No- no, that’s not what I’m saying. They said they’re heading toward the city. If we get them in, Diamond City can help. They have a ton of kids living there, a school and everything.”

“Diamond City?” Jack asked. “How do you expect to get in? They’re pretty damn exclusive.”

“If we’ve got kids they’ll let us in.” She said, nodding once to herself as she stared down at the ground. “They’re looking for traders, I’d say we’ve got a pretty good chance.”

“You’ve got a good heart Niki.” Jack muttered with a sigh, closing his eyes. “If you want to head back to the city… I guess I’ve got no choice but to follow.”

“You always have a choice.” She said with a small smile, nudging Jack’s boot with an outstretched foot. “You’ve got a good heart too.”

“Goodnight, Nihachu.”

“Night Jack.”

Chapter Text

“How’s the stock?”

Niki jumped, looking behind her in surprise as she brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, blown there by the wind. She chuckled softly to herself as she picked up the milk crate she’d been getting ready to carry back to Bessie. “Didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”

He shrugged, a small smile on his face as he looked out over the hills around them, the frame of the crumbling highway blocking a portion of the sunrise sky. “Didn’t feel comfortable laying in there. Those kids still give me the creeps.”

“Oh please.” She laughed, rolling her eyes as she started to transfer the nuka-cola bottles from the crate to an open drawer cinched to the brahman’s side. “You’re just being paranoid again.”

He chuckled, but said nothing in response, dropping them into a fairly easy silence. He crossed his arms and stood back, leaning against the side of the cargo unit while Niki worked. He focused his eyes on the landscape, but something deeper was bothering him.

He’d opened his eyes that morning slowly, a crick in his neck from sleeping in the recliner, bent legs hanging over the chair’s arm. He’d glanced across the room to where Tommy and Tubbo laid, their sleeping bags next to one another. Tubbo’s face obscured by the fabric, the top of his head, a sprout of brown hair visible from outside the sleeping bag. Dawn light filtered in through the front entrance where Niki was working outside, the light illuminating tiny tear tracks on the boys’ faces.

His eyes widened when his gaze met Tommy’s, his eyes bright and blue, squinted in a silent sob, bloodshot, brow creased and shoulders hunched toward his ears. They stared at each other. Jack held his breath while Tommy huffed and hiccuped, A look of concern washing over his face as the kid looked away, pressing his forehead to the cold floor to hide his face.

The way Tommy looked at him… like he was waiting for the moment he’d lunge, bite his head off like a spider, that wasn’t something he could fix. Tommy and Tubbo weren’t wild dogs. They weren’t animals, they weren’t pets. He and Niki couldn’t ‘keep’ them. They weren’t synths or raiders. Niki knew that, she’d said as much yesterday.

“You ready to go or something?” She asked, giving him a smile as he was pulled back out of his mental spiraling.

He huffed out a quick laugh and shrugged. “…Just antsy I guess. We should get to the city quickly. ‘Faster we get there, ‘faster we leave.”

Niki scoffed, but nodded as she grabbed another milk crate, muttering under her breath. “Uh-huh, sure. …—rying to dump ‘em like a litter of kittens…”

“Wh—” He stood up straighter, an indignant look on his face. “That’s not what I said.”

She sighed, pursing her lips as she set the milk crate down, folding her arms and turning back to face him. “…I know, I know. But I know how eager you are to get this over with. ‘Back to normal’, right?.”

“I’m—” He hesitated, biting back on his lip for a moment before continuing. “I want them to get somewhere safe. They wouldn’t be safe with us, they have problems we can’t fix, no matter how much either of us would like to help them.”

“Getting them to Diamond City is helping.” She said simply, patting his shoulder twice as she walked by. “You always need to be ’doing’ something. You’re doing something now.”

________________________________________

Jack waited outside while Niki went in and told the boys it was time to leave. He glanced over his shoulder, the glint of his rifle’s nose, usually a comfort in the corner of his eye, felt sharp where it rubbed against his spine. He wore his gun as a show of confidence and strength, and as a warning to others to stay away. Being intimidating, threatening, it was essential in his line of business.

He pulled the rifle from his back and held it in his hands. No, that was worse, so much worse, a gun in his hands made him look ready to fire. Maybe… if he held it with the strap over one shoulder instead of across his chest. That way the rifle was sort of hidden behind him, just the nose poking out above his shoulder while he walked.

“Ready to go?”

He turned sharply around to see Niki hopping down from the crate’s entrance, noticing the boys standing together in the weeds to her right, observing, waiting and watching before doing anything. “Let’s get going.” He muttered, tearing his eyes away as Niki untethered Bessie from her post, and they started on their way to the main road again.

________________________________________

“They’re doing it again.” Jack muttered under his breath as he walked beside Niki. He glanced to the side, but refused to turn around and look at them.

He could tell she was worried about them too. They’d been walking since early morning and it was nearing noon. They’d been completely silent, and although Niki had tried asking them a few questions near the start, eventually they’d just… stopped responding.

“I know, but what can we do?” She asked, expression pained and worried. “It’s not safe for them to be that far back. God forbid we get jumped, if they get jumped…”

Jack sighed through his nose and looked forward again, the cogwheels turning as he thought.

“…Hey!” Niki suddenly called out, a bright smile plastered on her face as she turned back to them, the boys stumbling to an abrupt stop. “I just thought of a game we could play! I have a prize for you if you win, you want in?”

“What’s this?” Jack whispered, nudging her in the side.

“Just wait.”

The two whispered between themselves for half a second before the taller stepped forward and called back: “What kind of game?”

Nikki smiled. “Come here and I’ll tell you!”

Jack chuckled, rubbing a hand over his mouth to hide the smile. “Jesus— this is your master plan?”

“Just wait.” She insisted, elbowing him in the gut.

They shuffled hesitantly forward until ten or so feet remained between them, and Niki supposed that was as good as she was going to get. “The rules are: You have to keep a hand on Bessie for as long as you can, and whoever keeps their hand on the longest wins a cola! What do you think?”

Tommy’s brow raised up, and Tubbo seemed to be battling himself internally about wether or not he wanted to agree.

“You can keep the cap too.” She tacked on at the end. A little extra-incentive. To her surprise though they seemed more confused about it than anything else.

“…Sure.” Tommy agreed. “I’ll play.”

“Me too.” Tubbo nodded.

“Great!” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, so I’ll count to three, and then you both have to keep a hand on her. One—”

“Are you playing too?” Tommy asked as he looked between Niki and Jack, and despite the expectant look in his eyes, Niki could see worry beneath it too. It wasn’t just Tommy, Tubbo was scared too. They still weren’t sure about her and Jack, and if playing along was going to help, then she was more than happy to do so.

“Of course I’ll play.” She placed her hand not holding Bessie’s lead on the brahman’s neck. “I want a cola too. But Jack doesn’t get to play ‘cause he needs to be the referee, so you have to make sure you don’t let go.”

Jack raised a brow, but he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t ease at the prospect of being included in some way. He fell back a few feet in their formation, the motion catching Tubbo’s attention. The kid glanced back at him with a nervous tilt of his brow, so he gave him a smile, nodding once. “I’ll keep an eye out.” He said simply. Both an agreement that he’d play his part, and a reassurance that he’d keep them safe too.

“Alright, on three. One, two, three!” Niki cheered quietly. Tommy and Tubbo scrambled to quickly place a hand on Bessie’s side. Niki felt a little spark in her chest at their excitement. They were still nervous, yes, but they felt safe enough to trust them. To play.

They walked together in silence for a while longer, the proximity was already a lot for them, and neither Niki nor Jack wanted to overwhelm them with smalltalk. Maybe after half an hour, once the nerves simmered into something less volatile, Niki spoke up again:

“We’ll be there in no time.” She reassured, pointing toward the buildings in the distance, set behind a blue haze. “We could even make it to the edge of the clearing by nightfall if we hurry. The entrance to the city isn’t much farther than that.”

“…The entrance to the city?” Tubbo asked.

She nodded. “The skeleton of the old city isn’t the safest place. No one lives there anymore unless you count the Raiders and Mutants. We’re heading for the inner city. Diamond City.”

“The rest of the city’s crumbling to the ground.” Jack muttered, shaking his head. “We’ll skirt the edge and find a quiet way to pass without getting into a fight. Niki and I have done it more than a few times.”

“…Raiders?” Tommy asked hesitantly, moving just an inch closer to her.

She turned to him, a gentle reassuring smile on her face as she ruffled his hair with her free hand. “We’ll be careful, the raiders usually stick to specific parts of the city, we’ll avoid those areas. Jack and I know where they are.”

Jack nodded, though the worried wrinkle in Tommy’s brow told him he wasn’t convinced.

“What about mutants? Are those the monsters from before? The— the ghouls?”

“There are ghouls in the city, but mutants are different. Over the last two hundred years, ever since the bombs dropped they’ve been… well, changing. Mutating. They’re angry, gigantic creatures, and they hate humans. Think they’re weak.”

“What do we do if they find us?” Tubbo asked, reaching forward with his free hand to take Tommy’s giving it an anxious squeeze, which Tommy returned.

Jack looked up from the radio he’d been fiddling with. “We won’t do anything. You two will run. I’ll take care of them while Niki handles Bessie.” He said easily.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching us?” Tubbo asked, one brow raised in his direction.

“I’m watching! Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” He muttered, his fingers still twisting the dial back and forth even as he looked up at Tubbo. Suddenly though he looked down and laughed excitedly, turning up the volume dial all the way to the top. “Aw, yes! I love this song!”

Niki laughed, shaking her head with a smile while Tubbo and Tommy turned to one another in confusion. Jack started tapping his feet as he walked, wether it was his heel or toe, or sliding the edge of his sole over the ground he tapped out the rhythm to the song, a jazzy piano tune with snappy drums.

”Well, I heard the news, There’s good rocking tonight!
Well, I'm gonna hold my baby tight as I can,
tonight she'll know I'm a mighty, mighty man!
I heard the news, There’s good rocking tonight!

I heard the news, There’s good rockin' tonight!
Well, I'm gonna hold my baby as tight as I can,
tonight she'll know I'm a mighty, mighty man!
I heard the news, There’s good rockin' tonight!”

Jack cheered, a smile on his face as he started dancing a little shuffle on the pavement, the bottoms of his shoes scraping loudly as he picked his feet up.

”Well, meet me in a hurry, behind the barn,
Don't be afraid, darling I'll do you no harm,
I want you to bring my rockin’ shoes,
’Tonight I'm gonna rock away All my blues!

I heard the news, There’s good rockin’ tonight!
I heard the news, There’s good rockin' tonight!”

“Come on Tubbo!” He called, reaching out a hand toward the younger boy. And maybe it was just on instinct, or maybe it was a leap of faith, but Tubbo reached out and put his hand in Jack’s. He grinned, pulling him out into the middle of the road with a smile. “You know how to rock, kid?”

“Huh?”

“Reach your foot out like this.” He explained, stretching his left leg out and pointing his toe down. “And put your hand on your waist like this, got it?”

Tubbo tipped his toes out, matching Jack’s pose with a bit of hesitation, and placed his hand on his waist like he’d said.

“Now quickly switch to your other foot, like this—“ He said as he snapped his foot back, and stretched out the other. “—and stretch the other out. You do that back and forth a couple times and it starts to look like this.”

He takes a step back and starts doing this move, as his leg bent back the other heel would hit the pavement, he’d sway back and fourth, one hand hanging on his belt and the other held up from his side.

“Woo!” Niki cheered, clapping her hands.

“C’mon kid you’ve got it, try!” He said, motioning toward Tubbo as the song beat out its rhythm.

“Well, I’ll hold my baby tight as I can,”
”Well, I'll hold my baby as tight as I can,”

“Tonight she’ll know I’m a mighty mighty man!”
“Tonight she'll know I'm a mighty mighty man!”

And I heard the news, There’s good rockin' tonight!”
And I heard the news, There’s good rockin' tonight!”

Tubbo was slow to try, watching Jack move a moment longer before giving it a genuine shot. He kicked one heel out, and then the other, not really sparing any attention to make sure his rhythm lined up with the song. Regardless, Niki cheered for him too just as she had for Jack, a smile on her face that sparked something akin to pride in his chest.

“You’ve got it Tubbo, go on!” Jack said with a grin, the two of them dancing side by side.

”Well, Deacon Jones and Elder Brown.
Two of the slickest cats in town!
They'll be there! Waitin’ to see,
stompin’ and jumpin’ at the jam-boree!

Like, hey-hey man! There's good rockin' tonight!
You might also like, Long About Midnight!

Well, Sweet Lorraine, Sioux City Sue,
Sweet Georgia Brown, Caledonia, too!
They'll all be there shouting like'a mad,
like, "Hoy, sister! Hoy, sister! Ain't you glad?

We heard the news. There’s good rockin' tonight!”

Jack slid his foot back as the song faded to an end, scraping against the asphalt as Tubbo looked up at him with a grin. He looked back with a smirk and ruffled his hair. “That was some awesome rockin’ kid.” He said with a chuckle, ruffling his hair.

“Hey!” Tommy shouted, grabbing everyone’s attention. He had a beaming smile on his face and a snarky bridge in his brow. “You let go of the cow!”

“Wha— that doesn’t count!” Tubbo whined. “Jack told me to let go!”

“I did not!”

“You let go too!” Tommy said, pointing toward Niki, who still had her hands clasped in front of her from when she’d been clapping along to the rhythm. “That means I win!”

“Aw come on!” Tubbo pushed Tommy in the shoulder with one hand. “That’s so not fair.”

“It’s so totally fair.” He mimicked back in a whiny voice that made them all laugh.

“Alright, alright, here.” Niki said with a laugh, holding out a bottle of soda to Tommy. “There you go kid.” She popped the tab off for him and handed it to him as he took a drink, and again, his face screwed up in confusion as she placed it in his palm.

“I don’t want it, that’s okay.” He said, holding it out for her to take. “I don’t collect pop-lids.”

“Collect?…” Niki raised a brow at him, glancing from the pop tab in her hand back to his confused expression. “Tommy, do you know what caps are?”

Not for the first time, Tommy’s face fell, something anxious and flighty replacing the relaxed, if confused look he’d had before. “They’re for uh, keeping the bottle closed. You can used ‘em to—”

“Tommy, this is caps. Caps. Coin. Cash. Money. You spend it on things, understand?” She said, holding the bottle cap back out for him to take. “You keep this, alright? It’s useful.”

Tommy took the cap from her and quickly stuck it in his pocket, but even so, Niki sent a glance in Jack’s direction. She saw the same look in his eyes that she felt herself. This was more than just a case of lack of information. Anyone, everyone who’d grown up across the country, coast-to-coast, knew about caps.

“You’ve never used caps before? You’ve never bought anything from traders, shops, or anything like that?” She asked, keeping her tone light and casual. Maybe they were just… really, really really sheltered—

Sheltered. Shelters.

The fallout shelters.

“Are you two from a Vault?…” She said it more to herself than to anyone else, honestly she didn’t really mean to say it out loud at all, and the fact that she had only seemed to worry Tommy and Tubbo more.

“You— you know about it?” Tommy whispered, his eyes blown wide and Tubbo’s similarly so.

“Well, there’s been some talk about them.” Jack muttered, stepping forward with his hands tucked in his pockets. “A lot of them are sealed. No one gets in, and no one’s come out. Some of ‘em just plain failed, and there’s been talk about some that worked, but…” He turned to Niki, brows raised. “…I haven’t heard anything solid about that.”

“You’re not mad?” He asked, tucking Tubbo behind him protectively, his chest tight and muscles all tensed.

“No! No, not at all. Why would we be mad?” Niki asked, shaking her head. “Being from a vault just answers a few questions Jack and I had about you two. Things like ghouls and caps, they’re things that everyone across the wasteland knows about, you know?”

Tubbo nodded, taking a shaky breath as he stepped out from behind Tommy, his hands balled up in the fabric of his shirt. “It— they— they froze us a-and it failed, I don’t know how but it did. We got unfrozen, and— but our parents were—”

“Easy.” Jack reassured, stepping toward him to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Deep breath, we’re not going anywhere.”

He let out a shaky sigh, but nodded. “We woke up and our parents were… dead. They were dead but— They weren’t just dead, they were skeletons. We didn’t know what to do, and then the computer told me it’d been two hundred years, and we… we knew we needed to get out.”

Niki took a quiet sharp breath. Two hundred years. They’d been put on ice, paused in time, and thanks to a mechanical malfunction they were thrown into the midst of… well, the end of the world. Two hundred years. “Jesus…” She muttered, shaking her head.

Jack looked down at Tubbo, the shine in his eyes a warning bell for tears, and he opened his arms minutely, only to be surprised at the kid’s eagerness to hug him. He wrapped his arms around Jack’s chest tightly, and Jack hugged back, muttering a soft apology and running a hand down his hair.

“We stayed in the vault for a day or two after we woke up, but we couldn’t stay there forever.” Tommy continued where Tubbo left off. “When we got outside everything was… gone.” He whispered, shaking his head. “Our neighborhood was destroyed. My house, Tubbo’s house was just— just leveled. We couldn’t stay, so we kept moving, and… and moving, and moving, and we haven’t stopped since.”

“Oh Tommy,” Niki reached forward, and he leaned into the hug as she wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re going to get you two to the city.” Jack said, his tone resolute. “There’s some folks in Diamond City who can take care of you. Plenty of good people, a school, other kids around, being out here is…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It’s not safe.”

“You guys’ll stay too, right?” Tommy asked, looking up at Niki for a moment. “It’s not safe, so— so we should all go there. That’s where—”

“We can’t.” Jack said, his voice softer this time. “Niki and I’ve got to make a living, trading’s the only thing we can do.”

“Then— then fuck the city!” Tommy cried, pulling away from Niki with a shake of his head. “You’re the nicest people we’ve met out here, I— I don’t want to leave you!”

’Please, don’t leave me.’ He doesn’t say.

“We could come to the city once in a while to see you if you’d like that,” Niki offered, “but Jack and I…” She hesitates, her mouth hanging open as she glanced at Jack for a moment. “…We can’t take care of you. We can’t stay in Diamond City.”

“Tubbo and I can take care of ourselves! We have for the past week, we— we won’t be a burden, I promise!”

“You’re not.” Niki insisted fiercely, shaking his shoulders before squeezing them tight. “I know, you’re not, and you wouldn’t be, but that doesn’t change the fact that we just—…can’t.”

Tommy stood, his jaw parted as tears beaded in his eyes and traced down his cheeks, breaths heavy as she pulled him in again. “You two have been very brave, and very strong to make it this far by yourselves. You’ve been excellent. But you need to do what we say now. This isn’t—… This isn’t what we want either, but it’s what’s best for you. Diamond City is beautiful, the people there are nice. You’re not going to miss us once you get used to it.”

“Yes I will!” He weeped, his face hidden in the sleeve of her shirt. “I’ll miss you.”

Niki pulled him back so she could see his face, and put on a determined, if wobbly smile. “You’re going to be just fine. You and Tubbo both.”

Jack gave Tubbo’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze to emphasize Niki’s words, running his hand up and down his arm. Tubbo looked up at him, that same pleading look in his eyes that tore at his ribs.

“You’re sure you won’t come with us?”

He shook his head solemnly. “I’m sorry.”

________________________________________

Niki and Jack planned on traveling through the night to get to the city. Evening was falling fast, and as the sun nestled itself into the tops of the trees she struck a match against the leather backing of one of the bags on Bessie’s side, using it to light a lantern that stuck out from between two chests of drawers tied to her back. It illuminated the area around them, their shadows dancing across the boxes and bags, and the back of Niki’s head.

Tubbo and Tommy had fallen into complete silence after their discussion earlier, and she’d be lying to herself if she said it wasn’t weighting heavy on her conscience. Of course they’d be heartbroken for a day or two, she’d be too, and so would Jack.

The idea of two kids out on their own was bad enough, but the fact that Tommy and Tubbo were vaulters made everything ten times worse. That’s why Diamond City was the best— the only option for them. They weren’t normal kids, they didn’t know how to handle themselves in the wasteland. Like a pair of domesticated cats, deprived of their claws.

The feeling of a hand tugging on the back of her shirt nearly made her jump, and she turned around a tad too quickly to see Tubbo standing behind her, a hesitant look in his wide green eyes.

“What is it Tubbo?” She whispered, the quiet of evening like an amplifier.

“I was… wondering, when are we going to stop?”

She blinked once, squeezing her eyes closed before looking back at him, confused. “What?”

“To sleep.” He elaborated simply.

“We’re not stopping. You can climb up on Bessie’s back to rest if you want, but the next time we stop will be in Diamond City.”

He paused, the implications of her words settling in for a few moments. There would be no more resting. No nights laying across a storage shed with borrowed sleeping bags and the promise of food in the morning again. They had less than a day left with Niki and Jack.

He turned to Tommy, knowing full well he’d be far more tired than he was, and found his eyes half-closed, one hand braced loosely against Bessie’s side and his other tucked into his pocket, head tilted toward the ground.

“Hey, come on.” He whispered, giving his shoulder a gentle shake. “Time for a break?”

It took Tommy a second to lift his head, but he nodded before dipping back down to rest his chin on his chest. Tubbo turned to Niki, tugging on her sleeve. She’d been paying attention though, so he didn’t need to explain before she turned and helped Tommy to climb onto Bessie’s back.

“…How old are you two?” She whispered as they began moving again, near certain Tommy had already fallen asleep.

“I’m eleven, he’s ten.” Tubbo replied easily, taking a couple skipping strides forward so he was ahead of the rest of the group. “What about you guys?”

Niki lifted her gaze to the sky, where the stars were beginning to peek through as she thought about it for a long moment. She looked over her shoulder at Jack, who had a similarly contemplative look on his face. “Nineteen?”

“What, you think I know how old you are?” He asked, chuckling. “I’m… eighteen I think,” he said after thinking for a moment or two, drawing out the ‘I’ in ‘I’m’, “‘might be nineteen, it’s hard to keep track after this long on the road.”

Tubbo didn’t say anything about it after that, but Niki could tell he was thinking hard about something, his eyes fixed to the asphalt. He walked just at the edge of the light, the lantern barely illuminating his back, and his face obscured in shadow as he continued onward.

“…Tubbo, fall back a bit.” Jack called up to him. “You’re too far from the light, I need to keep an eye on you.”

He turned back and stopped at once, letting Jack and Niki catch back up to him before he continued at their pace, scuffing his shoes against the ground.

“Hey,” Niki scolded gently, reaching up to tap Tubbo’s shoulder. “You’ll wear out your shoes doing that.”

He sighed in annoyance, picking his feet up deliberately before evening out to a regular pace once more, feeling his cheeks heat as he remembered the way he’d scolded Tommy a few days ago for the exact same thing. “How much further?”

“We’ll be there before sunrise.” Jack reassured, rolling his shoulders forward as he adjusted his grip on the gun in his hands. “We’ll skirt to the left a few blocks once we’re at the city’s edge. You never want to head down the main streets, the raiders have a monopoly on all the larger roads and overpasses.”

“Raiders… They’re bad guys, right?” He looked back to see two matching expressions of disdain on Niki and Jack’s faces, either one looking at the other. Jack spoke first, giving Niki a side-eyed glance before focusing his gaze on Tubbo, his brow knitted together.

“Well— we don’t want to run into them, that’s for sure. They shoot first and ask questions never.”

He didn’t know, but Tubbo nodded regardless.

“Don’t worry too much about them,” Niki said, ruffling his hair “we’ll steer far and clear of any raider outposts.”

“If you do see someone— anyone in raider’s clothes, you run. Understand?” Jack quickened his gate til he was right behind Tubbo, resting a thick-gloved hand on his shoulder. “Don’t wait. Don’t question it. And by God don’t try an’ fight. You run away til you can’t see them anymore, and you keep running.”

“Jack—” Niki hissed, hitting his arm with the back of her hand, “you’ll scare him.”

“I’m not joking.” He stood up straight, and Tubbo could hear the severity in his voice, the cold edge that meant he was dead serious. “And neither are the raiders. They’re not something to take lightly, under any circumstances.”

“I know but—” Niki stammered for a moment, looking between Jack and Tubbo before letting out a strangled sigh, her hands falling to her sides in exasperation, and defeat.

Jack nodded to her once, an acknowledgment of the end to their argument, and gave Tubbo’s shoulder a squeeze before his hand fell away. He took up his vigil once more at the road’s edge, his eyes stony and focused on something in the distance as they continued on in silence, something tense in the air that hadn’t been there before.

Chapter Text

The night passed in silence, the stars above moving imperceptibly as Niki and Jack walked alongside Bessie. They weren’t going particularly fast, the road was rough and if they took Bessie too quick Tommy’d fall right off of her.

The kid rode the brahman, chin resting on his hands laying on the ridge of the back of her neck. Nikki had her by the lead while Jack held onto Tubbo, his head resting on Jack’s shoulder. He readjusted his grip on the kid’s legs as he carried him, a sigh escaping as he followed along at Niki’s side.

“They knocked out pretty fast.” She said, sticking her free hand into her pocket as they walked.

“You’d better not drop that.” He muttered under his breath, side-eyeing Niki with an icy stare.

“Oh please,” she muttered, flexing her fingers around the rubber grip of the long-nosed rifle that had been glued to Jack’s hands the entirety of their trip, and beyond. “There’s a reason these things normally come with harnesses you know, but I’ve got steady hands.”

“It got lost.” Jack defended, once again adjusting Tubbo’s weight across his back.

“Keep doing that and you’ll wake him.” She warned, nudging Jack’s side as they continued.

Neither of them spoke for a long while, just the sounds of their boots on the crumbling asphalt, and the sounds of Bessie’s breaths interrupting the insects singing in the bushes at the roadside.

“…You know, it wouldn’t be a terrible idea.”

Niki glanced over at Jack, brow raised.

He shrugged, tilting his head back to gesture toward Tubbo. “Hanging onto ‘em.”

“Jack— no.” Her breath caught in her throat , hair brushed back in a momentarily strong breeze that made them both shiver. “We can’t. Especially not after what we learned yesterday.”

“It’s not like it would be hard.”

“What are you—?! of course it would be hard! It’s twice as many mouths to feed. I’ve never taken care of a kid before and neither have you.”

“We’d manage. We’ve survived this long, besides we have surplus supplies anyway, we could—”

“No, Jack.” She snapped, “it would be just as bad for them as it would be for us.”

They dissolved into silence once more, the absence of sound more profound contrasted against their quiet, incessant bickering.

“…It’d be a free ticket into any settlement we want.” He muttered under his breath. An afterthought to an already settled argument, But it made something hot rise in Niki’s throat, burning against the backs of her eyes.

“They’re not tickets. Jack. They’re human beings.”

“I’m just sayin’, no one’s gonna turn away a pair like us with two kids.”

“What do you mean ‘a pair like us’? Trade routes are no place for children!”

“Keep your voice down.” He warned, watching with a smirk as rage boiled in Niki’s eyes.

She took a breath and closed her eyes as they continued. “…I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that to me.”

“Really? I thought it was pretty funny.”

“You like to think you can just laugh off anything, one of these days I’m gonna give you something to cry about.”

“Yes ma’am.” He muttered, giving the vaguest mock-salute.

By now dawn was beginning to break, and with it their two charges began to stir. Niki was surprised when she noticed Tommy’s eyes peeking open just as the sun rose above the tree line. She sent Jack one last withering glare before turning her attention to Tommy, offering him a small smile as she leaned closer. “Up this early?” She whispered as he lifted his head from the Brahman’s neck.

He shrugged, nodding as he tilted his chin this way and that, popping his neck. “We’ve been walkin’ this way ‘bout three days… four now I guess.” He mumbled, scratching the back of his head as he thought. “Or is it five?…”

She sighed, a sad look in her eyes, though she had nothing to say for it. “…We’ll stop and eat something soon once Tubbo wakes up. We’re nearly there.”

That got Tommy’s attention, his eyes widened and a shock seemed to jolt him awake as he quickly scrambled to dismount the brahman, jogging ahead before sliding to a stop.

“Tommy..” Jack called in warning, voice low. “You remember what I said? Don’t stray too far.”

He turned to look at Jack, a confused tilt to his brow.

Niki bumped his shoulder. “You said that to Tubbo, Jack.”

“Oh— shit.” He muttered, smacking himself on the side of his head. “Fuck— never mind, just— stay close, okay?” He nodded, turning back to look at the state of the city laying before them.

And it was in a state. Buildings falling like reams of paper, their insides spilling onto the streets like the intestines of a gutted animal. Ramshackle structures dotted the landscape, clinging to the sides of what buildings remained standing, forming dam-like structures across streets and raised platforms. Barrel fires dotted the roads like stars, illuminating bleached stop signs in the quickly rising morning light.

Tubbo was well and awake now too, and Jack allowed him to slip from his shoulders, he and Niki staying back while he ran to Tommy’s side up ahead. Jack cursed as he and Nikki came up behind them, all four staring at the scene laid out beyond.

“It’s…” Tommy began, his tongue stuck to the backs of his teeth as he tried in vain to come up with a single word to describe what he was looking at. Somewhere not too far away, a spatter of gunfire rang out, followed by a distant explosion.

Jack grabbed Tommy by the back of his sweater and pulled him in, his back colliding with Jack’s ribs as he braced an arm over the kid’s chest protectively. “Don’t wander.” He muttered, gun in his hands. “We’re in the thick of it now, kid.”

“Stay close.” Niki agreed, wrapping an arm around Tubbo’s shoulders as they began trekking, not into the city, but to the left of it, skirting around the edge from a distance as to not get caught in any of the fire happening inside.

“They’ve changed positions since we were last here…” Jack muttered.

Tommy looked up at him, craning his neck and looking back as much as he could to stare at the bottom of his jaw. For a long time neither of them said anything, the cold October wind brushing Niki’s hair into her face as they stood, silent, watching.

“Keep moving.” He ordered sharply, pushing Tommy onward as they walked in tight formation. Jack’s heavy boots occasionally catching Tommy’s heels as they walked.

Tubbo could feel his heart hammering in his chest. This was it. Within the city walls they’d be able to find the answers they’d been searching for. Why this happened, what exactly had gone wrong while they were on ice, and what they were supposed to do now that the world was… over.

He knew Tommy felt it too, the electricity in the air, though there was an overwhelming tension that masked most everything else. They needed to get past the raiders, and Niki and Jack were wound tighter than a violin string as they surveyed the abandoned parking lots around them.

“Eyes up.” Niki ordered, voice soft but commanding. Jack snapped his gun toward the rooftops, his cheek pressed to the top of the gun as he searched through the sites.

“I’m seeing movement, but none coming our way,” he reported, “three on fifteen, five on six, one big guy, power armor.”

Niki cursed. “We can’t take that kind of fire.”

“Easy, we haven’t been spotted yet.” Jack muttered, his scope moving minutely as he scanned one rooftop, and then the next. “We need to move. Their energy’s focused on the streets, not the stragglers out here like us.”

“Bessie’s a big target, Jack.”

“We’ve done this rout before with her and we’ll do it again. We’re fine.” He lowered his gun back to his side. “Keep moving, keep it slow.”

Watching Niki and Jack work was like watching two halves of a brain speaking to one another. Tubbo watched in awe as Niki would whisper something, a command or a suggestion he didn’t know, and without missing a beat, like he could feel Niki’s command even before she said it, Jack would lift his gun or they’d change formation, speed up or slow down, and with his long-sight for visuals they functioned like a well-oiled machine.

“We’re almost to the entry point.” He reassured them, giving Tommy’s shoulder a squeeze before letting to to take up his rifle once more. “We’ve got another ‘hundred yards before we take—”

Jack fell to the ground, nearly taking Tommy with him as he lost his grip on his gun, the barrel hitting him hard in the chest where a circle of red bloomed like a rose from his shoulder.

“JACK!!” Nikki screamed, falling to her knees beside him as Bessie let out a panicked wail.

Tommy spun around, eyes wide as he watched Jack, dazed, a spatter of blood decorating the left side of his jaw, lift his head to try to understand what had just happened to him.

Bullets showered from above like rains, the brahman teetered dangerously before falling over, dead. The wares secured to her back broke loose, tumbling on top of them as the bullets cut through their ropes.

Nikki grabbed Tubbo by the arm and yanked him to the ground beside her, using Bessie as a barrier between them and the firing squad. She looked up, face pale.

“TOMMY GET DOWN!!”

He turned toward her, taking in a shaky inhale as a bullet whipped past his left year.

“TOMMY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GET DOWN!!” Jack shouted, voice raspy and frantic as a pained sound escaped his lips. He reared a leg up and kicked the back of the boy’s knee, sending him toppling to the ground beside him. His mouth fell open in a silent scream, the wind was knocked from his lungs.

“Tommy!!” Tubbo shouted.

The bullets still hadn’t stopped, and he was terrified they never would. It felt like they’d been going on for ages and ages, and Tommy was laying there as bullets dug themselves into the dirt around him and Jack.

“JACK!!” Niki began sobbing beside him, with an iron-clad grip on his arms as tears streaked down her face, hair stuck to her sweat-soaked forehead. “JACK!”

“Niki jus’— just run! I’m okay!” He shouted, though the fact he hadn’t gotten up yet said otherwise. The red rose on his shoulder had turned into an ugly patch, encroaching on his chest as more bullets threatened to strike him and Tommy. “You’ve gotta get into the city, we can’t stay here!”

“I’m not leaving you!”

Jack grit his teeth as he dug his heels into the ground, his knees bending as he tried to stand. “Get out of here!” He grimaced. “The— They’ve gotta reload soon, when that happens, you run!”

Her bottom lip protruded as she grimaced, tears dripping from her chin and pattering to the weeds below. “No, no, no no no no!” Her hands trembled still tight around Tubbo’s arms as he watched their exchange in horror.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. They were supposed to make it through without provoking a fight. Jack was smart, he knew how to do it, and Niki was smart too, and they could trust them. His ears rang with the gunfire, eyes wide and gaze hollow as Niki and Jack screamed at one another from over his shoulder.

“Niki go.” Jack moaned as he attempted to roll himself onto his side, but again, failed. “Take—” His forehead hit the dirt, eyes squeezed closed as he tried to clear his head. “Take Tommy an’ Tubbo, you know the way, you’ll be safe there, I’ll— I’ll come fin’ you—”

“BULLSHIT YOU WILL!” She shrieked, tears flying as she kicked her heels against the dirt, scrambling to her knees. “I’m not letting you die out here, I’m not gonna watch you die! You promised! YOU PROMISED!” She took in ragged breaths, eyes wide and looking between Tommy and Tubbo. “Boys— boys, boys boys— you-you’ve gotta go in without us, I need to stay and help Jack, we can’t—”

“Niki no!” Jack shouted, his words muddling together as the blood seeping into his shirt reached the center of his stomach, dribbling from his arm, soaking into the dry ground. “Jus- go with’em I— I’ll be okay, I’ll—”

As he rambled Niki shoved her trembling hands into her pockets, searching for something. Once she found it she shoved it into Tubbo’s hands, clamping hers around his and shaking them vehemently. “You keep this, and you be safe. You and Tommy look after one another and you- you run and get to the city. Don’t stop. Don’t stop for even a second no matter what, and Jack and I’ll find you inside! We’ll wait for you at Diamond City, okay?”

Tubbo searched her eyes frantically, his brow furrowed as he tried to parse through her terror.

“OKAY?!” She shouted again.

He nodded this time, taking the box and tucking it into his own pocket before looking back at Tommy. His elbows were braced against the ground as he darted between Tubbo and Jack, a conflicted look in his eyes.

Tubbo’s breaths picked up pace til his head felt light, every muscle in his body tensed, teeth grit as he pushed himself off Bessie’s bloody back, grabbed Tommy by the collar of his shirt, and began dragging him like a stone in the opposite direction of the city.

Niki watched him retreat with wide eyes, her shoulders easing slightly before she grabbed her pistol from the Brahman’s saddle-bag, cocking it before firing in the general direction of the city rooftops.

“Niki, get outta here!” Jack shouted, his head lolling to the side as he once again attempted to stand. “Go follow Tommy and Tubbo, we can’t leave ‘em here!”

“I’m not leaving you by yourself!”

He grit his teeth, eyes squeezed shut as he braced himself agains the ground. “You stupid— you stupid idiot, you’re gonna die out here with me don’t you understand?!”

“I’m not leaving without you!” She screamed.

Tommy gripped Tubbo’s arm with both hands as he was pulled behind a smattering of boulders, shielding them from the gunfire happening just a dozen yards away. He could still hear Niki and Jack’s voices as they screamed at one another. He and Tubbo were further from the fight now, but it was still far too close for reprieve.

Tubbo could just barely see the top of Bessie’s Brahman pack from their position, and even then only if he risked raising his head above their shielded hiding spot. H wanted to get as far away from the fight as he possible could, but— if they moved any further away he wouldn’t be able to see Niki and Jack at all. Unable to make a decision, he chose to focus his energy on Tommy.

“Hey, hey hey—” He leaned over his friend, eyes darting frantically across Tommy’s face, both boys sharing shuddering breaths.

The moment the gunfire had started it was like he’d just frozen in place, staring at Jack’s wide eyes as he bled out onto the grass.

“…-ead.”

“Huh?” Tubbo grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him up so Tommy’s shoulder leaned against his chest.

“Jack’s dead.” Tommy whispered again.

“No, no he’s not! He’s not dead, he got shot, but he’s gonna be fine!”

“You don’ know that.”

“Maybe I don’t but—” He swallowed thickly, looking back at the pole that Niki had hung the lantern from just a few nights ago, sticking up from the Brahman’s back like the hilt of a sword piercing her. He looked away. “If we don’t get out of here now we’re not going to have a chance to see them again. We need to get up and get moving!”

“Jack’s dead!” Tommy shouted again, his brow pinched as though he’d just explained to Tubbo why escaping this place wasn’t an option. Like Jack’s death had signed a warrant for their own demise.

“Tommy GET UP!!” Tubbo shouted suddenly, shaking him by the front of his shirt before pulling him forcefully to his feet. “We’re getting out of here, and I need you to run! Understand?! RUN TOMMY!!”

He yanked hard on Tommy’s arms and began running himself, pumping his arms at his sides and looking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure Tommy was still following him. The bullets were few and far between now, most landed behind them rather than ahead.

________________________________________

When they inevitably had to stop the city still felt far too close, an ominous omen obscured by thick grey clouds, only barely. For days Tubbo had dreamed of seeing it this close… now all he wanted to do was get away from it.

“You could’ve been shot.” He whispered, a thick stone forming in his throat as he looked down at Tommy. “AGAIN! You were right next to Jack when it happened and you just stood there! And when— when Jack kicked you to get you down, you just LAID there!”

He shook his head silently, eyes wide as ever and staring down at the ground as he braced his hands against his knees, positioned as though he were expecting to be sick. “I don’t know!” He shouted back, shaking his head again as sweat dripped down his face. “I was scared! I saw him fall and I- I felt like I couldn’t move. The whole world went in slow motion!”

“That’s not good enough!”

“I DON’T KNOW!!” He shouted, voice pleading. “I don’t know, I- I don’t know! I don’t know I don’t, I don’t—”

Tubbo sighed, what little fight he’d had in him draining out at the sight of his best friend so broken in front of him. He dropped his arms to his side as he stood straight, looking down at Tommy’s crumpled form with a furrowed brow. He turned back to the city, decimated as it was.

“…C’mon, get up.” He muttered, his tone sharp to mask the defeat lying beneath the surface. He reached down, taking Tommy quickly by the arm. “We’ve gotta move.”

Tommy looked at him. Said nothing. Neither did he.

They travelled in silence, the echoing gunfire behind them urging them further and further on. Despite it being just after dawn the sky was dark with clouds a thick mist obscured their surroundings, trees and lampposts transformed into oblong creatures half-seen through frosted glass as they passed by, as though in a dream. It all seemed so far away now.

“They’re dead now, aren’t they.” Tommy muttered from the left, hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans and shoulders hunched forward. His voice was dangerously monotone, void of anything resembling worry or concern. It wasn’t a question, despite the wording.

Tubbo didn’t respond for a long time, the bottoms of his shoes scraping over the rough gravel as they continued on in the same silence as before until finally he looked up, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “…Yeah, probably.”

“We should’ve gone back.”

“What could we have done? We couldn’t even see who was shooting at us, we couldn’t have stopped it.”

“You dragged me away.” He spat. “We could’ve gone back and dragged them away too.”

“I wasn’t about to leave you laying alone behind those stones. Niki told me to run, so I ran. Besides, she wasn’t going to leave him no matter what happened.”

“We could’ve done something.”

“Like what?”

“…I dunno.” He whispered under his breath, eyes lowering to the ground. “…Where the fuck do we go now?”

“We’ve gotta get away from the city.” He shrugged his shoulders and scuffed his shoe against the pavement loudly. “We’ll find someplace to sleep once it gets dark, and…” He trailed off, expression pinched. “…I don’t know.”

“We might as well lay down and die right now.” Tommy muttered bitterly. He kept his eyes forward and down, following the pavement as it disappeared beneath his feet despite the feeling of Tubbo’s eyes burning into the side of his face.

“…We’re gonna find someone who can help us.”

“Niki and Jack could’ve helped us. They weren’t even headed toward the city when we ran into them. They wouldn’t have gone that way if it weren’t for us.”

“Are you saying this is our fault?”

Tommy shrugged his shoulders again. “You think it’s not?”

“We didn’t know that would happen.”

“Doesn’t change that fact that it happened.”

“Jack himself said they’d changed position since he was last there!”

“So what?”

“So—” Tubbo pressed his mouth into a thin line, his eyes staring daggers into the side of Tommy’s stoic face. “So it’s no one’s fault, alright?! It’s the raiders’ faults! They’re the ones who were shooting at us, if you have to blame someone then for god’s sake— blame the person with the damn guns!”

Despite Tubbo’s rage Tommy said nothing, the silence humming in their ears.

They trekked through unmarked fields, over shallow hills until they finally came upon a new road, a long stretch of dirt with bushes and weeds lining its ditches, white puff-like blooms like lights scattered throughout thick green leaves.

It had been Tommy who chose to go left. They’d come upon the road from it’s side, no indication of anything that could lie at either end of it’s expanse. There was no discussion, no questions, just a simple turn of his shoulder that Tubbo hadn’t protested against.

The sun was high overhead, but despite it’s position the clouds kept most of its light from reaching the ground, casting the road and it’s weeds in a diffused gauze-like glow. The air felt thick and wet, and it made Tubbo feel like he was dragging in each breath against the will of God himself, as though He wished for the two of them to suffocate.

Hunger was becoming more and more prevalent on his mind, and he knew Tommy felt the same despite the silent match they were having. That comment he’d made earlier about laying down and dying was still bright and fresh in his mind. He’d never heard Tommy say anything like that before.

As it was now, they were lost. There was no home to go back to anymore, not unless they wanted to hollow-up in the rotting carcasses of the houses back in the neighborhood. Niki and Jack had been the first real taste of hope they’d had, and… and they’d killed it.

God, they really had killed them.

Their food stores were empty, and if they didn’t find something to eat soon Tubbo feared their biggest danger wasn’t going to be running into an armed stranger anymore. They’d starve to death before anything— or anyone —got the chance to kill them. Niki and Jack’s storage container was a three day walk at minimum, and they weren’t in any shape to make a trip like that anymore.

They were going to die in three days if they didn’t find something to eat.

“What’s that?”

Tubbo looked up from where he’d been staring at his shoes to glance at Tommy, who’s sites were set on… something, in the distance. He turned, and after a few seconds finally noticed what he’d seen. A fence. Even from here he could tell it wasn’t anything fancy, but a fence was better than sitting on the side of the road when it’d come time for it to get dark out.

“Home.” He mumbled. “For tonight, at least.”

As they approached, his suspicions about the place were confirmed. It was nothing exciting, the moment they came within fifty feet he caught wind of the smell, like every living being within a hundred miles had flocked here just to die.

The place was packed with junk, piles of it towering over the tops of the fence posts. A whole car teetered on the top of one of the larger mounds, a rusted-out shell with no windshield, no windows, and with one door hanging open to reveal a rotting interior.

The two boys stood before the gate, one lone flood light illuminating them in flickering yellow from above as occasional dust clouds drifted past from within, covering their jeans in a layer of tan.

“…You sure you wanna stay here? I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep with that smell.”

“You wanna look for something else?” Tubbo muttered, giving him a side-eye.

He stepped up to the gate to see what they were up against. Like everything else in this godforsaken world, it was locked. It shook as he grabbed it, flimsy, but still standing. A heavy chain and lock kept the doors from fully opening, but… the length of it allowed a few feet between the doors if they pushed them in far enough.

“Can you squeeze through that gap?” He asked, pressing his back against the fence to push it as far open as he could. Tommy sighed, falling to his knees as he crept under Tubbo’s outstretched arm and through the rusty fence, stumbling to his feet on the other side to hold the door open for him.

Tubbo crawled through in much the same way, pushing himself to his feet in a hurry. The place was obviously deserted, but it hadn’t always been. There were a few mattresses littering the ground, their springs exposed around a cold fire pit. To their right a small warehouse, it’s windows shattered and metal roof rusted.

Tommy muttered some hail-mary under his breath and took Tubbo by the shoulder, yanking him hard in the direction of the building. He had no more strength for patience. Tubbo understood the feeling.

“…Tommy… Tommy wait.” Tubbo muttered, digging his heels into the dirt.

“What? What is it?” He asked, sounds as though he might start crying if he didn’t get to sleep in the next few minutes. He let go of Tubbo and staggered to a stop a few paces ahead, impatiently tiptoeing backwards as Tubbo searched his pockets. “Whatever it is it can wait ’til morning, can’t it?”

“If it’s what I think it is—” he pulled the white box Niki’d handed him that morning, the imprint of her trembling hands still fresh in his mind, “—it can’t.”

Tommy watched, confused, as Tubbo held the box up in front of him, a familiar ticking sound, slow to start but growing louder coming from the device. “No…” He whispered, shaking his head. “No, no no no—”

“We gotta get out of here.” he grabbed his shirt sleeve. “C’mon Tommy.”

“But we just got here!”

“Do you want to turn into one of those things from the river-shack? Come on!” Tommy sighed, his shoulders falling as he followed Tubbo.

“…Wait—”

“Tommy come on we can’t stay—!”

“I said wait!” He shouted, grabbing the back of Tubbo’s shirt and pulling him backwards. “Do you feel that?” He asked, his voice suddenly sharp and soft, his consonance whistling hotly against the back of Tubbo’s ear.

He stared at the ground, something… rumbling under his shoes. “What is that?!” He hissed.

“I don’t know, but it’s getting louder.” Tommy whispered back. He stuck his hand into his pocket, grabbing the hilt of the silver pistol and letting it fall easily to his side, his thumb flicking the safety off. “What do we do?”

“We need to get out.” He took a breath, one hand reaching back to squeeze Tommy’s arm. “What if it’s more of those—”

Ahead of them a mound of dirt burst from the ground, the bald face of a giant creature staring them down with crazed red eyes.

Tubbo gasped gutturally, his eyes blown wide as he staggered backwards, his back hitting Tommy’s chest. “What the FUCK IS THAT?!”

Tommy wrapped an arm around Tubbo’s shoulders, pushing him behind himself as he leveled the gun at the creature. He tensed his arm, bracing for the kickback before pulling the trigger—

A faint ‘click’, and nothing more. No bullets.

“RUN!!” He screamed, pushing Tubbo backwards as the monster charged at them.

They sprinted through the piles of trash, weaving around corners and under overhanging cars and boards as more of them erupted from the earth, joining the pursuit as they tried in vain to find another way to escape the junkyard. They couldn’t keep running for long, the front gate was too heavy for them to get through, and those things could burrow underground, the gate wouldn’t stop them. They needed to get up higher, off the ground.

“Tommy, here!” He called, throwing himself onto one of the junk piles as he began to climb, fistful after fistful of garbage tumbling away as he grasped at the edge of the rusted car. Suddenly something braced against his foot, and he looked down to see Tommy, one hand pushing him upwards as the rats, dogs— whatever they were, jumped and nipped at his heels.

“Hurry!” He shouted, pushing further up on Tubbo’s sneaker.

Tubbo nodded, bracing an arm against the floor of the car and lifting himself inside before clambering around and offering Tommy a hand, their palms clapping together as he pulled him into the car’s back seat. He clung to Tubbo’s arms as they worked together to pull him into the car alongside him.

Tommy glanced out the car’s doorless entrance to see the group of… rats, scrabbling at the bottom of the hill fruitlessly, their huge overgrown teeth clicking together as they screeched and squealed. “…What was that you said, about not wanting to stay here for the night?” He muttered, side-eyeing Tubbo once again.

He sighed, pulling the geiger counter from his pocket once more. “It’s stopped ticking. We should be safe to sleep here.” He whispered the latter part of the sentence, sure that even if the geiger counter had told him they’d be dead in minutes, neither of them would have moved from their positions, content with the idea of this being their final resting place. Either that, or numb to it.

He let his hand fall to the floor at his side, his whole body sinking against the crusted leather of the seat. “What happened back there? With the gun?”

“No more bullets.” Tommy said, shaking his head as he held the gun up in one hand, tilting it this way and that as the moonlight glinted off its chrome. “We’ll need to find more ammo if we wanna use it again.” He set the gun down at his side and glanced back out at the rats below them. “…They’ll have to get tired eventually, right?”

Tubbo shrugged noncommittally. “Regardless we’ll make a run for it at dawn.” He back and nestling in as best he could on the thin rotting carpet. “Try an’ get some sleep.”

“Fat chance of that.” Tommy muttered, but he leaned his head against the seat behind him, his knees tucked to his chest as he closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the sounds of the ravenous monsters clawing at them from ten feet below.

Chapter Text

With the first gray light Tommy squinted his eyes open, the world deathly silent. He rubbed his arms, prickled with goosebumps. They wouldn’t make it another night out in the cold like this, he thought suddenly. It might be November but he wasn’t sure. There'd be no surviving the coming winter out in the open as they had been.

Tubbo laid across the seat behind him. He glanced to the side, seeing his friend’s slack expression, eyes gently closed and hands clasped together, pillowed under his cheek. His fingertips tinted grey and brown with dust and grime. His cheeks were grimy too, a streak of brown dirt across his forehead where he must’ve wiped sweat away with his sleeve.

He looked down at himself, noticing for the first time that he looked must the same. His hands had darkened with dirt, his nails black around the edges, dirt caked underneath. He picked at them, cleaning them quietly, scraping at them until they resembled something close to clean. As clean as he could get them without water, he supposed.

“…—go…”

“Hm?” He hummed, turning toward Tubbo. His eyes were still closed, but hie expression was pinched with discomfort, his fingers tensed. “Tubbo?”

“…Le’sgo, c’mon…” He mumbled, his breaths shaky and picking up pace. “We gotta… go Tommy, go—”

“Tubbo, wake up.” He muttered under his breath, reaching backwards to shake his shoulder. The moment he touched him though Tubbo’s eyes shot open with a small gasp, looking around him in confusion. “You were dreaming.” He reached over, patting his arm with a numb hand.

“…What time is it?”

“Dawn.” Tommy nodded out the missing windshield, the rising sun sitting on the horizon, casting golden light against everything around them. “Time to leave.”

Tubbo nodded as he yawned, rubbing a hand down his face as he sat up and looked at the ground below. “…No signs of the rats, let’s make it quick.”

As slowly as they could, they both slid down the side of the trash pile, discarded tin cans and bits of rotten rubbish scattering to the ground at the feet once they made it back down to solid ground. Tommy stumbled a few steps forward, his head on a swivel as he looked out for any signs of the rats.

“Come on, quick.” Tubbo moved past him, grabbing him by the sleeve to pull him along toward the front gate. Just as they’d entered last night he grabbed it and pulled hard, leaning all his weight back as the gap appeared, allowing Tommy to slip through. He pressed against the gate as much as he could, but the gate was heavier than he was, his sneakers dragged against the dirt as the gate forced itself closed, but not before Tubbo was able to wiggle through.

Tommy sighed, laughing softly. “By the skin of your teeth, that was.” Tubbo smirked, laughing softly as he elbowed him in the side as they started walking.

The day continued on. As they walked down the road the junkyard fell further and further behind them. The road ahead promising nothing they hadn’t already seen. Itself barren. Silent. Godless.

Tubbo busied himself with collecting pebbles along the side of the road, tucking them into his pockets and rubbing them together in the palm of his hand. Tommy had run ahead, humming some song under his breath he couldn’t quite hear. It was only when he caught up that the words became clearer.

”It's one for the money, two for the show,
Three to get ready now go, cat, go!

But don't you step on my blue suede shoes!
Well you can do anything but lay off ‘a my blue suede shoes!

Well, you can knock me down, step on my face,
Slander my name all over the place!
Do anything that you want to do, But uh-uh honey, lay off of my shoes!

Don't you step on my blue suede shoes!
You can do anything but lay off my blue suede shoes!”

Despite outer appearances Tubbo could tell Tommy was trying hard not to think about what had happened at the junkyard, and the day prior. He couldn’t blame him, neither of them wanted to remember what they’d witnessed at the city’s border. Being shot at was bad enough, watching someone else get shot, someone they’d barely known but grown to care about… Nikki and Jack had been the nicest people they’d come into contact with since waking up in the vault weeks ago, he couldn’t think too hard about it himself without wanting to lay down and cry.

“How do you remember all the lyrics to that song?” He asked instead, scrutinizing a few of his pebbles before choosing one, and tossing it toward the trees that lined the road. It hit the trunk of one with a satisfying and hollow thunk.

“‘Bout half the words are ‘lay off of my blue-suede shoes’, it’s not hard to remember. Besides, my dad had that record spinning all day. He loved that singer guy.”

“Who, Elvis?”

“’S’at his name?” He asked, skipping a few steps before sliding on the flat soles of his shoes. “I guess so, yeah. He had a bunch of his albums, half the records we had at home were his.”

“He’s pretty good I guess.” Tubbo replied. “He kinda had a weird way he danced when he was on tv. My mom thought he looked funny.”

“Maybe a little.” Tommy said, shrugging again as Tubbo tossed another pebble into the trees. “I thought he was kinda cool. He’d do that dance like, sorta like—“

He raised his arms up from his sides and bent his knees just a bit, swaying from side to side as he tapped his feet.

”You can burn my house, steal my car,
Drink my liquor from an old fruit-jar!
Do anything that you want to do, But uh-uh baby, lay off of my shoes!

Don't you step on my blue suede shoes!
You can do anything but lay off of my blue suede shoes!

Well, it's one for the money, two for the show
Three to get ready now go, cat, go!

But don't you step on my blue suede shoes!
Well you can do anything but lay off of my blue suede shoes!

Blue, blue suede shoes oh baby! Blue, blue suede shoes
Blue, blue suede shoes oh baby! Blue, blue suede shoes

You do anything but lay off of my blue suede shoes!”

Tommy tapped his feet against the ground and waved his arms, mimicking the way he remembered seeing the black-haired singer do on the television, miming the guitar in his arms.

Tubbo laughed, shaking his head as he side stepped to elbow Tommy in the side. “You’re definitely not Elvis, sorry to be the one to tell you.”

“Hey! I bet if I practiced I’d get better.” He defended, puffing out his chest a bit. “With how many people we’ve come across, I doubt there’s many singers around, I could be one of the best!”

Tubbo scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, best in the world… Doesn’t seem like much of an accomplishment now.” He threw another pebble, listening to the ‘tak tak tak’ as it skipped across the ground.

Tommy scuffed his sneakers against the pavement, a thin-lined frown on his face. “Killjoy.” He muttered under his breath.

Tubbo scoffed. “Just thinking out loud.”

“…I’ll just have to be the best in history then.”

Tubbo smiled, tucking his hands into his pockets as Tommy continued to dance. Last night had been rough for more than a few reasons. He’d been… pretty hard on him the last few days. All the yelling and screaming at one another on top of everything they’d seen wasn’t making matters any better, or more bearable.

But Tommy… he was tough. A lot tougher than he thought he was. That didn’t mean he needed to go through all of that, it didn’t make Tubbo yelling at him right, but… he knew he could count on Tommy to stick by him even when he got snappy, and he needed to stick by Tommy even when he started to fray.

They were twice as strong together as they were alone, and they needed all the strength they could get if they were going to make it through this halfway okay.

________________________________________

After walking for hours throughout the afternoon and well into the sun’s peak, they came upon an unusual spot. Off to the right of the road, a gated section of land obscured by large piles of rubble from the other side. They were still moving forward, though at a fraction of the speed they’d travelled at through the night, and the gate followed them along the path for at least five minutes before they inevitably got curious.

Tommy was the first to get curious, of course. While Tubbo stayed on the road with his hands tucked into his pockets, he watched Tommy veer off the path and follow along beside the fence, brushing his fingers over the chain links. His eyes drifted to the sky, the city in the distance, the trees lining the opposite side of the road. It was all so quiet. So far away.

“What do you think’s in there?”

He looked down in surprise, catching Tommy’s gaze. “What?”

“On the other side.” He clarified, looking back through the chain links. “It’s not a junkyard.”

“It’s probably construction or something boring.” ‘Nothing I want to stick my nose into’, he doesn’t say.

“Do you wanna check it out?”

“What? Why? No.” Tommy had stopped walking, so he did too.

“Why not? It’s not like anyone’s gonna kick us out.”

Tubbo opened his mouth to argue, but before he could make a sound he cut himself off, shutting it again. The first thing that had come to mind was, of course, ‘I don’t want to get caught’. Caught. Who was going to catch them now? Who was going to tell them they couldn’t? Tommy wanted to, and really, he didn’t feel pulled in either direction.

“…Fine, we can look.” He relented, stepping off the road as Tommy began climbing the fence.

Their sneakers hit the ground on the other side, white, dry and dusty, unlike the dark dirt and grass of the ditch they’d just stood in. Large piles of rubble stood at least twice as tall as either of them, sometimes taller. Tommy looked like a kid in a candy store, and immediately he began scrambling up the side of one of the hills.

“Tubbo!” He looked up, watching Tommy as he slid back down the hill, jogging over to him with a big smile. “You’re never gonna believe this— come on, come on, this is so cool!”

“What?” He asked as Tommy grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, though he received no reply as they weaved through machines and rock mounds. It didn’t take long to find what he’d been so excited about.

“Woah…”

Before them a bleak hole was bored into the earth, spanning wider than a football field’s length and at least that much in depth. Further down the rock’s color became lighter and lighter until it was bone-white at about a quarter-depth. Shelf-like walkways lined the edges, gradually tapering inward, maybe five or six feet wide. Barely long enough for one or two people to walk along and pass by one another.

“Yeah, woah.” Tommy laughed, leaning over the edge to get a closer look. A crumb of white stone broke free under his weight, tumbling to the walkway below.

Sitting halfway down the flat wall opposite their own laid the crumbling fuselage of an airplane. It looked practically untouched at the top, its metal casing shining like a gigantic bullet under the sun. At its halfway point the metal took on a rusted orange color, before turning brown and decrepit toward the nose. Debris occasionally fell through the cracks into the pool of deep brownish-green water sitting stagnant at the bottom of the quarry.

Tubbo grabbed his shirt, pulling him back by several inches. “You’re gonna fall in!”

It was as if Tubbo was watching Tommy’s field of vision widen in real time, taking in the quarry in its entirety, scrambling backward another few feet and grabbing Tubbo’s shoulders with sharp nails. He laughed, looking over the rest of the giant expansive mining project from a safer distance. “Just… stay close.” He pleaded, pulling on Tommy’s arm to keep him close, and keep them both moving forward.

They walked along the border of the first layer, the white stone beneath their feet brighter than the walls, and especially the top level of dirt covering the rest of the dig site. Each step they took emitted a cloud of pale dust into the air, making his eyes itch and his lips purse together in an attempt to keep it from his mouth.

“Do you think we could get closer?” Tommy asked, eyes glued to the downed plane sitting at the bottom of the hole. Tubbo hesitated, sighing pensively. “Pleeease? There could be food down there. Chips and things, right? It doesn’t look like anyone’s even tried to get inside.”

“Yeah, cause it’s a plane. It’s not exactly nailed to the wall.”

“Come on, it has to weigh a million tons. If it was gonna move it would have by now. It’s been here for like, two hundred years.”

Tubbo chewed on his lower lip, his arms wrapped around his middle. On one hand, he was right. He knew he was right that going down there was risky, more than risky, it was super dangerous. But at the same time Tommy had a point. The risk probably meant not a lot of people had gone down there. It might be easier to scavenge in difficult-to-reach places rather than stealing from raiders or junkyards guarded by giant moles.

“…If we don’t see anything in the first five minutes we’re leaving. There’s other places to get food from that aren’t this hard to get to.” He said, though the truth of the statement, as far as he knew, was shaky at best.

It took over an hour to walk all the way across the westward ledge, the sun beating down on the backs of their necks relentlessly. There was a decent breeze which helped, but the sky was cloudless, and the white rock beneath their feet reflected that light back up onto them. It was like there were two suns, one above them, and one below.

Even Tommy’s excitement and energy couldn’t battle the irritating heat radiating off every surface. It would almost be nice if it weren’t for the way the sunlight bounced off the rock and back into their eyes. Thankfully they were traveling in the shade as they rounded the corner.

After what felt like days they finally made it it to the edge of the quarry wall where the plane wreck sat. The ledge closest to it was still ten or so feet away. It met the Quarry wall higher up, the bottom of the fuselage lodged against the pale rock two or three layers higher than where they were standing.

Tubbo glanced down fifty feet below into the brownish-greenish water that filled the basin. He shuffled backwards, pushing Tommy back with him as he’d began to lean over the edge dangerously.

“We should go back.” He muttered, shaking his head at the gap between them and the plane. “We can’t make it in, it’s too high up, and the plane’s too far from us.”

“I can make that.” Tommy whispered, more to himself than to anyone else. Like he was hyping himself up. He pushed Tubbo’s arm out of his way. “If you wanna wait here—”

“Tommy, no, I’m serious! You’re not going down there! You’ll drop like a stone! The water down there looks nasty, don’t risk it!” He tried to get through to him, but it was already too late. He could see that look inTommy’s eyes, like a cat determining the best way to pounce on a mouse.

“Tommy I am serious. We’re leaving now, come on.” He reached forward and grabbed his wrist, but Tommy was faster than he was. One moment he was next to Tubbo standing solidly on the edge of the quarry, and in the next he was gone. Disappeared.

“TOMMY!!”

He fell to the ground, scrambling forward to grab the crumbling edge of rock, watching Tommy as he fell onto the top of the plane. Immediately he began sliding across the smooth metal, the incline too steep to stand on. Tommy’s sneakers squeaked against the fuselage, hands braced backwards. Tubbo couldn’t see his face.

“TOMMY!!” He screamed his name again.

He veered to the left, legs stretched out and arms braced to fall as he slipped over the side of the plane. His fingers caught the edge of something on the side, and Tubbo watched as the emergency door fell open. Tommy nearly lost his grip on the edge as it’s hinges hit hard, jerking his arms this way and that.

Before he could open his mouth to scream Tommy had already disappeared inside the plane, leaving him alone on the ledge to wait for him to come back out.

“BASTAAAARD!!” He screamed, scrambling to his feet with his hands balled into fists. “I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU!! GODDAMNIT, YOU DICKHEAD! I HATE YOU!! YOU GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK, I FUCKING HATE YOU!!”

He heaved heavy breaths, staring at the unmoving plane carcass before groaning angrily and turning around, kicking up dust and cursing before eventually sitting down against the wall, arms crossed as he glared out across the quarry at the plane.

A non-insignificant amount of his time with Tommy was spent waiting for him. Back before everything it had been things like running from Mr. Johnson’s pond, but they’d also explored abandoned buildings and mysterious creeks together. Or… well, that was the thing wasn’t it? Tommy was always the one diving in first. Tubbo came along once he was certain it was ‘safe.’

But this… This was insanity. Tommy had been dangling like a drop of water ready to fall from that airplane door. Now it was all quiet, but he couldn’t hear himself think, his ears buzzing as he waited to see what Tommy would do next. He stared at the plane for what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than a minute or two. Even that felt like too much though, and eventually he just couldn’t stand waiting anymore.

“TOMMY!?” He shouted, voice echoing off the quarry walls. “Tommy, I’m coming down there!”

He dropped his backpack to the quarry floor and sighed, pushing himself to his feet and taking a few steps back. He bent his knees, staring down the edge of the plane. …If he could jump up higher than Tommy he could grab the top of the fuselage instead of sliding down it like Tommy had. He didn’t have enough faith in himself to catch the same door.

He pushed himself toward the edge, sprinted, jumped. As he threw himself through the air his stomach bottomed out. But he kept his eyes pinned on the jagged top of the fuselage and managed, just barely, to catch the edge of it.

He cried out in pain as the metal edge dug into his hands, and hung there for a few moments. Long enough for a small drip of red to make it’s way down to his elbow. Eventually though he had to make a decision. Either grit his teeth and pull himself up, or let go and fall into the water below.

Not wanting to find out what was waiting down there, he finally adjusted his grip and, with more than a few minutes of wriggling, was able to fall gracelessly into the inner fuselage.

Instantly he felt confined, restricted, the sounds of wind and trees from outside were gone in here, and what little sound there was was muted from the soft carpet and plush seats that had sat for hundreds of years decaying in the quarry. His hands ached.

But the thing that scared him the most was the silence inside. Where was Tommy?

He pushed himself up from where he’d fallen, laying on top of a thin particle-board wall. It was bleached from the sun and dipped in the middle, damp with rainwater, with moss creeping over the edges. Further down the light filtered out quickly, the rest of the plane illuminated periodically by an open window or two. It was all quiet, save for the sound of dripping water somewhere nearby. If he wanted to find Tommy he’d have to go down there and find him himself.

He turned around and eased down the wall carefully, the tip of his shoe hitting the edge of a chair’s back where he could stand and let go, leaving behind a bright red handprint. That far down the light was already fading, so he opened the tiny window to let in at least that much more light.

One by one he descended the chairs like a ladder, using the arm rests as hand and foot holds to venture further inside. It wasn’t terribly hard if he ignored the pain in his fingers. He used the bases of his palms and the tips of his thumbs to latch on, not his fingers, the same way he might grab something while cooking with sticky hands.

“Tommy?” He called, his heart in his throat. He heard a nearby moan, still below him but close, he climbed even quicker, though there was only so fast he could go with the threat of a fifty-foot fall into the brown water below.

He finally spotted Tommy’s figure through a gap in the seats, and he climbed onto the chair across the thin hall he finally laid eyes on him. He laid on his side, curled inward with a hand pressed to his middle. A few inches away a piece of broken belt buckle laid on the seat, the metal chipped in a knife-like shape. The tip smothered in red.

Tubbo swore again. He was hurt, and it would be damn near impossible to get him out of here with a wound like that. “…Can you move?” He whispered. He couldn’t reach much of him, only able to rest his hand on Tommy’s ankle, though he comforted him as best he could from there. “You need to sit up so I can see what happened.”

Tommy laid motionless for far longer than he should have, and Tubbo almost opened his mouth again to repeat his plea when finally, hesitantly, he unwrapped himself to reveal a deep red stain on his shirt, just above his left hip.

“Oh…” he shuddered, “it’s… it’ll be alright, we’ll find help once we get out of here, okay? We just need to climb back to the top.” He pushed himself to the edge of the seat, knees hanging over the end of the armrest. “You think you can do that?”

Water rushed within the fuselage, passing through the broken windows and crashing against the rounded inner walls, churning into a frothed brown sludge. Tommy said nothing.

Tubbo swallowed a thick lump in his throat. “…We need to start climbing now so we can get help.” He whispered, reaching across the aisle again and squeezing Tommy’s ankle. “Let’s go.”

He pulled his legs up and shuffled until he was crouched, reaching around the arm rest to leverage himself, the plastic creaking and bending under his weight. He pulled himself onto the chair above, glancing over his shoulder to check on Tommy.

“…Tommy, come on, we’ve gotta go.” He insisted, shuffling back so he could sit. “You’ve gotta move!” He reached across the aisle and grabbed the armrest, legs dropping down to the chair Tommy was sitting on. He walked his hands down the chairs, his fingers hanging onto the ceiling as he looked down at his friend lying there. Tommy was sweating, eyes focused but distant, like he couldn’t see Tubbo at all.

“Come on!” He shouted, reaching down one arm grabbing him roughly by his. “We’re moving now, come on Tommy, let’s go! We’re going!”

He managed to get Tommy to sit up before he suddenly let out the most blood-curdling scream Tubbo had ever heard. He dropped his arm like heated steel and nearly lost his grip on the ceiling, pressing one ear to his arm and using his other hand to cover the other.

Tommy fell back to his side on the seats with a jolt, his shoulders shaking violently as his entire body began to convulse and writhe.

“TOMMY!!”

What was he supposed to do? Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, nothing “Hold on, it’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay! It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay—” He took in a sharp breath and pressed his forehead to Tommy’s shoulder, repeating the mantra to himself over, and over, and over again.

After a few seconds Tommy finally stopped. The tremors dwindling down to twitches, and then nothing. It happened so quickly that for a moment Tubbo wondered if he’d imagined it all. Now it was his own shaking he couldn’t control. His chest was pinning down Tommy’s shoulder, and through it he could feel his own heart hammering in his ribs.

“T…Tommy?” He whimpered, leaning back to shake his shoulder with one hand. “Tommy, I— I don’t know what else to do. We need to get out of here, please.”

There was nothing else for it, he supposed. Either he carried Tommy out, or…

Or they died trying.

“Okay. It’s all gonna be okay.” He muttered, mostly for himself as he was certain Tommy either wasn’t listening or couldn’t hear anything he was saying. He crouched low on the chair, arching his back and, slowly as he could, pulling Tommy on top of himself, easing gently to wrap Tommy’s arms around his neck.

“Tommy you have to—” He sighed heavily, cursing. Tommy was going to have to hold onto him somehow, but as it was his hands were just as much a dead weight as the rest of him.

Thinking quickly, he moved him off his back and sat up, unthreading the laces from his shoes. “This is probably going hurt,” he warned, “but I promise it’ll help get us out of here, you’ve gotta trust me, and— and after that it’ll all be fine.” He wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but it sounded reassuring to his ears, and that was all that really mattered.

He tied the laces loosely around each of Tommy’s wrists, the loops small enough they wouldn’t slip off but hopefully not so tight that they’d hurt him. Once that was done he triple-knotted them together, wriggling his head through Tommy’s looped arms.

“This better work.” He muttered to himself as he hiked Tommy’s weight up, his tied hands wresting uncomfortably against the center of his throat as he began to climb, one armrest at a time toward the top of the fuselage.

Metal creaked and complained loudly around him, the plastic of the chairs squeaking and squealing under his and Tommy’s combined weight. It had already been bad enough getting down this far on his own, now with both of them together… he just prayed the chairs would hold together long enough for them to get out.

“Just a little further.” He choked out, gritting his teeth as he reached for another hand hold, his arms aching and legs trembling as he pushed further. He had to keep moving, if he let himself rest he could lose his grip.

The breeze against his face as he finally grabbed ahold of the edge of the damaged fuselage nearly caused Tubbo to break down in tears, his chest loosening it’s death-grip on his heart as it beat wildly against his ribs. His arms felt numb and cold as he laid on the same particleboard platform he’d landed on what felt like ages ago, Tommy’s arms still tied together with his shoelaces around his neck.

They weren’t finished yet, but he could see the ledge from here and it wasn’t going to be nearly as hard to get them on solid ground as it was to get Tommy up and out of the middle of the plane. Tubbo ducked out from within Tommy’s looped arms and stood up, checking the distance from the fuselage’s edge to the quarry shelf below. It was a small drop, nothing that would hurt.

He sighed sharply, tucking Tommy’s arms back over his head before climbing out, dropping from the edge to the bone-white ground below. He landed on his feet thankfully, pulling Tommy’s arms off him and laying him flat on the ground facing the sky.

“If you’re not dead after this,” he muttered as he laid beside him, staring at the clouds above, “I’m going to kill you.”

Chapter Text

“Tommy.” He mumbled under his breath for the tenth time in the past five minutes. Tubbo sat cross-legged, Tommy’s head resting on his ankles.

Moving had felt like a bad idea after what happened inside the fuselage, the way Tommy had started shaking… He took a breath and held it, tensing his chest before exhaling slowly. In the meantime he busied himself with trying to untie the shoelaces from around Tommy’s wrists. The tension from having his arms strained against Tubbo’s neck had tightened the laces into a mangled mess to the point where he could barely tell which strands to pull on to loosen the knots.

At this point he might as well start gnawing at them, that had to be more productive than what he was doing now. Fed up, he dropped Tommy’s hands, his arms falling limp to his chest as Tubbo buried his head in his hands and sighed.

He kicked himself for not thinking of this scenario beforehand. Of course he’d need to cut the laces off of Tommy’s wrists after he tied them together, but… they didn’t have anything for it. No scissors, no knife. They didn’t even have anything sharp, and unless he found something soon Tommy was going to come-to in handcuffs.

His expression soured as he stared out across the quarry, the white stone bleak, especially against the grey cloud-covered sky. “…We’ve gotta get somewhere warm before night comes.” He muttered, looking down at Tommy once more.

“…Come on Tommy, let’s go.” He said, shuffling his feet and settling Tommy’s head down on the ground as he stood up with a groan, leaning one hand against the quarry wall as he looked out over everything. It wasn’t terribly late in the day yet. They’d come upon the quarry after a few hours of walking from the junkyard, and they’d left that place practically at the break of dawn. It might not even be past noon, but they had no real way of telling.

He looked back at Tommy once more, his brow pinched as his gaze ghosted over the red patch near his hip where the seatbelt buckled had sliced him. He knelt down and pulled Tommy’s shirt up a few inches, revealing an irritated wound. It dribbled slowly down Tommy’s side, and he could see a dark stain on his jeans where the fabric had become soaked with blood, a half-circle of red that left smears of color against his skin. The wound was small as he’d expected, but that still didn’t explain why Tommy hadn’t woken up yet.

This was all his fault. He was the one who’d tried to move him, and only then had Tommy started to shake, and shake, and shake… If he hadn’t done that then maybe they wouldn’t be here. But… they’d still be in the plane, and he couldn’t very well say that was a better scenario than the one he found himself in now.

Maybe he wasn’t being adamant enough. Tommy had mentioned that when he got upset it made him feel better. Or— not better, but… ‘okay’.

“C’mon Tom, let’s get up now.” He said, looping his arms under Tommy’s and quickly, minding his wound, lifting him to his feet. It was like trying to puppeteer a puppet that was the same size he was, Tommy’s knees bent as Tubbo tried to stand him up.

Suddenly Tommy’s legs tensed up, and for a moment Tubbo was terrified he’d triggered another round of those awful tremors. But then Tommy lifted his head, leaning back to look him in the eye, taking a sharp breath through his teeth.

“That hurts—”

“Tommy!” He breathed, wrapping his arms around him as his friend struggled to find stable footing. “Fuck man, what happened?” His voice pitched and trembled as he spoke, his whole body shaking as he squeezed Tommy tightly.

“Tubbo, my leg is killin’ me.” He whispered instead of answering any of his questions. “I can’t stand up.”

He leaned back, suddenly noticing how Tommy was bracing himself against his shoulders, the leg on his injured side bent at the knee, his foot hovering a few inches from the ground. “You can’t… can… can you walk you think?”

Tommy sucked in his bottom lip and bit down on it, shaking his head.

Shit.

“…Why are my hands tied?” He asked after neither of them had spoken for a few seconds, using his elbow to brace himself against Tubbo’s chest while he tried to pull his hands apart. “Are these your shoelaces?”

“Well, you couldn’t hold onto me so I-I had to figure out a plan-b to get you out of the plane.” Tubbo explained sheepishly.

Tommy’s eyes widened, his focus shifting from his hands bound in front of him to Tubbo’s face. “…You… carried me out of there?”

He nodded.

For a long moment Tommy just stared at him, chewing his lip again, something pained in his eyes that Tubbo didn’t know how to describe. Confusion, gratitude, maybe despair.

“How come you…” He trailed off, unsure of how to describe the way Tommy was when Jack got shot. The way he’d found him in the plane. Luckily it wasn’t hard for Tommy to know what he meant. He nodded slowly, his eyes cast down at the ground.

“This wasn’t that.” He muttered, surprising him. “With Jack and Niki I… I just froze, y’know? I didn’t know what to do, it felt like everything was happening so fast, I wasn’t thinking. But I don’t remember what happened in there. At all. I remember jumping and grabbing the door and I… um, I remember you coming in, and maybe talking for a couple seconds? But I don’t remember anything you said.”

“You don’t remember climbing out?” Tubbo muttered, shaking his head in confusion. “Well… what’s the last thing you can think of?”

Tommy thought hard, staring down at their shoes. “It was… when you got closer to me, I don’t know where, but you were next to me and then everything was white, and then nothing. Then I heard you stand up. Like— sort of scuffling around? And then your voice telling me to get up, but it sounded far away like when someone wakes you up after you’ve been asleep for a long time.”

“…Okay.” Tubbo whispered, pulling Tommy into a hug once more and squeezing him tight. “…I’m really glad you’re… you know, not dead, or anything like that.”

Tommy laughed at that, lifting his linked arms up over Tubbo’s head and wrapping them around his neck as he hugged him back. “You too.”

They stood like that for a long time, Tommy leaning most of his weight against him and Tubbo keeping them both on their feet. They had to get moving soon if they wanted to find someplace safe to sleep, and Tommy wasn’t going to be moving very fast, if they could get him moving at all.

“…If I leave you here, can you stay alive long enough for me to find you something to lean on?” He asked, taking one of Tommy’s arms in each hand and gently un-looping them over his head.

“I’ll do my best.” He chuckled weakly. Tubbo helped ease him to the ground, his wounded leg flinching hard even when it just barely brushed the ground for even a moment. He clung to Tubbo’s arm as he lowered him to sit, and once he finally had, Tommy laid flat on the ground immediately.

Tubbo gave him a long, worried look. “…You’re sure you’ll be alright?”

“Yeah,” Tommy breathed, nodding a few times in quick succession. “It hurts, bad, but I’ll be alright. Just can’t sit up without it feelin’ like—” He grimaced, his lips pressed together tight over his teeth. “—like my leg’s on fire.”

That wasn’t good. Tubbo took a step back, his hands hovering in front of his chest. “Just… just lay there and— and stay, and I’ll be back.” Tommy nodded again, waving him off as Tubbo backpedaled, finally turning and running down the quarry passageway.

He needed to find something Tommy could use to walk with. Something long that wouldn’t break, even if he put his full weight against it, like a cane. There wasn’t much left on the walls of the quarry though, accept for the occasional floodlight that hadn’t seen electric power in the last few centuries.

There were some places where he could see tools scattered across the ground, as if they’d been dropped there long ago. But none of them were near as tall as he needed them to be, things like wrenches and screwdrivers. He came to a stop, noticing something glinting in the dull sunlight out of the corner of his eye. A few layers down in the quarry sat a long spade-headed shovel. His heart soared. That… now that would work.

Each of the layers was about six feet tall, but there were occasional staircases and ladders connecting them to one another. Nonetheless, it would be quicker just to jump down the levels and find his way back up afterwards, so he jumped down the first wall, and then the next, and the next, until finally his feet hit the ground next to the shovel.

He picked it up quickly, testing the weight of it in his hand. It was nearly as long as he was tall, and the handle at the top would be good for Tommy to hold onto. Though with the shovel head on it, it would get heavy after a while to keep moving with it…

He held the shovel by the handle at and angle, resting his sneaker over the connecting point between the head and the stem, testing his weight against it. Once he was sure it would work, he quickly lifted his foot and brought it down with a harsh ‘crack!’ As the back of the shovel hit the rock floor.

It didn’t snap cleanly, he wasn’t that strong, but it was nearly separated. He bent it back and forth a few times, using his foot to leverage the shoes handle this way and that until finally it broke away from the spade, leaving him with a wooden pole that sat at about the height of his ribs. It was perfect.

It took him fifteen or so minutes to wind his way back up the quarry wall thanks to the fact that the staircases were at the opposite end of each row, forcing him to walk the full length of the passage. It was either that or he jump all four of the sheer six foot tall walls, and after everything they’d already been through he wasn’t ready to do something like that.

By the time he reached Tommy again he was passed out, but thankfully this time it was only sleep, and he was already up by the time Tubbo stood in front of him, the sound of his approach enough to wake him.

He stood proudly with the shovel handle leaned out in front of him, holding the hand of it the way a wealthy millionaire might twirl an ivory cane. He grinned. “What do you think?”

Tommy lifted his head, his neck bent at an awkward angle as a smirk bloomed across his face. “…Did you snap the head off a shovel?”

“What, you don’t like it?” He hiked his shoulders up to his ears, asking the question in the same tone his father once used to ask his mother if she liked a tie he’d just bought. Tommy grinned, laughing as Tubbo knelt down, taking him by the arms as he guided him hesitantly to his feet.

“I’ve got it.” Tommy said, his teeth clenched tightly as he sucked in a breath, holding onto the handle with both hands. Tubbo stepped away, his hands hovering out incase Tommy decided to take a fall. But luckily he stayed strong, relaxing a degree or two once he realized he wasn’t going to fall either.

Even with Tommy on his feet they didn’t have anywhere to stay. They needed to get out of the quarry and somewhere warm before night came. For some reason Tubbo was just sure it was going to snow. And if it snowed, and they were caught out in it like this… there was no question. They wouldn’t make it through the night.

They were working at a fraction of the speed they’d been walking at yesterday. By the time they made it out of the quarry the sun was kissing the horizon again. They’d been walking for a few minutes, the quarry fence barely more than a hundred yards behind them, even so he could tell Tommy was itching to say something and he was half sure he knew what it was before he even opened his mouth.

“Tubbo, d’you think we could stop for a few minutes?”

He winced, tilting his head toward the sky for a few seconds. It’s not like he could blame him, Tommy had a goddamn hole in his hip. If he had a hole anywhere in him he’d want a break from walking too, but they were out of time. He was already shivering, goosebumps prickling his skin.

“If we spend more than an hour out here we’re gonna be toast— iced-toast.” He muttered the second half, turning back to give Tommy an apologetic look. “Think you can manage a bit more? Once we spot something I’ll scout ahead, you can sit on the road and I’ll come get you if it’s worthwhile.”

Tommy hummed hesitantly, the begrudging but inevitably compromising sound burying itself in Tubbo’s ribs next to his heart. “That… sounds good.”

Tubbo nodded, backtracking a few steps so they were walking side-by-side, though he did need to walk at half his usual pace to stay in step with Tommy. They walked in silence for a while, the cold wind brushing his bangs away from his face, the only sound Tommy’s breathing and staggered footsteps next to Tubbo’s uniform ones.

“…I know you said a couple days ago that me trying to be reassuring sort of… didn’t help, when you’re feeling bad.” He started, brushing his shoulders against Tommy’s. “But I promise that I’m gonna make sure we come through all of this okay. Tommy, you’re my best friend and I…” He rubbed a hand down his face as his eyes began to sting.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m dying.” He muttered, sucking in a sharp breath. “I’m gonna be okay, once I can lay down again.”

“But you can’t lay down forever.” Tubbo reasoned, shaking his head.

Tommy gave him a long look.

“You just said not to talk about you like you’re dying!” Tubbo snapped half-heartedly, a few stray tears trekking down his cheeks before he scrubbed them away with his shirt sleeve.

“I’m not! I’m just saying.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t deny he felt a bit better. “…Come on, there’s got to be somewhere around here we can stay.”

But with every hour that passed with no sign of viable shelter in sight, Tubbo’s heart sank lower and lower until finally it hit the bottom his stomach. He’d left Tommy on the side of the road six or seven times now, each time he saw a building silhouetted against the horizon in the distance he ran ahead.

Tommy knew what to do, he laid himself out flat on the road, staring at the magenta sky as it turned indigo, and then black. At first he’d been grateful for all the breaks, but after a while, with how many times he’d been getting up and down off the road he ended up standing for the past two, not wanting to waste the energy laying down just to get back up a few minutes later.

Now that the sun was down there was no way for Tubbo to spot lone buildings that weren’t ten feet in front of them. They weren’t going to make it another hour without somewhere warm to hide in.

“What’s the status?” He asked, reaching under Tommy’s arm to support him, hearing a relieved but pained sigh in reply.

He leaned heavily against Tubbo, both of them shivering, and the blunt end of the shovel striking the ground as he used both hands to hold the handle. “Can’t feel my feet anymore, which… considering where we started this morning that might be an improvement.”

Tubbo laughed, nudging him gently with his shoulder. “Just… keep moving, we’ll stay warmer that way ’til I find us a good place to lay down.”

“To hell with ‘good’, anywhere with a roof would be an improvement on what we’ve got now.”

“I know it.” He steadied Tommy’s grip before letting go, teeth chattering, the tips of his fingers turning white while his nails took on a purplish hue. They’d been out of time an hour ago. They were officially in overtime.

Tubbo breathed shakily in through his mouth, his exhales leaving in white wisps the wind whisked away the moment they left him, like bits of his soul being torn from his body one by one. With each breath he could feel himself getting colder, slower, eventually there just wouldn’t be anymore air to take in.

“You can’t think like that, you can’t think like that…” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he scoured the fields around them for a sign. Something. Anything.

And then all of a sudden, just like that, a shape rose above the black horizon in the distance. Something tall, and not a hill or a highway either. He heard Tommy gasp from behind him so he knew he’d seen it too, it wasn’t just his imagination this time.

He could feel his heart begin to pound, and as it did he couldn’t stop himself from surging forward into a run toward the building. He didn’t care what it was, who lived there, hell, at this point he’d fall to his knees in front of the raiders and beg them to take him and Tommy in if it meant getting to sleep beside a warm fire.

His running was a joke, barely more than dragging his feet one after the other in a kind of pitiful jog, but it was the fastest he could manage to move at that point, and he was still leagues ahead of Tommy who was staggering behind him at an even slower pace.

The building rose high into the sky above their heads, and although it was insanely tall, the height was nothing more than a gigantic wall. It looked to have once been painted white, but the metal panels that made it up were rusted from years upon years of rain without maintenance. A drive-in. A kind of movie theater that he’d heard about before but had never actually seen himself.

He remembered nights when his parents would take the car to see a movie, leaving him at home with a babysitter. He’d always wondered what kind of shows they played at places like this… well, now there were no shows to be shown anymore, leaving the theater to be possibly one of the strangest buildings around considering it’s construction.

His eyes dragged downward across the face of the board to find a small shack attached to the edge, a small room, big enough for maybe three or four people to stand in comfortably. It was perfect.

“Look!” He shouted in excitement as he ran over the pavement, turning back to Tommy with a wide-brimmed smile. “Tommy, look!!”

His friend had caught up at this point, given the amount of time Tubbo had stopped and simply stared at to facade of the building in awe. He laughed, holding one arm tightly around his middle, the other clinging to the shovel handle. Despite Tubbo’s excitement he looked at the building with a more pensive expression, eyes darting around as his shoulders tensed.

Tubbo stopped, his pounding heart singing above any other sensation in the silence. “…We’re gonna be okay now.” He whispered, turning to wrap an arm around Tommy’s side, moving him as they headed, together, toward the entrance.

“I know this place.” Tommy bit out through clenched teeth, his voice low and strained. “I ‘ve been here with my parents once, maybe a year ago?”

Tubbo hummed, taking Tommy’s arm and throwing it over his shoulders to hike his weight further up, as he’d begun to drag his feet over the pavement. Just a little further. Just a little further and then Tommy would be able to rest, they’d both be able to rest. Inside. Not in a car, or on the side of the road.

He pushed the door open with his shoulder, stepping into a dark and dank room that, despite it’s open windows letting in a constant flow of fresh air, smelled of mildew. A yellowing formica countertop lined the outer edge of the room. Old cans and plastic wrappings covered the floors, and brown and black stains coated each wall.

Even so, Tommy stumbled inside and gripped the edge of the countertop as he breathed an anxious sigh of relief, his shoulders falling as he pressed his forehead to the top of the filthy counter. He fell to his knees as though he were about to pray, but only stayed there for a moment before lowering down onto his side and curling in on himself, his arms braced against his shoulders and fingers threaded together around the back of his head as he began to weep quietly.

Tubbo looked around the room, noticing the empty cupboards beneath the counter. This place had obviously been a concession stand for the theater back in the day, but enough time had passed between then and now that any food left in the place was probably either poisoned or otherwise inedible.

Regardless, they’d found food in the oddest of places before, there was a chance they could find something here, and despite his exhaustion he was willing to put off sleep for a few more minutes if it meant he could fill his aching stomach.

He didn’t bother communicating this with Tommy. He was obviously more interested in sleep than food at the moment, so he left him in the concession booth as he explored the back room. It wasn’t hard to find, the place was small enough there were only two doors: the exit, and the pantry. He pushed it open effortlessly and stepped inside, the smallest rays of moonlight illuminating only the outline of a set of metal shelves, their contents a mystery unless he chose to prob deeper.

As he stepped inside the door swung shut behind him, leaving him in complete darkness accept for the tiniest circular window cut into the top center of the door. It did little to light his way this late at night though, but he couldn’t hear any footsteps save his own, and there was no rustling or squeaking, so he hoped they were save from any roaches or rats that may be lurking.

His hand brushed one of the shelves and he nearly jumped in surprise, staggering back before taking a breath and composing himself. He inched forward, one hand reached out to search for the shelf again, and in his blindness he found it, the tips of his fingers ghosting over it’s grimy rusted surface.

Flakes of metal shed as he touched them, crumbling to the floor below as he searched, and found an old dented cardboard box, shaped in a way only food and detergent containers were ever made, thin and tall. He could feel the label wrinkling beneath his fingers, the ink and paint separating from it’s ancient cardboard canvas.

He tucked the box under his arm, reassured of it’s value by the sound of the contents shifting inside. He continued his search, finding two more paper-lined cans in the same fashion as the first before he finally called it a night. If there was more to find he could find it in the morning when he wouldn’t need to strain his eyes.

Back in the main room Tommy had fallen silent, either sleeping or sulking. Tubbo let him. After everything that happened… he certainly wasn’t going to feel like talking it out. Instead he sat against the opposite wall and spread out his finds, discovering that the box he’d found was in fact, not food, but some kind of cleaner. Disappointed, he tossed the box away, and it slid across the floor before hitting the furthest wall next to the pantry’s entrance.

The cans were definitely water though, much to his relief. He cracked one open and downed the entire thing in seconds, stretching over the gap between himself and Tommy to set the remaining can next to him, for the morning. He’d need it.

Finally he leaned back, eyes closed as he listened to the sounds of the world around them. How quiet it all was. He never realized how loud his life had been until it wasn’t anymore. It was strange, how surrounded my machines they used to be. How used to the noise he’d become without even noticing. Without having the chance to notice.

His entire house had been one big machine: buzzing lights, the whisper of the air vents, the hum of their fridge at night had been an invisible lullaby, easing him to sleep more nights than he could count. Now everything was silent, and it bore a hole in his chest.

“…We’ll figure it out in the morning I guess.” He whispered to himself.

Chapter Text

As he woke the next morning Tubbo felt himself come jarringly into awareness, his eyes flew open as his body jolted forward without intention. His lungs begged for air like he’d been either drowning or sprinting, despite not remembering what his dream had been about.

He didn’t need to look far to guess what it could have been.

Tommy slept beside him on the floor, though he looked a few seconds away from waking thanks to the noise he’d made. He glanced to the side, noticing the can of water he’d laid beside him last night. It was empty now, opened and laying on it’s side. Tommy must’ve woken sometime in the night and drank it before going back to sleep.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sighed through his nose as he looked around, blinking the bright sun away as their surroundings were illuminated fully for the first time.The concession stand was just as disgusting as any of the other places they’d discovered, especially because of how open it was to the elements. Most of its windows hung open. They had garage-like metal doors that unfurled from the ceiling to close them off, but one was completely broken away from the wall, another was entirely missing with no sign of where it could have gone, the others were just open. Looking at them though, he bet they wouldn’t be that hard to close. They’d need to fortify this place best they could if they wanted a chance at surviving the coming winter.

He pushed himself to his feet and padded over to the counter, bracing his hands against the top in preparation to hoist himself up. But when he tried, he found that his arms shook dangerously, and he fell back to his feet in surprise.

He… wasn’t strong enough to lift himself.

“What’re you doing?” Tommy asked, tilting his head back from his position on the ground to look up at Tubbo, his own eyes squinting in the morning light.

“I’m… closing the windows.” He replied without turning to look at Tommy, his eyes glued to the counter, darting between his hands pressed to the cold metal. This was bad. He had to be able to do this. If he couldn’t do this, then that meant he was getting weaker.

He leaned forward onto stomach and slowly, with as much strength as he could muster, pushed his feet off the ground, rolling onto the counter the same way a kid at the pool might get out when they couldn’t get to the ladder. Leaning one hand against the support beam, he caught the edge of a rusty blind with the other and shuffled on his knees to sit in front of the window. He grabbed the blind with both hands, pulled with all his strength— it began to creak quietly, moved a few centimeters to one side, but refused to budge a hair downward.

For a moment he sat frozen, heart pounding in his chest and blinking hard, took a moment to adjust his grip, his stance, and tried again. But even when he put all his weight on the blind, lifting himself up from the counter, it wouldn’t budge from it’s rusted position.

“Tubbo?” Tommy’s voice echoed off the blank walls behind him. “Are the windows stuck?”

“Uh—” He paused for a second, heart pounding as he stared down at the cold ground outside. “A little, yeah.”

“Do you need me to help?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

He could already hear Tommy trying to stand, a sound of painful effort coming from him as he cursed internally, squeezing his eyes closed. “No, Tommy, it’s fine, I’ve got it.”

“No, I can help.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Just— forget it. I don’t want to do it anymore. Not right now.” He looked over his shoulder at him, a pensive expression on his face as he watched Tommy, still struggling to push himself up off the ground. “I can do it myself, I’m just gonna do it later, okay? We both need to eat soon.”

Tommy looked up at him, his neck bent at an awkward angle, chest and arms pressed to the ground as though to grovel. “You can’t do it, can you?”

Tubbo didn’t say anything.

“Tubbo—”

“I need to eat something first, that’s all.”

Tommy sighed in exasperation, but thankfully neither of them continued the argument as Tubbo lowered himself back down to the ground, head spinning. He walked past Tommy, ready to walk out when he hesitated, one hand pressed to the door, to look back at him.

“…Can you stand?”

“Just go get some food, Tubbo.” Tommy muttered sharply, not looking at him as he held himself up, propped up on stiff arms, from the floor.

He clenched his hands into fists and took a sharp breath. He wanted to say something, but Tommy had already looked away, and all of a sudden he felt like there was a board lodged in his throat. Without saying anything more he turned away, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the morning light.

Tommy was just being stubborn, and hypocritical. That wound on his side wasn’t going to magically disappear overnight. If they didn’t do something about it soon, food would be the last thing on their minds. But… it had stopped bleeding. That had to be a good sign, right? But he was still in a lot of pain. He could barely stand, and walking took all his willpower simply to put one food in front of the other.

That meant he was on scavenging duty. Solo scavenging. Not only was he on his own, but he had Tommy relying on him to come back in one piece. That mean he’d need to take care of any roaches or rats… or anything else he came across.

Tommy still had the gun and the wrench he’d been using on him, but even weaponless Tubbo felt fairly confident in himself. He wouldn’t be going far, not on this initial search, besides, the gun was out of bullets and he doubted he could lift that wrench, let alone swing it.

It terrified him to his core, how weak he and Tommy had both become in such a short amount of time. Just a week ago they’d been running, sprinting down hillsides and fighting off attackers. Tommy swung that heavy iron wrench like a baseball bat, landing blows against those bugs as easily as if he’d been crushing them beneath his shoe.

Neither of them were half that strong now, and they’d covered less and less ground ever since losing Niki and Jack at the city’s edge. That wasn’t due to their physical state, they were directionless now, without a goal or destination in mind. The drive-in theater might as well be their home for as long as they could stand living there.

Besides, the drive-in didn’t seem so bad, especially now in the morning light. The huge parking lot made it easy to see anyone or anything ages before they could come close enough to do any harm. The screen, giant and towering over them, acted like a shade from the sun, and a shield from the wind.

It would be possible to survive here. Far more than any other place they’d come across thus far. It was small, defendable, secure. All they needed now were supplies. Food, water, and medicine, maybe some blankets and pillows if they could find them. That’s what his job was now, to scour the surrounding area for anything, anything at all they could get there hands on.

The lot in front of the theater was massive, but mostly barren. A dozen or so cars sat in a decaying line along the far left edge, and a few spotted the landscape here and there. All of them low-riders, no roof to protect the interior. Despite the sun shining down unabated by clouds the air was frigid, goosebumps crawling all down his neck and arms. He found a blanket in the trunk of the first car, it’s lock so old and rusty, it fell away the second he brushed his fingers against it.

To think, these cars were probably made the same year he’d been born, or even later than that. And now they sat like gravestones, decorating a cracked and abandoned cement parking lot that had once held so much life. So many people used to be here, and now…

Now it was just him and Tommy.

The blanket was a good find, but they needed food. He couldn’t even remember the last time they’d eaten something. They’d eaten with Jack and Niki, what, three, four days ago? He was beyond hungry, he was beyond thirsty.

He thought back on all the times when, as a little kid, he’d said something like ‘I’m so hungry, I’m starving! I’m starving, mom!’ how stupid he’d been. He’d never, not once in his entire life, been truly hungry. Now. Now he was starving. He and Tommy both were.

His search continued through the other cars, and in each of them he found something of use. A bottle of alcohol in the second, a set of jeans and a plaid shirt in the third. As he reached to close the trunk lid he froze, the glint of something metal catching his eye from the corner. He reached in, stretching his arm to swipe it up in his palm before looking.

Bottle caps. Caps, Niki’d told them. They were like… money. Valuable. He tucked them into his back pocket for safe keeping. There weren’t many, only four, but if they ever found a trader or by some miracle a town with actual people in it, having money would be helpful. He leaned back and closed the trunk with a quick snap that echoed off the tall barren buildings around him. Somewhere nearby a flock of crows scattered, making him jump.

The silence wasn’t as terrible as he felt it had been when they were walking around on their own, wandering cracked highways and dirt roads where the only sound he could hear was the scuffing of his and Tommy’s shoes. Here it was… nicer. Calmer. After over a month of endless walking, waiting and waiting and waiting, that now he could breathe.

That didn’t mean all was well though. Tommy was hurt bad. Real bad. It was a miracle they found this place when they did because… he’d seen that look in Tommy’s eyes again. Like he was ready to lay down and die on the side of the road. And he couldn’t find it in himself to blame him for that. ’Look around,’ he’d said, ‘look the world we live in.’

He tightened his jaw and took a sharp breath, marching on robotically to the next car. That look was going to haunt him for a long time. The way the light didn’t reflect as brightly as he thought it should, the way the blue of his eyes seemed darker, more gray. He wondered if his own eyes looked like that. Gray and misty. They hadn’t been lucky enough to find a mirror to see themselves in a while.

As he pried the trunk away from it’s crumbling lock, he gasped. He practically fell into it, hands shaking as he grabbed a bag of plastic-wrapped pastries and clung to it like a precious stuffed animal. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he sniffled loudly as he ripped one of them open, devouring it in seconds. It was dry, tasting of tree bark with a touch of cinnamon and sugar, but in that moment he couldn’t imagine anything being more fulfilling. He sighed, splaying out on his back as he stared at the sky, half-obscured by the raised trunk lid.

He couldn’t stop here though, Tommy was needed to eat too, and even though he had yet to finish searching the cars around the lot, this was more than enough reason to take a break.

“TOMMY!!” He shouted as he rolled himself out of the trunk, sneakers hitting the pavement as he began to run. “TOMMY, LOOK WHAT I—!”

Suddenly several things happened all at once. Dots of color began bursting in his vision as he ran, causing him to slow, and stumble. His sneaker caught the edge of an upturned piece of concrete, twisting his foot to the side as he crashed to the ground, his skull bounced off the pavement with a sickening thud.

________________________________________

“—BBO!”

What?

“TUBBO!”

“Tommy..”

“TUBBO, GET UP!!”

Slowly, he resurfaced into the world again, his heart pounding. He couldn’t have been out for more than a few seconds. The sound of muffled scratching rang in his ears. He pressed his hands to the pavement, his movements sluggish as he tried to shake off the hit he’d just taken.

Tommy was screaming somewhere far away, but he couldn’t find it in himself to focus on the words he was saying. He heard his name but… then he started speaking too fast for him to keep up. He needed a second to remember how to think.

Suddenly everything snapped into crisp focus, Tommy’s voice was sharp and grating in his ears, and there was blood on the ground where he’d hit his head. The bag of pastries laid a few feet in front of him, and that scratching noise—

“GET AWAY FROM THERE!!”

He took a few steps toward Tommy, still not sure what was wrong. He looked around, staggering in a circle but— there was no one out there with him. Nothing, no threat he could see. He was alone.

“I’m okay! I just… fell.” He shouted back as he leaned down to grab the pastries, looking back at the small patch of blood, already dry and soaking into the cement.

He looked up and, for the first time, really looked at where Tommy was shouting at him from. He clung to the doorframe of the concession stand, his other hand wrapped tightly around his stomach and a look of panic on his face that made Tubbo’s heart drop.

That was what got him moving. His legs still remembering how to work together as he stumbled toward Tommy’s voice.

Once he was close enough he pushed himself from the door and grabbed Tubbo’s shoulders, eyes searching his face and looking him up and down.

“What? What is it? What—” He asked quickly, searching Tommy’s face in vain. “What’s wrong?”

“I heard you fall.” He muttered weakly, pulling Tubbo into a tight hug. “I heard your head hit the ground.”

“I’m okay! Really, honestly I am, I just scraped my head.” He insisted as he hugged him back.

Tommy shook his head. “No, no no it’s not that.”

“Then what—”

Tommy pulled back and took him by the shoulders once more, spinning him around to face the empty lot. “That place. That— the pool in the middle.”

Tubbo saw what he meant. He’d noticed it before staring his search. A portion of the central lot had crumbled in on itself, a sinkhole that must’ve opened up at some point long ago. He’d steered clear of it, he didn’t want to fall in, and if the ground was already soft there was no telling what would happen if they stepped on the wrong piece of cement in just the right way.

“I heard your head hit the pavement.” Tommy repeated, his voice low and shaky. “And then your geiger counter started buzzing.”

“What?!” Tubbo spun around to look at him, wide-eyed.

“This is how the counter reacts to something active.” She explained, waving the box over the mutfruit. At first nothing happened, but slowly a sound like static began to erupt from the box, the screen lit up with a dim yellow light, and the red pointer started ticking upward more and more.

He jammed his hands into his pockets and pulled the geiger counter out, holding it in both of his trembling hands. It wasn’t hissing anymore, but he could still see the pointer jittering anxiously around the mid-way point of the scale.

He shoved the geiger counter into Tommy’s hands before staggering back, bile rising in his throat before he suddenly wretched on the pavement, unsure whether it was due to fear, or the first symptom of whatever was about to happen to him. He fell to his knees, and he could feel Tommy’s hands on his shoulders.

“Don’t touch me!” He snapped, shaking Tommy’s hands off, but they returned a moment later. “Don’t!” He sobbed, spit dripping from his mouth as tears fell down his cheeks. He was dying. He was dying, and Tommy wouldn’t let go of him. His arms wrapped around him from behind, his chest against his back and his head on his shoulder, and there was nothing Tubbo could do with the little strength he had to push him away.

“I’m not leaving you.” Tommy said, his teeth clenched tightly together. “I won’t leave.”

“Don’t touch me.” He mumbled again, using his sleeve to wipe his face.

Tommy loosened his grip, taking a few steps back as his arm once again snaked itself around his stomach, pressing against the would there. He raised a knee and pushed himself slowly to his feet, his head swimming and heart pounding in his throat. He turned swallowed thickly, looking down at himself in fear. Like his body wasn’t his own anymore.

No one had told them exactly how radiation killed people. It wasn’t immediate obviously, but then how long would it take? Was he going to suffer for hours? Days? Was he dying?

He looked around for some kind of explanation, eyes darting all around them, on Tommy, on the concession stand, on the deserted lot surrounding them. They were alone. They had no one around to help, no one they could ask anymore.

“…I-I I don’t know what to do.” He whispered.

“Neither do I.” Tommy whispered back. “There’s… not much we really can do, is there?” He laughed softly, dryly, not much a laugh but more of a forced exhale. His eyes were wet. “We can just… go back inside. Pretend like this didn’t happen.”

“What— No! It’s too small inside, we can’t stay together, it’s—”

“Just get in here!!” He snapped, cutting off any protest he was going to make.

He slunk slowly toward the door, peeking inside before stepping in. He closed the door behind him, looking up to see Tommy leaning against the far counter, arms crossed and a difficult expression on his face that Tubbo couldn’t quite read. He was scared, they both were, and… angry too. But there was more there even than that.

“We need to find medicine.” He said, nodding to himself almost manically. “Niki said there was medicine for radiation.”

“Where?” Tubbo muttered. He leaned against the wall, his head still light and spinning, though he couldn’t tell whether that was from the radiation, or the fall he’d taken just minutes before. “The only place we’ve even seen that stuff was with Niki and Jack.”

“There has to be more of it somewhere, they weren’t making it, they got it from someone.”

“Not just ‘got. Bought. With money. We don’t have much of that.”

“I’ll find some.” He muttered, standing up as straight as he could, which wasn’t straight at all. “Either I find some money or I find that medicine.”

Tubbo pressed his lips tightly together as he shook his head.

Tommy’s expression broke. “What?”

“It’s too late now. We can barely eat, how long do you think it’ll take to find this stuff? A day? Two? Three? Four?! We’ve only seen that stuff once before and we’ve been out here for weeks.”

“We weren’t looking before!” Suddenly Tommy’s eyes widened, looking down at Tubbo’s hands. “That— that thing! The- the what’s-it-called—”

Tubbo raised a brow, looking down at his hands. “What, the Pip-Boy?”

Tommy clapped his hands together, pointing at him. “Yes! That thing’s told us what we’re wearing, what we’re holding, what we’ve eaten— it has to know something about the medicine! It’s a computer, right?”

Tubbo sighed through his nose and held up his wrist, pressing the power button on the little computer. So far they’d only used it really to navigate their way toward the city. But Tommy was right, it probably had some capabilities they hadn’t found yet.

“Come on, come on—” Tommy muttered anxiously as the system chimed awake. The ‘STATS’ panel flickered to life in front of them, displaying a page that looked… off.

Tubbo narrowed his eyes, bringing the screen closer. The little cartoon figure on the front page looked different. The last time they’d opened the Pip-Boy he’d looked normal, just a regular little cartoon boy, the kind of thing they might see in a Saturday morning cartoon, walking along at an idle pace with a beaming smile. But now his eyes and nose were black, he looked… tired.

“That can’t be good…” He whispered, looking at the information at the bottom of the screen.

[ THOMAS SIMONS - LVL 1 ]

[ You are suffering from a significant amount of Radiation poisoning. The more radiation damage, the more deadly the effect. ]

“Wait—” Tommy moved himself closer, completely ignoring their conversation from minutes ago where Tubbo had insisted he stay away. “That’s me?…”

Tubbo cursed under his breath, reaching up to cover his mouth with one hand.

“I—” Tommy stammered, looking down at himself in fear. “I feel fine! What does it mean— that has to be wrong, I haven’t— I feel fine!”

“So do I.” Tubbo muttered, shaking his head.

“You just threw up outside! You— you were standing next to that pool for a whole minute! I didn’t do that!”

“What, so this is my fault?!” Tubbo snapped suddenly, a snarl on his face as he turned away from Tommy’s panicked pacing.

“What?! No!!” He shouted, reaching to grab his shoulder.

Tubbo shook him off, smacking his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Wait, wait, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it like that! That’s not what I meant!”

Tubbo turned away, his skin burning and hands shaking with anger as he walked as far as he could, pressing his forehead against the cold metal wall.

“I—” Tommy floundered, his voice wet with tears. “I meant what I said outside!”

“…What?”

“I meant what I said when— when I hugged you and said I wouldn’t leave. I meant that! It’s not your fault. It’s not! It’s not, and I don’t think it is.”

“I got you sick.” He mumbled, lowering his head. “If there’s anyone to blame, it’s me.”

“That’s not true!” Tommy stepped toward him, leaving space between them for fear Tubbo’d brush past him and out the door. “That’s not true.” He repeated, calmer this time. “I hugged you. That’s not your fault.” Tubbo’s shoulders tensed, a broken sound escaping him. Tommy stepped forward. “You’re my best friend, I’m not leaving you. No matter what.”

“I don’t want you to die.” He whined, turning around with tears in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks. “I don’t want you to die ‘cause of me!”

Tommy opened his arms, and Tubbo reached out, hugging him tightly as Tommy rested his chin on his head. “It’s not your fault.” He whispered. Tubbo squeezed him tight, and Tommy buried his nose in the collar of his shirt, squeezing his eyes closed.

“I don’t want to die.” He whispered.

“I don’t want you to die.” Tommy replied.

Chapter Text

The next morning Tommy opened his eyes slowly, mind sluggish. He’d fallen asleep sitting up against the concession counter apparently, and with Tubbo leaning against his shoulder, their knees knocking against one another.

“Tubbo?...” He whispered hoarsely, lifting a hand to shake his shoulder. “Tubbo, it’s morning.” His breathing stilted as Tommy shook him, but… he didn’t wake. “Tubbo?” He said a bit louder, but still nothing.

A crease formed between his brows. Tubbo was a light sleeper, always had been, sure he was sick but he’d definitely wake up to being shaken like that, and to someone calling his name. Especially him.

“Tubbo—” Tommy whispered sharply, shaking his shoulder again, and again, nothing.

He cursed, taking Tubbo by the shoulders and easing him gently down to the ground, laying their blanket over the tiles in a poor attempt to keep him from sleeping on the freezing floor. “Tubbo, wake up! Come on!!”

He tilted Tubbo’s head to the side and sucked in a sharp gasp, covering his face with one hand. All along the left side of Tubbo’s face the skin of his neck and cheek… a scar. A huge scar, bright red, blister-like, like a burn. Blood dotted his skin and stained his shirt.

“Oh my god, oh my god— oh my god—” He scrambled backwards, away from him, his back hitting the counter behind him with a snap. The whole side of Tubbo’s body was decaying, rotting away into whatever those things they’d seen in that river shack had been.

They were officially out of time, if he didn’t do something quick the same thing would happen to him too. They’d already wasted too much time arguing and talking about it yesterday, if he was going to do anything at all, he needed to do it now.

He turned to Tubbo’s slack form, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m… I’m gonna go to the city and find someone selling that medicine and… I-I don’t care if I have to steal it, I’ll bring it back and we’ll be fine, okay? I promise.”

________________________________________

He moved quickly after that, grabbing the backpack from the end of Tubbo’s blanket. It was practically empty, but he took out anything non-essential anyway to make room for the radaway he was going to get. And he would get it. He wasn’t coming back to the concession stand until he had the medicine Tubbo needed.

He tucked the wrench into his belt, though he doubted he’d be strong enough to swing if it came down to it. Sneaking around the raiders would be tough, but he could be quiet enough when he needed to be. The wrench would be a last resort.

As he sorted the supplies he noticed something strange out of the corner of his eye. His wrist had been hurting all morning, but he’d been ignoring it in favor of all the more important parts of him that hurt. But now… his skin felt like it was on fire. He set down the backpack and sat back, pulling his sleeve up.

His stomach bottomed out and his throat dried up. There, all along the outer side of his arm, a patch of aching scar tissue blazed, hot and red and painful. His breathing picked up speed as he yanked his sleeve back down, instead wriggling his shoulder out of the collar of his sweater. The same scar crawled up his chest, over his collarbone and resting far too comfortably at the base of his neck.

Of course. Of course this would happen, he should’ve known. He’d been leaning against Tubbo’s side all night, of course the radiation was going to bleed onto him too. There was nothing to do for it now accept what he was already doing. One more nail in the lid of his coffin.

He shook off his fear. He had to. He had more important things to worry about. “I’ll be back in… a day, I think. Maybe more.” He muttered as he shoved his feet into his sneakers. “I’ll be quick, but I’m gonna find this medicine, and then you’ll be better. We both will.”

The chain-link fence surrounding the east side of the drive-in parking lot was fairly sturdy, tiny wires dug into his fingers, leaving them red and sore, but with some force he was able to tear one of the corners away and slip past. The raw edge of the metal scratched against his shirt and hair as he pushed through to the other side.

As he walked he checked the map on the Pip-Boy often, every few minutes to make sure he was going the right way. A white arrow at the bottom of the screen indicating which was he was headed. Once he got to the edge of the field he’d need to be on his toes. Raiders would be watching the perimeter.

Raiders got their supplies by stealing them from others. Or, well… so had he and Tubbo, but they didn’t rob people like raiders did. They didn’t… they didn’t kill anyone.

On purpose.

He flinched at that thought, closing his eyes tightly as he slowed to a stop. He hadn’t seen Jack and Niki die, but… that didn’t mean they weren’t killed by his and Tubbo’s actions. They were the ones that asked to be taken to the city. If it weren’t for them, Jack and Niki wouldn’t have been anywhere near the raiders on that day.

He steeled himself, placing one foot in front of the other. He had to stay focused now. Tubbo needed him. He had to come up with a plan. The most sure-fire way would be to follow the raiders. They stole their supplies, so they had to have a stockpile somewhere in the city to keep all their supplies. He was small, he could get in and out of places without getting noticed.

He just needed to figure out where.

________________________________________

The drive-in wasn’t as far from the city as he’d thought. They’d taken a looping lath from the city to the quarry, and then finally to the concession stand. In reality, when walking in a straight line, the city was only a few hours away from their hiding spot.

No man’s land was silent. The wind whistling through the trees behind him a soft whisper in his ears. The sun had hidden itself behind a thick layer of clouds, leaving the stretch of field in front of him grey and dead-looking.

He sat, knees shaking, waiting in the tall grass that lined the border as he watched the rooftops. From this distance though, he couldn’t see anything. No movement, no figures. But he knew they were there. About fifty yards spanned between him and the the first row of buildings. He needed to clear that distance without getting noticed.

He didn’t have a scope to look through like Jack, and the only gun he had was out of bullets and had been for days. The gunfire he did hear sounded far off, not at the edges, but further in. Either he went the distance now and made it through, or he didn’t. Tubbo was waiting for him back at the drive-in, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave now when he was so close.

Suddenly a memory popped into his head. A few months ago he’d been at the park with his mom, not far from their old neighborhood. There’d been a group of older kids playing football there, seven of them, the oldest being fifteen or sixteen. They’d needed an eighth player to even out the teams, and even though he was much younger they’d let him play.

The memory of that day replayed over and over in his head. The ball sailing through the air, of his hands finding it perfectly, like two magnets connecting, and then taking off down the field sprinting faster than he’d ever sprinted before. He held tight to that memory, and took a deep breath.

And he ran.

The grass was blunt under his feet, no longer stiff and golden but brown, limp against the ground. Dead. He ran. He thought about their faces. The boys he’d played with. He thought about Tubbo. He ran faster. There was nowhere to hide out here.

He was halfway there now, and he could see the outline of an alleyway that cleared the space between the field and the street. He made a beeline for it and kept going. His lungs ached, and his side screamed at him to stop and keel over, but he pressed onward, the pain like an electric shock to his stomach every time he extended his leg.

The alley opened before him, just ten more paces and he’d make it there. Five more paces. Three.

He passed between the buildings and came to a stuttering stop there, one hand pressed against the brick wall to his right while the other clutched his aching middle, his throbbing side. His mouth hung open in a heavy pant as he fell to his knees, the jolt making the wound scream louder and louder.

He’d made it through.

Slowly he pushed himself back to his feet and staggered forward, still using the wall as support as he continued. The sun had hidden itself behind the clouds, shedding diffused grey light onto everything around him. He stopped, eyes wide at the sight before him.

“Tommy!” His mother called from where she sat at the edge of the playground, pulling his attention away from the jungle gym. “Come on, it’s time to go!”

“But— wait!” He complained, stopping his climbing for a moment to look back at her and pout. “I haven’t made it to the top yet!”

“We’ll have to come back next time, dear, we have other plans we need to finish now.” She said, standing from the wooden bench she’d been sitting on to pluck him from the metal bar he’d clung to. “You’ll get another chance.”

He took a deep breath and pressed his back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the cold, muddy ground. The playground. He’d been here before— not long, maybe a year ago? He hadn’t realized it at the time, but they’d been in the city to do some grocery shopping. Some special night his mom had planned for them, a fancy dinner.

They’d stopped by the park as an after thought, probably. He’d been impatient after the long car ride so they’d gone to the park to burn of some energy before doing the shopping. It wasn’t far from the grocery store, they’d been able to walk there and back without needing the car… if he could just find the way.

He passed by the playground, the merry-go-round creaking in the wind as it rustled the leaves and mussed Tommy’s hair. He shuffled through another alley, one that led further into the city and came upon a proper street, lined with lamp posts and everything. But it was like Niki and Jack had told them, the streets here were littered with debris from fallen buildings, shattered glass crunched under his shoes, even the wind seemed different. Warmer.

There was no telling which way he was meant to go now, but the thought of that grocery store trip was still aching in the back of his mind, so he decided to head right, hoping that the vague recollection could be trusted.

It wasn’t long before he noticed a teal building ahead that stood out from the rest. Sure the metal panels lining the walls had rusted, but that bright blue color was unmistakable.

His mother called his name, looking over her shoulder at him and waving for him to hurry. “Come on, stay close! I don’t want to lose you in here, it’s a big store.” She chided, taking hold of his hand. Her other occupied with pushing the grocery cart.

He took a second to calm his breathing, his heart was already racing and… his vision was going spotty. He pulled his sleeve up once more, and his heart sank at the sight. The sores on his arm were bright red, spotted with blood. He reached up, touching his neck to find the scar creeping up from beneath his shirt collar.

Bad. Really bad.

His stomach knotted up under his ribs, but he kept going. Creeping up to the front doors. They opened easily, no lock, and he slipped inside. Just like the rest of the wasteland there were no lights, but thankfully the windows cast just enough light to see by.

The shelves and displays were practically barren, save for a few tins and cans that were likely empty anyways. All the same he checked along the shelves at the front of the store. He moved silently, avoiding the aisles for fear of being caught, and cornered.

Voices echoed from further in, far enough away that he was confident he could move freely, so long as he didn’t make any noise. But his heart hammered away anyway. There were Raiders in here with him. If he was caught, that would be the end. The end of everything. The end of him, the end of Tubbo.

Each barren shelf he past dug a knife deeper and deeper into his gut, every empty display case and hollow crate meant there was one less place he could find the medicine he and Tubbo needed. “Come on, come on, come on, please…” He breathed, searching every aisle he passed by.

He should’ve expected this. The raiders had taken over this building, of course they wouldn’t leave valuable medicine where anyone could walk in and take it, especially if they keep this building unlocked. Raiders were stealers, and if there’s one thing a stealer was always worried about, it was people stealing from them.

The aisles were long and narrow, the worst kind of place to get cornered. Tubbo had called it ‘bottle-necking’, something he learned from a video game. He didn’t want to get bottle-necked by raiders.

As he crept further toward the back of the store the voices of the raiders in the back became louder and louder, to the point where he could finally hear their conversation.

“—way more shit to the north. I heard there’s a vault up there that just opened. Some dipshit vaulter crawled out ‘couple weeks back. Dumbass is layin’ dead somewhere out in the wastes now, but hey, think of all the shit in there! We’d be set for weeks!”

He pressed a hand to his mouth, scowling at the thought of raiders messing with the vault his parents were in. That was his vault. He might hate it, and want to see it blown up with it’s own personal nuclear bomb, but that didn’t mean they could have anything in it.

“You’re dumber than you look, kid. The further south you go the richer the loot gets. There might be more shit to the north, but it’s shit-shit. You feel me?”

”Wait, you hear that?…”

Tommy pressed his back against the wall, squeezing his eyes closed, his hand squeezed against his mouth. Please, no, no no no—

“…Probably just a scavver, that team’s s’posed to be back soon.”

He could hear the sound of something creaking, maybe a chair, and let out the smallest sigh of relief, silently as he could. Still with wide eyes he let his hand drop from his mouth and crawled on his knees toward the back of the store. There were more raiders coming. Coming soon. He needed get out of here.

He found the back wall, a door and a counter leading into a further backroom where he was sure the two raiders were sitting in wait. There was more stock back here though too, food, water, and… medicine. Medicine of all kinds.

At once he pulled his backpack off and ripped open the zipper, stuffing the food inside. He lifted each container out one by one and gently placing it into the bottom of his backpack. With each one he felt his stomach trying to eat itself. Salisbury Steak. Cram. Dandy Boy Apples. He took six cans of water too, it was the good kind too. He prayed his stomach wouldn’t be the thing to give him away, but he could hardly control it’s growling.

Next to the food there were more of the syringe-things same as the one they’d found at Red Rocket. There were things he’d never seen before too. Bottles and bottles and bottles of pills. Needles. Tin containers, the kind that held mints and candy.

He picked up one of the tins, noticing the weight of it in his hand. Heavy, considering how small they were. And lined with some kind of fabric inside. He was running out of time though, if he was going to take them he needed to do it now, and he’d rather not get caught in a situation like this again so—

A stack of tins, a bottle of pills, and two of the big needles before finally, sitting in a crate at the bottom of the shelf, there they were.

There had to be dozens of RadAway bags sitting there. Just sitting there! Far more than he could carry alone. Not that he needed more than one. Or two.

The sound of a can hitting the ground and rolling nearby forced a flinch out of Tommy.

”No, I definitely heard something this time! You didn’t hear that?”

He froze, entire body tensed and heart pounding as he took a shuddering breath.

There, fifteen feet away. Staring at him.

A raider.

Strangely he looked as scared as Tommy felt. He stood, unmoving for long enough that he was able to get a good look at him, which wasn’t something he could say about any other raider he’d come across. He looked about the same age as Jack and Niki, brown hair stuck out in slick dirty locks from under a ratty greenish-brown hood. His eyes were wide, fearful, brown and amber. He wore a mask over his mouth, but even so Tommy could see the freckles that covered his nose around his eyes.

He scrutinized Tommy as Tommy looked him over, but neither of them made a move against the other. It’s not like Tommy had any real weapons he could use against this guy, he could barely lift the wrench in his belt, let alone swing it. The gun on the raiders back was massive… and if Tommy’s prior experience with raiders was anything to go off of, he… wasn’t supposed to be afraid to use it. But even so his hands were still at his sides, not reaching, not doing anything.

He looked down at the radaway in his hands. He was… god, he was dead. How could he not be? He was a rat caught in a trap. He was dead, and this guy… this guy was going to kill him.

”I saw Jay come in a while ago, it was probably him.”

The raider’s eyes flicked in the direction of the voices for a seconds before looking back at Tommy, he seemed… worried, his eyes squinting anxiously.

”Hey, Jay! Is that you out there?!”

The raider shifts his shoulders back and stands up straighter from the crouched stance he’d taken on, and cupped a hand around his mouth, not taking his eyes off of Tommy. “Hey, yeah, it’s me. Did I scare you?” He tacked on the last part as an afterthought, a joking lilt to the words that surprised even Tommy based on how nervous he seemed.

”You scared the shit out of us man!” Cackling then, ‘Jay’ couldn’t help but let out a huff himself in response to the two raiders. He gave Tommy one deep nod, a strangely sharp sneer on his face before taking a slow step backwards, and another, their eyes still locked until finally… he just turned away.

Just like that.

He watched in stunned silence as this man, this stranger, this raider opened the door to the backroom and walked in, making easy conversation with the others inside about how good he’d gotten them. He hadn’t ratted him out. A raider had… helped him. Or at the least had shown him some mercy. He couldn’t hesitate now. He’d already been caught, and… he wasn’t going to get lucky a second time.

Without another moment’s hesitation he backtracked toward the front entrance, sliding on his knees as he grabbed the door handle and pulled. His hands scrabbled against the concrete as he crawled back out, clutching his backpack to his chest. He got it. He actually got it. Tubbo was going to be okay.

His feet stumbled over one another for a second before he dropped to his knees, barely managing to catch himself on his hands. His arms shook for a moment before giving out, the bags of medicine scattering as his face hit the pavement. He kept himself from crying out, gritting his teeth together as he groaned.

He needed to keep moving, but the raiders could come out at any moment… but he just… needed a second. One second to catch his breath.

His vision was going blurry again, the spots dancing around as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, and then his hands. He gathered the radaway packs into his arms and crawled forward, finding a tiny wedge between two vending machines and pressing his back to the wall.

He dropped the rest of the packs into his lap save one, pulling the top off with his teeth before downing it in one go.

Immediately he started feeling better. He tilted his head back to rest against the side of the cold metal machine, a head rush consuming him. He reached up, pressing a hand to his neck as he felt the sores receding from his skin, leaving behind dried blood and a bumpy scar. He pulled his sleeve up and watched as the burns changed from an angry red to white and tan.

Ooh ooo-ookay…” He mumbled, letting his hand fall to his chest as he continued attempting to pull himself together. That stuff was… powerful, and it was staring to mess with his head. He needed to get home before he passed out.

With the help of the vending machine he pulled himself back to his feet, taking off as quickly as he could manage in the vague direction of the drive-in. His vision was blurry, but blurry in a different way than before, like there was two of everything and the two things kept swirling around one another, but it wasn’t just two things, it was the whole world.

Night snuck up on him, and as it did the glow of the Pip-Boy became more and more essential to his ability to navigate. Keeping the glowing green monitor on was the only thing helping his stay on his feet, rather than trip and fall over every curb, every crack or rise in the pavement.

The Starlight Drive-In sat as a silhouette against the darkening sky, and with his last hurrah of energy, he sprinted up to the fence, ducked through the hole he’d made earlier that morning, and ran across the parking lot as fast as he could, shouting Tubbo’s name.

He pushed the door open, slamming it against the wall haphazardly. “Tubbo, Tubbo I got it! I got the stuff, I got—” His legs wobbled dangerously, forcing him to sink to the floor at Tubbo’s side. He laid exactly where Tommy had left him.

He shook Tubbo’s shoulder lightly, hoping to garner a groan, even a twitch, but Tubbo did nothing. He sat on the sleeping back like a stone, unaware of Tommy’s insistence.

“It’s gonna be okay!” He croaked as he ripped the top off another bag of RadAway. “Just drink this, alright? You’ll feel better, it’ll help, it— it’ll help—” He maneuvered himself under Tubbo, pulling him into a sitting position and resting his back against his chest.

When he touched Tubbo’s cheek though… it was cold.

He ignored the part of himself that died with the feeling of Tubbo’s lifeless form under his fingertips. He had the cure. It had worked for him, he just had to get Tubbo to drink it. “You— you have to drink it.” He explained, tilting Tubbo’s head back to rest on his collar bone, tipping the contents of the plastic pouch into his mouth.

Much of the substance —whatever it was, the medicine— poured down the sides of Tubbo’s mouth. Tommy nearly cried at the loss, pulling the bag back at once to save what was left.

“No! No, no you’ve gotta drink it!” He pleaded, adjusting their position again. Maybe he was holding him wrong. Maybe Tubbo couldn’t swallow it right, he had to do it right so Tubbo could get better, it was all on him to make this right again. “Open your mouth, and swallow! Drink it, you’ve gotta, you have to—”

He bit back his words and swallowed bitterly, his grip on the bag tightening as he pulled Tubbo closer, his shoulders tensing up to wrap him in a tight embrace. “Please, please, please please—” He begged with everything he had, to the universe, to God, to anything that cared to listen.

He leaned forward until his forehead collided with Tubbo’s shoulder. “Please, please, please, please…” He muttered over and over, as the bag of medicine emptied, Tubbo’s shirt drenched in it. He didn’t know what else there was to say. They’d survived hell this long together, why now? Why did everything have to come to a stop now?

He steeled himself, his chest and shoulders trembling as he once again raised the medicine bag to Tubbo’s lips, and attempted to force the drink into him. Again, just as last time, much of it dripped down the sides of his mouth and dribbled from his chin to his chest. The red color of it… painted a morbid picture. Tommy tried to compose himself, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

He begged and begged until the word became nothing more than a repetitive noise to his ears, his mouth growing numb to the motion. His tears dried on his face, and he slumped down onto the cold tile floor, his vision stuttering and fading as he tried in vain to stay awake.

“Please…” He whimpered, pulling Tubbo’s back against his chest. “Don’t take him too.”

Chapter Text

The city was a dangerous place for anyone unprepared to take it on. Its streets packed with debris, its buildings collapsed at random times with no warning. Not to mention the feral animals. Radroaches, Bloodbugs and Bloatflies, Molerats, and worse than that. Ghouls and rabid dogs, Mutants… and of course, the raiders.

As if there weren’t enough problems already with the creatures, fellow humans also fought with one another. Those who felt powerful, or wanted to feel powerful, who wanted to take advantage of good people trying to survive. And they did it with a ridiculous amount of firepower.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. At least the radio signal was strong this close to Diamond City.

”Oooooh well I'm the type of guy who will never settle down,
where pretty girls are, well, you know that I'm around!
I kiss 'em and I love 'em 'cause to me they're all the same,
I hug 'em and I squeeze 'em they don't even know my name.

They call me the wanderer, yeah the wanderer,
I roam around, around around around—

Oh well there's Flo on my left arm and there's Mary on my right,
and Janie is the girl that I'll be with tonight!
And when she asks me which one I love the best,
I tear open my shirt and I show her Rosie on my chest.

’Cause I'm the wanderer, yeah the wanderer,
I roam around around around-“

“Come on, dance with me!” He called, cupping one hand around his mouth and whistling high. A sharp bark from around the corner sounded his approach as the dog sped back to him, nails scrabbling against the hard concrete before stopping in front of him with an excitedly wagging tail.

He grinned, leaning down to grab the German shepherd’s paws, pulling him up onto his hind legs and setting his paws either hip while the static-y sound of a saxophone echoed off the crumbling buildings around them. He scatted along under his breath as they ‘danced’, heavy boots scraping loudly over the rubble and gravel of the road.

“This is how I’ll dance with the girls at the dance hall in Diamond City.” He explained, taking a step forward before turning around, forcing his happily panting dog to go along with the terrible routine. “What do you think, huh Dogmeat? Think they’ll fall all over me?”

”Oh well I roam a’ from town to town! I go through life without a care!
’Til I'm as happy as a clown! A’with my two fists of iron I ain’t going nowhere!

I’m the type of guy, that likes to roam around,
I’m never in one place! I roam from town to town!
And when I find myself a-fallin' for some girl,
yeah I hop right into that car of mine and- drive around the world.

Yeah I'm the wanderer, yeah the wanderer,
I roam around around around- Let’s go!”

Dogmeat whined, nipping at Wilbur’s wrist where he was holding one of his paws to his hip.

“Ay— that’s not a vote of confidence, and I take offense to that.” He stated, letting go of Dogmeat’s paws, allowing him to regain his balance on all fours. “You’re not that great of a dancer yourself. I’ll have you know I was leading, and you stepped on my feet three times.”

Dogmeat huffed at him gently and padded ahead, his nails ‘tik-tak-tak’ing on the ground as he sniffed around the base of one of the nearby buildings, moving from one to the next.

“Oh what am I saying, I can’t stay mad at you.” He muttered with a shake of his head. He sighed long and low, tossing his head back dramatically. The music from his radio filtered back into his ears, and he leaned forward, swaying his hips as he walked and dancing in a circle.

”Oh yeah I'm the type of guy that likes to roam around,
I’m never in one place I roam from town to town!
And when I find myself a-fallin' for some girl,
I hop right into that car of mine and ride around the world!

'Cause I'm a wanderer, yeah a wanderer.
I roam around around around, around, around around-
‘Cause I'm a wanderer, yeah a wanderer,
I roam around around around, around around ‘round ‘round ‘round-”

Dogmeat whined as they continued, returning to Wilbur’s side and pawing at his pant leg, which he knew meant something odd was going on up ahead. At once he crouched down, pulling his pistol from its holster and holding a finger to his mouth, silencing Dogmeat’s whining immediately.

His weapon of choice was a pipe pistol Techno had fashioned for him. He’d never felt a need to upgrade it, but… maybe he should start thinking about getting that done. He hoped this situation wouldn’t prove him to be too late for that to occur.

He had a round in the chamber and plenty extra on him, even going as far as to ready another round in his off hand should he need a quick reload.

Raiders weren’t renowned for toughness or skill, but they were known for their well-planned attacks and high numbers. Whole teams could sneak around to get the jump on one poor soul. It was cheap, sure, but undoubtedly effective.

He turned off the radio, dropping the two of them into silence. “Where, boy?” He whispered, gesturing quickly with one hand in a circular motion. “Show me.”

Dogmeat huffed and began slinking forward, belly hovering just off the ground as they exited the more crowded area of the city with Wilbur following behind. About a block away Dogmeat stopped, laying down at the street corner while he waited for Wilbur to catch up.

When Dogmeat laid down while tracking a scent, it meant one of two things: either he’ lost the trail, or the source was nearby, and based on his happy panting, Wilbur could only assume they’d discovered something interesting rather than dangerous.

“Where is it then?” He asked, straightening his back up as he knelt by the dog’s side. “Are you gonna show me, or what?”

Dogmeat yawned, tossing his head back and throwing his nose in the air.

“You’re no help.” He muttered, rolling his eyes. He kept low, sometimes Dogmeat would signal incorrectly, and he wasn’t about to take the chance of getting ambushed. Feral dogs, mole rats, ghouls, or god forbid raiders… He didn’t want to have to deal with any of them.

They were near a raider outpost, it was hard not to be near one in Lexington, they were everywhere. This one was inside an old grocery store, ‘Super Duper Mart’. It had a large lot on a lower level, so the pavement he knelt on had a ledge to one side with a guard rail, which made for easy and effective cover.

Peeking an inch or so above the ledge he could see the main entrance, unguarded and surrounded by a graveyard of parked cars. But there was a flicker of motion too. Up near the front doors under the metal awning.

He ducked back down, not wanting to get caught, but even in that moment he knew there was something was off about what he’d seen. He grabbed the scope off his gun, disconnecting it and peeking back over the ledge once more.

His eyes widened, nearly dropping the scope in his hands.

Shit, a fucking kid?! Alone in the middle of Lexington?!

He ducked sharply down, clutching the scope to his chest with both hands as he pressed his back against the rusty railing. What was he supposed to do?! He couldn’t yell out to the kid, that would get them both caught. And by the time he got down there himself undetected the kid would probably be gone, or worse, inside the raider’s base.

Hell, what if the kid was a raider? Lexington was right next to Cambridge, and a large portion of Cambridge had been taken over by raiders for years now. If they were maintaining population levels there were bound to be kid raiders. The brat could sound the alarm! He didn’t want to bring a team of raiders down on his own head.

He leaned back over the railing, scanning over the details now that he wasn’t as off-guard. And… what he saw wasn’t good.

The kid was sick. Like barely-standing sick. He was tiny too, maybe nine or ten at maximum. Skinny as a twig too. If they stood side-by-side he wouldn’t even reach Wilbur’s shoulder, the oversized sweater he wore didn’t help.

Just as he’d feared, the kid slipped into the door. It was obvious from the way he moved that he was sneaking around. It wasn’t confirmation, but gave him reason enough to believe the kid wasn’t a raider. That, and he wasn’t wearing raider’s clothes.

Should… he leave? It wasn’t his business what the kid was doing. There was no way in hell he was going in after him, not into a raider outpost. Hell no. But it didn’t feel right to just leave either. He was invested now. He at least had to make sure the kid got out okay.

He waited, reattaching the scope to his gun and tucking it into his holster once more. Dogmeat trotted up beside him, whining anxiously at the fact they were staying idle in raider territory.

“It’s alright boy.” He whispered. “We’ll get going soon, I’ve gotta see this through, okay?” Dogmeat huffed, resting his head on Wilbur’s shoulder as they both waited, his ears pinned against his head.

It was maybe fifteen minutes later when he noticed Dogmeat’s ears perk up, trained in the direction of the abandoned shopping center. He put away the deck of cards he’d been playing with and pushed himself to his knees, grabbing his gun to peer through the sight, checking the door once again.

The kid was back this time, and it looked like he’d made it out unscathed, which eased a knot that had been forming in Wilbur’s gut. He was clutching something to his chest as he ran, making it as far as the vending machines to the immediate left of the entrance before tripping and falling to the ground, hard. That pulled a wince from him as he watched.

The kid got up slowly, much too slowly for Wilbur’s liking, and crawled to the corner where he tucked himself between the wall and the machines. Wilbur moved a few feet to his left to get a better angle, to see what the hell he was doing. He didn’t understand why this kid was waiting around, he should be running, get somewhere safe.

Then it suddenly made sense. The bundle of packets he had in his hands. Radaway. How much radiation had the kid been near that he looked like that? He grabbed one of the packs with both hands and ripped the plastic top off with his teeth, tipping it up to drink.

The effects of Radaway were simultaneously instant and long-lasting. The immediate reaction was, of course, the elimination of radiation. But the long-term effects were exhaustion, dehydration, hell, if a kid his age slammed an entire pack of the stuff like he just had, he’d pass out in… fuck, maybe half an hour?

He slumped heavily against the vending machine then, for a moment Wilbur was terrified he’d passed out right then and there. But thankfully he opened his eyes a few seconds later and collected the rest of his haul before heading in the direction of the train tracks.

He stood up, taking a few quick steps forward before he started running after the kid, jogging along the railing to the end of the street before he realized that he’d already lost sight of him in the trees. He let his hand fall and hit his side with a thud.

“…Did you get a scent on him?” He asked, looking down at his side to Dogmeat.

He whimpered, lowering his head to the ground as he sniffed and chuffed, before laying down with a whine. “Damn,“ Wilbur cursed, one hand clenched in a fist.

Once he’d finished scavenging what he could for that day he headed back to the small campsite he and his compatriots called home. The first of which was Techno, the ‘brawn’ of their brains-and-brawn duo. The guy was as tough as he was tall, and he was tall.

He hoped the guy would have some answers for him about the day’s strange turn of events, being an ex-raider, as he was.

They’d met two years ago in Concord. At the time being on opposing sides, Wilbur a scavenger, working with a… less-than-successful trading party that was trying to become a settlement. It had been him and four other people, one in charge of food, one in defense, another in trade, and the last had been their ‘leader’.

Wilbur had always been the one on the front lines. The others were constantly pushing him to go deeper into Raider territory because raiders had the best loot. But the best loot came at a price, and that price was Wilbur’s safety, which the rest of the settlers cared less and less about with every smaller and smaller haul he brought back.

He’d met Techno on one of those more dangerous hunts. The leader of their traveling troop had come to Wilbur the night previous and had a talk with him, which simmered down to an ultimatum: If he didn’t bring back enough loot to provide for the rest of the group for the next five days in this one haul, he was getting kicked out of the group.

At the time he’d been terrified. He needed these people for protection. But looking back on it now he would’ve been better off traveling alone. The loot he scavenged would have been way, way, way more than enough for himself.

The area he decided to search that night had been rumored to be guarded heavily by a high-ranking raider known as ‘The Blade’. He’d done his best to go in stealthily, sneaking in and out without starting any kind of conflict at all was more his style than running in guns-blazing, but Techno had caught him within seconds, holding him at knife point.

They’d shared a few words, none of which Wilbur remembered, what with his head having been flooded with adrenaline at the time. Techno on the other hand loved reminding him of the stupidity he’d spouted the night they met, when his mouth was working faster than his brain.

They’d gone their separate ways after that, having not earned a scratch from one another. Wilbur with half the amount of stock he’d wanted, and Techno with a few more things to ponder that night than he’d planned for.

He was promptly kicked from the trade troop that night. The loot he’d returned with was high-quality, but he’d only managed to take enough for himself and one other person. He ended up not keeping any of it though, as they stripped him of practically everything he had save for the clothes on his back and a can of purified water.

Two weeks after that he met the raider again. This time outside of his territory. Techno was dressed in non-raider garb, something more akin to a settler. As such, Wilbur hadn’t recognized him at first, but the moment they locked eyes with one another they both knew.

He didn’t know the guy’s motivations, so he instinctually brushed it off. Everyone had to eat, and if Techno was planning to kill him he’d be dead already. The fact that he didn’t rat the guy out must’ve given him some brownie points, because they struck up an entertaining conversation after that. He’d never seen a raider smile so much.

It was two days later when they met for a third time. Wilbur had been camping near the outskirts of the town. It was meager, nothing fancy, just a tent and campfire. The footsteps had startled him out of a straight sleep, and he’d been right ready to piss himself at the sight of the largest raider he’d ever laid eyes on staring him down from across the fire pit.

Techno had defected from their ranks, renounced his ways, and had come to ask Wilbur if he’d be kind enough to allow him to join his budding settlement.

Wilbur had been apologetic at the time, telling Techno that he’d be more than happy to share a meal with him for the night, but that he’d been kicked from their ranks. Techno had said nothing at the time, aside from agreeing to eat with him. They shared a few salisbury steaks and sunset sarsaparillas, and went to sleep looking up at the stars, a crackling campfire separating them.

They stuck together for a few days after that. Getting to know one another, scavenging together. Techno knew some good spots Wilbur hadn’t been aware of thanks to his inside knowledge, and they made away with a decent haul for once, something Wilbur was extremely happy with.

For the first time in a long time he felt like he could make it without relying on the others. And… he didn’t feel like going back to them, after everything they’d said to him, done to him, said about him behind his back, or hell, even right to his face. Techno was far better company.

“Technoooo!” He called once he was close enough, waving an arm frantically in the air. Dogmeat barked happily, running forward and leaping up onto Techno’s legs, pulling a chuckle from the taller as he stood up and walked over, offering him a hand with his bags that Wilbur greatly appreciated.

“How’s the hunting?” He asked, voice low and gruff, but with a familiarity and warmth that Wilbur had grown to appreciate over the years.

He sighed, dropping his bag to the ground beside his cot. “Awful. Fucking awful, there’s less and less to see every time I go out. I think the raiders are trying to expand, it feels like they’re getting closer every day.”

Techno hummed noncommittally, his tone somewhere between assent and contemplation. “Phil’s worried. It’s about time we move somewhere more fortifiable before autumn rolls around. It’s only a matter of time until winter sets in, and you know how it likes to sneak up on us.”

Ah, Phil. He was an older survivor, older than most get to be as he was in his thirties. But even so he had the sharpest eyes out of the three of them.

He and Techno had been traveling together for the better part of a year up to that point, and after such a long time they’d become decent allies, and good friends. Working together to survive the apocalypse would do that.

They’d been lazing around the Cambridge area when they ran into a small trade party, a woman with a brahman loaded up with trunks and all kinds of useful bits and bobs. Surrounding her had been four armed guards, three of which were younger men, the fourth being Phil, though of course neither he nor Techno had known that at the time.

Wilbur had been so focused on her wares that he didn’t notice Techno’s gaze locked on the weapon the older guard was holding.

“’s that a Kiloton?” He’d asked, pointing to the weapon in his hands.

At first the gunman didn’t acknowledge him all, which Phil later told the was because he wasn’t used to being spoken to. Usually anyone approaching their little patrol spoke only to the traider, barely acknowledging them as the guards. It took him a long moment to even realize Techno was talking to him, but when he did he turned to the younger man with a surprised look on his face.

“..You know guns?” He asked, lifting the rifle in his hands. “This is a Kiloton Radium.”

“Where the hell did you get one of those?” Techno asked with an awe-filled laugh. He took on an easy stance, leaning back on one leg. The rifleman laughed too, taking a step forward and turning his gun in his hands for Techno to get a better look at it. As he did Techno leaned in, looking the rifle up and down.

“‘Coped it off a guy in Southwest Harbor ‘while back. Niki was doing some trading as usual, we’ve been working together for a while now.”

“Same way with Wilbur and I.” Techno replied. “We’ve been wandering the Commonwealth for, Jeez, I guess it’s been a year now? Funnily enough we met here in Cambridge.”

“Really?” Phil said with a laugh. “You two are quite the pair, I’ll tell you. I was a little worried when we saw you coming up, you’re a tough-lookin’ fella.”

They fell into easy conversation after that, eventually involving Wilbur and Niki once they’d finished their trading. The boys came to know the three other rifleman as well: Sam, Schlatt, and Jack. They walked together for a while until eventually their paths split, going their separate ways with kind goodbyes and ‘see you again’s.

About a month later he and Techno had been traveling further south, staying a night in Goodneighbor. The town was filled with ghouls and chem-heads, but it was also the kind of place that turned a blind eye to people like Techno, known ex-raiders, among others. They were not only tolerated, but welcome, and that made it as good a stop as any other.

While in town they’d heard speak of ‘The Crow’, a legendary marksman. They said he’d been in town, always keeping a low profile but carrying a Kiloton Radium Rifle on his back. They’d exchanged glances at the time, of course… it couldn’t be the same guy. The gentleman they’d met in that trading party, Phil. With his kind eyes and easy jokes.

But it had been. They met together again that night at the bar. Of course the boys asked him what happened with Niki and the rest of their gang.

He told them about how one of his fellow gunmen, Schlatt, betrayed the rest of their party. He joined the Raiders, traded their location for his life, and led them back to Niki’s campsite, nearly taking them all out. Phil had managed to get out of it alive, killed a few of the raiders too, but… Schlatt had managed to evade him. He hadn’t seen Sam, Niki, or Jack since.

He’d been traveling on his own for a while, using his skills as a gunner to earn caps, but his heart really wasn’t in it anymore, his employer’s faces passed through his life so quickly he couldn’t remember a single one, sans Niki.

Wilbur and Techno sympathized with him, and after talking and drinking together for the rest of the evening… well, that’s what they say. The rest’s history.

“Phil’s a worrier.” Wilbur muttered instinctually, despite agreeing with the sentiment. “…but it still might be a good idea…”

They both sat in silence for a long moment, the fire crackling nearby sending out a few pops and sparks to fill the void. It was an easy silence though, the kind only a pair of friends can share.

“There was something else.” Wilbur muttered, breaking the air as he took a seat on the edge of his cot and started removing his boots and gloves. “I saw a kid while I was out.”

Techno raised a brow as he took his own seat parallel to Wilbur, their cots being across from one another. “A kid? Like some teenagers, or what?”

“No, I mean like a little kid.” Wilbur repeated, rubbing his dry hands together. “Dogmeat and I were searching Lexington, he alerted to something nearby. We were near the Super Mart so I knew there were raiders, but I went over to check it out, just to be safe. But I saw this kid man, he was creeping around the front entrance, and …Tech you should’ve seen him, he couldn’t have been older than… ten. Probably younger.”

“Sheez…” Techno leaned back and looked up at the sky, rubbing a hand at his mouth in thought. “…Downtown?”

Wilbur nodded. “Thought he might be with the raiders, I don’t know if they keep kids around or not. He snuck in and out pretty quick though, but he was real sickly-looking with rad scars up his arms and neck. ‘Stole a couple packs of Radaway. He looked ready to pass out for a second, but then he bolted. And man, when I say this kid bolted I mean he bolted. Headed toward the train tracks.”

Techno chuckled. “No, he wasn’t a raider.” He muttered before his demeanor turned serious. He closed his eyes, staying silent for a long moment. He could feel Wilbur’s gaze on him as he thought.

“…Raiders don’t have kids. Not… not like that, at least. I can’t imagine any of the women I worked with being the…” He shivered. “…mothering type. They’re a recruitment-based operation. But that begs the question about where he did come from.”

“Once he got what he’d come there for he ran pretty quick.”

Again, Techno nodded. “He could be heading for… Shit, everything’s so far away from that direction. Maybe Concord? That’s still pretty far, but there’s good abandoned buildings there, structurally sound, not many threats. Maybe he’s going for the switchboard, but he’d need to clear it out first.”

“He didn’t look like much a fighter.” Wilbur muttered, shaking his head. “Real scrawny, barely on his feet. Didn’t see any weapons on him either.” He looked down at his hands, fumbling with the edges of his coat. “Tech what… should we do?”

“Right now? Nothin’. Nothin’ we can do.” He replied, groaning as he pushed himself back to is feet. “He’s long gone now, and I’m assuming Dogmeat wasn’t able to pick up his scent, since you came back on time. We’ve got no way of knowing what he’s doing, where he went, or if he’s even still alive, since apparently he’s suffering from rad poisoning. There’s too many questions for us to go off galavanting around the wastes looking for him.”

Wilbur snorted. “Do not ever use the word galavanting in a sentence, I’m incapable of taking you seriously now.”

“I’m being serious Wil.” He replied, turning back toward him with a stoic frown on his face. “The safest thing we can do is leave this where it lies. Keep an eye out for this kid, I’ll encourage that, that’s all we can do, but don’t put yourself at risk for a stranger. Even a young one. You’ve got people counting on you.”

“Aw, is that your way of saying you’d miss me if I died?” He crooned as Techno turned back around, leaning over a pot that was bubbling over the fire.

“It’s my way of saying people are counting on you.” He muttered, rolling his eyes. “Now come eat something, Phil’s bound to be back soon.”

________________________________________

Techno had been right. It wasn’t long after that that they heard the familiar sound of Phil’s gate, heavy boots approaching from out of the darkness. Even with the familiarity of it Wilbur still saw Techno reach into his holster instinctively, only relaxing once he too recognized the footsteps as Phil’s.

“Well it’s about time old-timer!” Wilbur called cheerfully, waving a hand in the air as the silhouette of their fellow man reflected the shine of the campfire on his armor, and his eyes.

His familiar face came into full view as he pulled down the bandana covering his mouth. “I swear, if you keep calling me that I’ll wring your neck.” He threatened, but there was no heat behind it, as there never was. Wilbur chuckled, holding up his hands in mock defense.

“Good to see you alive.” Techno muttered with the smallest of smiles as he poked gently at the fire with the end of his rifle, the metal turning hot. “We’ve still got some vegetable stew if you’re hungry.”

“I ate on the road.” He replied, holding up a hand. He let out a long sigh, taking a seat on his nearby sleeping bag. “Jeez boys, I’m beat. I’ll tell ya. Hunting in these woods is… well, there’s nothing to hunt, unless you feel like taking on a fucking Yao guai.”

Wilbur shivered, remembering his last encounter with the beast. “I wouldn’t wish that fight on my worst enemy.”

“Those beasts are a whole different league.” Techno agreed as he sipped on vegetable stew, closing his eyes for a moment. “We have tradable goods to work with, besides, I was just telling Wilbur it might be a good idea to pack up and move somewhere safer for the cold months. We sure as hell can’t survive off of vegetable stew and dirty water for the entire winter.”

“You’d be surprised.” Phil muttered, likely more to himself than to Wilbur of Techno, but aloud nonetheless. “You’d be about fifty pounds lighter, but you’d be alive.”

“Thank you, Phil, as always for your unending river of knowledge.” Wilbur deadpanned, tipping his cup all the way up as he drank down the last bits of vegetable stew. “Techno’s right, we should clear the old railroad tower like we’ve done the last couple winters.”

Phil nodded, muttering something softly to himself as he laid out on top of his sleeping bag, arms pillowed behind his head as he gazed up at the stars. “We’ll head in that direction tomorrow. Shouldn’t take long to get there, and with the three of us it’ll take no time to clear a spot out, ghouls or no.”

“Who said anything about ghouls?“ Wilbur whined, tossing his empty can into the distance, listening to it ‘plink’ and ‘plonk’ against the ground before rolling to a stop. “I was thinking molerats or wild dogs. You know what they say about speaking things into existence.”

“You’ve got to be one of the most superstitious people I’ve met.” Phil chuckled, shaking his head. “But fine, I won’t talk about how more likely than not we’ll have to take out a hoard of ghouls if we plan on staking a claim anywhere close to the tracks.”

“Phiiiiiil!”

Techno and Phil both chuckled at that. Wilbur rolled his eyes. “You two won’t be laughing when we’re dealing with a crowd of irradiated demons.”

They fell back into an easy silence after that, like the one Wilbur and Techno shared when they occasionally went scavenging together. The crickets and cicadas in the distant trees, the fire crackling next to them, staving off the fall chill that rang winter’s oncoming toll.

“…I’m still worried about that kid.” Wilbur muttered through a sigh, shaking his head. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“What kid?” Phil asked from across the campfire.

“Wilbur saw a boy out in Lexington today.” Techno butted-in, cutting Wilbur off. “Little kid with some pretty bad burns.”

“He looked scared-shitless, not to mention on death’s doorstep.” Wilbur explained, giving Techno a glare before continuing. “He had nothing on him, and he went into the raider’s outpost of all places. Came back out and slammed an entire packet of radaway like it was a shot of whiskey before he booked it toward the tracks.”

“You didn’t recognize him?” Phil asked, sitting up from his sleeping bag. “I haven’t heard of anyone moving into the commonwealth, no one with kids.”

“I’m pretty sure he was on his own.” Wilbur replied anxiously, resting his elbows on his thighs. “He looked ratty. Rattier than us. No one else around to look out for him, unless you count the raiders.”

“Hey.” Techno muttered, offended.

Phil hummed. “…Did Dogmeat get a track on him?”

Wilbur sighed, resting one hand on Dogmeat’s head where he was laying beneath the cot. “He didn’t pick up the scent. We only saw him for a few seconds, and it was from up on a ledge, we were never closer than fifty feet.”

Phil reached up, giving Wilbur’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry Wil, I know it’s hard, but we have ourselves to think about. Moving to the railroad is the best option, and if we cross paths with him then it’s fate, right?”

Again Wilbur sighed, a sharp huff through his nose. “I might be superstitious, but I know when I’m being talked down to.”

“I’m being serious, son. You can take it or leave it. Now both of you, sleep. We’re packing up tomorrow you’re going to need it.”

“Goodnight.” Wilbur mumbled as he laid back down, turning onto his side with his back facing the fire, warming him up.

“Goodnight boys.”

Chapter Text

The first feeling Tommy felt as he opened his eyes, blinking away the smudges in his vision, was… surprise. Surprise at being alive. He allowed himself a moment to fully wake, staring up at the concession stand ceiling with his brow furrowed, little by little becoming more aware.

The second feeling he felt was cold. Right down to his bones. The skin on his cheeks and hands, even the parts of him protected by his sweater and jeans were frozen and numb. He brought his uncoordinated hands up to pat at his face in a meager attempt at regaining some feeling. The air around him was grey and foggy, and as he looked up and out the window, he could see clouds hanging thick overhead. “Jeez…” He whispered, rubbing his hands up and down his arms to garner some more warmth. It must’ve rained while he’d slept.

The third feeling that came was hunger, and it hit him like a train.

He groaned as his stomach attacked him, growling so loudly and with such force that he wrapped his arms around his middle as though he’d been punched. He slumped back down to his blanket, squeezing his eyes shut until it passed. He peeked an eye open, testing the waters hesitantly. He moved as quickly as he could manage to, grabbing Tubbo’s backpack with one hand and squeezing his other around his middle.

His eyes widened as he felt something wet against his side, and he pulled his hand away to see his palm coated in thick, dark blood. He let out a shuddering breath and cursed, pressing his hand back to his side, tighter this time. The wound on his hip had opened again… but strangely it felt… better. Like the pressure under his skin was less intense now, he could breathe easier.

He lifted his hand from his side and wiped the blood from his palm on the blanket under him before pulling the zipper open on the backpack, leaving a faint streak of blood on its hem. The first thing he laid eyes on was a Salisbury Steak, which he yanked out of the bag with the kind of ferocity only a starving person could garner. He pulled the tab off the top and downed the entire tin purely to fill his weeping stomach, numb to its overly salty taste.

He tossed the tin to the side and laid his head back against the cabinets, closing his eyes. He’d done it. He’d made it in and out of the city, he’d made it in and out of a raider base, and he’d gotten a haul. Food, water, medicine. Everything they needed.

He pulled his sleeves up and turned his arms this way and that, taking note of the light tan and white star-shaped markings on his forearm. He traced his fingertips over them, feeling the rough texture that traveled from the back of his hand over his shoulder and chest, to his neck, touching the bottom of his jaw. He turned to look at Tubbo, the pale sheen of his face under the muted sunlight. He crawled closer, sitting cross-legged beside him. Sure enough, the markings that covered Tommy’s arms were nothing in comparison to the single, giant scar spanning over Tubbo’s right eye and cheek, trailing up into his hairline and back to his ear, over the left side of his neck down to his collarbone.

“Oh, Tubs…” He breathed.

The scar had receded slightly since last night. The red color wasn’t completely gone but it had given way to the white scars that matched Tommy’s. He grabbed another bag of RadAway from the backpack, and spent the next ten minutes trying, mostly in vain, to get more of the medicine into Tubbo’s system.

He rested a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, but flinched away, his hand coming away wet, and sticky. It wasn’t blood this time though, but the medicine from last night, now soaked into his shirt. That couldn’t possibly feel good. He knew they had a spare pair of clothes around the concession stand somewhere.

He’d taken them out of the backpack the day before in order to make room for the supplies he’d be getting, setting them on one of the empty shelves under the counter. He shuffled over, grabbing the flannel shirt from the top of the pile. He unbuttoned Tubbo’s medicine-soaked shirt, and started the slow, tedious process of buttoning the shirt back together over his chest. “There you go.” He muttered to himself, smiling minutely as he rolled the sleeves up a few times. “That’s gotta feel better.”

He sat back against the opposite cupboard, staring at Tubbo’s unmoving form for a long while, the only indication he was still alive the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Sitting around wasn’t going to do them any favors, and with how anxious he was, Tommy knew he needed something to keep himself busy before he started pulling out his hair.

He turned to the backpack he’d thrown haphazardly to the floor last night. RadAway wasn’t the only thing he’d taken from the raider outpost, and he’d been haphazard in gathering the supplies in the moment. Reorganizing them would take his mind off of things. One by one he took out each of the containers, laying them neatly on the floor in front of him along with the rest of their supplies.

They had a decent amount of food now, three Salisbury steaks, two cans of cram, a box of dandy boy apples, and a few little desert cakes. Six cans of water, three for each of them, and for medicine… Jesus, the medicine he got. Ten tins of red candy-looking things, a bottle of pills labeled ‘BuffOut’, and three syringes, which still weren’t labelled, but they’d been useful enough back at the truck stop.

The tin of candies piqued his interest. He was tempted to try one himself. When he opened the tin and picked one up it left a pink-ish sugary residue on his fingers, but when he tasted it it was bitter, like saltwater and the smell of cleaner. He spit it out quickly after that.

The next few hours he kept himself busy as the sun lowered to touch the horizon, passing the time by kicking over tin cans outside and piling them up into little towers before the wind blew them over, scattering them across the pavement. It was nice to be able to walk around without too much pain again, but he knew it wouldn’t last forever. His side still ached, and as the day continued it got harder and harder to move. He spent as much time as he could outside before it became too painful too and again, and he headed inside to find something less demanding to do.

Organizing their supplies gave him something to keep occupied, and it made him feel productive, which helped his mood significantly too. He couldn’t think of a moment in the past week where he hadn’t felt an overwhelming sense of dread and fear, even when they were just walking together on the road. He could remember quiet mornings with his mom, helping her clean the house as the tv played in the living room, or the radio in the kitchen hummed in the background.

Diamond City radio was interesting, that was for sure. The announcer, Travis, didn’t seem like the best public speaker. He lacked the confidence held by radio personalities he was used to, but at the end of the world he supposed he’d take whatever he could get. Besides, in a way it made Travis feel real. Less professional, more friendly. He was just a guy talking into a microphone, and on a certain level Tommy respected that.

”Coming to you from, uhh, the jeweled green... I mean the green, the uhh Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth, it's... Diamond City Radio. We've got some... Well, there's music. And also news and stuff. But, but mostly music.”

He laughed softly as he tossed a tin of candies into the medicine pile, lazily sorting their supplies into little categories.

”So... there's a bit of, uhh, news. Well, more of a, you know, a rumor really. Someone... I'm not sure who, but I guess... I mean, it probably doesn't matter who... anyway, someone saw, well... I guess they think, uhh, maybe they saw a kid, or uh, maybe a couple kids? Uh, they… said they saw them climbing out of a vault. I mean, coming out of Vault One-Eleven.”

He froze, his eyes wide as he slowly turned to look at the radio, as though Travis were about to jump right through it and tackle him to the ground.

”It’s the Vault One-Eleven part that's weird, I guess, right? I mean, it's not like no one's ever seen a vault suit before, I just... Well, anyway. You get the idea, I guess. Let's, uhh.. I'll just, uhh, just go back to the music. Sheldon Allman wants his girl to ‘Crawl Out Through the Fallout,’ but I mean, if it was that important, wouldn't he have been with her in the first place? Maybe, I guess I'm over-thinking it…”

”Crawl out through the fallout, baby, When they drop that bomb.
Crawl out through the fallout, with the greatest a-plomb!
When your white count’s getting higher, hurry don’t delay!
I’ll hold you close and kiss those radiation burns away!

Crawl out through the fallout, baby, to my lovin’ arms.
Through the rain of Strontium ninety!
Think about your he-ro, when you’re at ground ze-ro,
and crawl out through the fallout back to me!”

The music faded to a dull ringing in Tommy’s ears as he sank to the floor, hands pressed to his eyes. Someone had seen them. Someone had been there that day, watching him and Tubbo as they left the vault. Was it the man from the road? Had he survived, and was looking for them now? Or maybe it was a raider, or worse… though he couldn’t think of anything worse than a raider on their tail.

They weren’t moving anymore, they hadn’t moved for four days, if anyone was looking for them they would’ve found them by now, right? Maybe… maybe this was fine. They’d evaded the suspicion of Niki and Jack for long enough, no one had noticed them, or cared to notice. He pushed himself back up to his feet, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. No one knew they were here. They were still safe, they were safe.

Part of him, far in the back of his mind, questioned when it had become so important that no one knew where they were. Just a month ago— in his mind, at least —the most important thing had been being home by dinner. Telling his parents where he’d be going, when he’d be back. Having someone know where he was had been essential. But now, the idea of anyone knowing where he and Tubbo were… was terrifying.

”Crawl out through the fallout, baby, You know what I mean.
Crawl out through the fallout, ’Cause they said this bomb was clean.
If you cannot find the way, Just listen for my song.
I’ll love you all your life, Although that may not be too long!

”Crawl out through the fallout baby, to my lovin’ arms
while the I-C-B-M’s keep us free!
When you hear me call-out!
Baby kick the wall-out!
And crawl out through the fallout back to me!

‘Cause you’ll be the only girl in the world,

Why don't you crawl out through the fallout back to me?
Why don't you crawl out through the fallout back to me?
Why don't you crawl out through the fallout back to me?”

He allowed himself a moment to breathe as the music transitioned into something more mellow. There was a chill in the air, the weather was going to get worse from now on… it was late November. Winter was coming, and they were not prepared for it. Not even a little, even with their new supplies. They needed to board-up the windows, and building a fire wouldn’t be a bad idea. But he wasn’t strong enough to do that, and neither he nor Tubbo knew how to build a fire… The thought had his hands shaking all over again.

He spared a glance at Tubbo, still out cold, no indication he’d wake anytime soon. His hands were cupped in relaxed fists near his face as he slept on his side, eyes closed and chest rising and falling easily. Tubbo was going to be fine. He’d wake up in a day or two, just like Tommy had.

The shelves and floor were clean enough he decided, and his heart was beginning to race, which meant it was time to take a break and get his mind off… everything. He grabbed the Pip-Boy from the countertop and sat down with it resting on his knees, his fingers playing with the knob on the side, cycling through the tabs a few times, just watching as the screen flashed dark and light, flickering between different layouts.

They still had practically nothing in terms of weapons, the ‘Apparel” tab was sparse too, only showing the clothes they were currently wearing. The date caught his eye as he was scrolling aimlessly through the pages. 11/28/2277. That was… odd. He’d checked the date yesterday, before he left to get the medicine. The Pip-Boy had said the was the twenty-fourth, but that would mean—

He’d been asleep… for four days?

That would explain how hungry he was when he woke up. Four days just… gone. No way of getting that time back. No way of knowing what happened while he was asleep. It would explain the colder temperature too. That meant… they’d been in the concession stand for over a week, not just four days. It was going to snow soon, the Drive-In had barely protected them from the rain, how the hell were they going to deal with snow?

He needed to talk this all out with Tubbo, but Tubbo was asleep. Apparently they’d both been asleep for days. And Tubbo was a lot more worse-off than he’d been, he had no idea when he was going to wake up.

For the remainder of the day Tommy sat in the concession stand and did his best to occupy himself. He didn’t feel well enough to go out walking around the parking lot again, and that fact alone had him completely terrified he was once again contracting radiation poisoning. He spent a good five minutes just staring at the main screen of the Pip-Boy, reassuring himself that, no, he wasn’t poisoned. The Pip-Boy was accurate, it had never once been inaccurate in all the time they’d had it. There, on the screen, was the smiling Pip-Boy, pacing along in his stagnant green prison, telling Tommy that they were both ‘fine.’

He leaned back, scrubbing his nails through his hair with another shaky sigh, wiping his sleeve over his eyes, dispelling the remnants of tears before tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. Maybe things would be better tomorrow. Maybe Tubbo would wake up. But his head was aching now, and the world was starting to spin, so it was probably a good idea to sleep of the oncoming headache.

He laid his head down on the backpack, pressing his side to Tubbo’s as his shoulders shook, too nervous for Tubbo to steal the blanket from him. He tucked his cheek against the blanket and squeezed his eyes closed, pleading with himself to just fall asleep, to dream of a world where this wasn’t happening.

“Tubbo, please…” He whispered, looking back at his friend bundled beneath the blankets and laying as still as a statue, the wind brushing his hair into his eyes. “Please, wake up.”

Chapter Text

”Crawl out through the fallout, baby, When they drop that bomb.
Crawl out through the fallout, with the greatest a-plomb!
When your white count’s getting higher, hurry don’t delay!
I’ll hold you close and kiss those radiation burns away!

Crawl out through the fallout, baby, to my lovin’ arms.
Through the rain of Stron-ti-um nine-ty!
Think about your he-ro, when you’re at ground ze-ro,
and crawl out through the fallout back to me!

Crawl out through the fallout, baby, You know what I mean.
Crawl out through the fallout, ’Cause they said this bomb was clean—“

“Wilbur!” Phil called over the radio, pulling him jarringly out of the paragraph he’d been daydreaming in.

He snapped his book shut quickly, wincing as he forgot to mark his page. “What?” He poked his head up from beside his cot, glancing around indignantly.

“Get that dog under control!” He ordered, gesturing sharply toward Dogmeat who was tethered to the light post he leaned against.

Wilbur glanced behind him at his dog. It wasn’t unreasonable for Phil to be mad. Dogmeat had woken everyone that morning with his barking, and hadn’t stopped once since. He’d made the mistake of letting him run off some energy, spending the next half hour chasing him down before finally tying him to the post.

“He’s restless, what do you want me to do?!” He shrugged at Phil before opening his book up again and burying his face in the pages.

Phil rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip on the heavy crate in his hands. “We need to get the rest of our supplies ready to move to Bedford Station. We don’t have much room, so leave anything you can manage.”

“Yeah, uh-huh.” He muttered, not looking up from his book. Damnit… Phil was always trying to get him to let go of his book collection, saying the paperbacks were weighing him down. He didn’t mind the weight if it meant he had something to read when they weren’t moving from place to place. The worlds held inside his books were far preferable to the irradiated hellscape he was living in.

”—while the I-C-B-M’s keep us free!
When you hear me call-out!
Baby kick the wall-out!
And crawl out through the fallout back to me!

‘Cause you’ll be the only girl in the world-

Why don't you crawl out through the fallout back to me?
Why don't you crawl out through the fallout back to me?
Why don't you crawl out through the fallout back to me?”

“I’m gonna smash that radio if you don’t get off your ass and help us!”

He scoffed and slammed his book shut, tucking it into his inner coat pocket. If there was one thing he could demand on, it was Techno keeping his word, especially on threats like that one. He clapped his hands together before rubbing them, garnering a modicum of warmth in the frigid October air. “Fine! Fine, Christ, what do you want?”

Techno sighed, rolling his eyes toward a pile of burlap and leather sacks beside the large bag sitting in front of him. “Rations. The dried stuff. We need it all in here, can you sort these out while I get my stuff packed?”

“Sure.” He nodded, taking a seat and starting the slow process of transferring containers of food from their little boxes into the sacks. Techno left him to it, the scraping of his boots growing soft and distant.

“What’s that dog on?” Phil muttered as he passed by, setting a crate of meds on the ground to stretch his back with a strangled groan.

“Beats me.” He muttered, looking over his shoulder at Dogmeat, still straining against the end of his lead in nervous desperation. “He’s never acted like this before. Ever. Something’s got him on edge… I want to let him go, but I’m worried he’ll run again if I untether him.”

Dogmeat’s unending barking had been the background mantra throughout their morning, and now into the afternoon. He was constantly making noise and pulling at the tether, circling around the post frantically. It was more than just weird, it was unsettling, especially for Wilbur who knew how the dog usually acted. Ever since he was a puppy he’d been nothing but obedient. Naive and playful, sure, sometimes, but he adored his job, and didn’t normally worry about much else.

“He’s going to attract raiders, or worse.” Phil shook his head. “If we need to muzzle him, then we need to do it soon. I don’t want anything jeopardizing us while we’re moving and vulnerable.”

“Trust me, neither do I. I promise, he’ll calm down before it comes to that.” Wilbur reassured as he hauled another ration-sack into his arms. “He’ll calm down once he understands what’s going on, he knows the road to Bedford, once he understands, he’ll pipe down.”

It didn’t take long after that to finish gathering everything they would be taking with them. After all, they weren’t bringing any of the bulkier items. If they were lucky the cots they left at the train station last winter would still be there, so their old travel-sized ones would be left abandoned on the road.

Despite their hopes Dogmeat hadn’t lost an ounce of energy, and he was bound and determined to use every one of those ounces. Phil and Techno stood a few paces back, packed to the teeth with everything they’d be bringing with them. Wilbur stood in a similar state, a nervous lilt in his voice as he tried to calm his dog. “Settle!” He commanded, pointing toward the ground. “Dogmeat, Settle boy!” But no matter what he did the dog refused listen. Barking and barking, tugging on the end of his tether and hopping up on his back legs.

“Wil.” Phil warned, crossing his arms. “We can’t have him—“

“Just hang on.” He insisted, holding a hand up in Phil’s direction before turning his attention back to the dog. “…Dogmeat.” He ordered in his most commanding voice. “Settle.”

Dogmeat barked at him, tugging hard on the tether before lowering himself down to stand on all four paws again. He sat down with a long high-pitched whine, and licked at his muzzle with a yowl. Wilbur knelt down in front of him and picked his head up in both hands, pressing their noses together for a moment before pulling away, giving him a small shake.

“What’s the matter, huh? What’s going on with you today?” He muttered, scratching the dog’s neck. He sighed through his nose and stood back up, resting his hands on his hips as he thought. “…I guess… I can carry him.”

Techno laughed, pulling Phil, Wilbur, and Dogmeat’s attention toward him. “You’re going to carry him? Wil, Dogmeat is huge. He probably weighs a hundred pounds. You think you can carry him all the way to the train station?”

“What?” Wilbur replied defensively, looking down at himself, arms held out at his sides, and then back at Techno. “You don’t think I can?”

“You’re a twig.” Techno said flatly, raising a skeptical brow.

Wilbur’s lip curled up defiantly into a grimace, and he pushed the sleeves of his coat up to his elbows as he reached down and grabbed Dogmeat around his legs, lifting him into his arms.

He turned to Techno, smirking pridefully. “What was that? I’m built like a what?”

Techno rolled his eyes with a exasperated sigh. “Talk to me in ten minutes when your back is aching and your arms are tired.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “He isn’t that—“

Suddenly Dogmeat tensed, his claws digging into the fabric of Wilbur’s coat as he wriggled in his arms. He kicked a leg out and managed to loose his grip, forcing Wilbur to let go.

“What the— Dogmeat!” He shouted, lunging to grab him. But Dogmeat was faster and managed to dodge away from not only Wilbur, but Phil as well as he dropped his crate to reach for his collar.

“Dogmeat!” Phil shouted, whistling sharply. “Dogmeat, here! Heel!”

“DOGMEAT!!”

“Wilbur NO!” Phil ordered, grabbing the younger man’s wrist just as he was preparing to run after the dog. “He’ll find us once he’s tired, we can’t chase after him!”

“He’ll get lost!” Wilbur pleaded, pushing hard against Phil’s hand, but he held firm and pushed back, shaking his head fervently. “I can’t leave—”

“We have to get to the station.” Phil insisted, pushing his hand against Wilbur’s chest. “We’re vulnerable to attacks, You can’t go running off by yourself son, Dogmeat’s smart, he knows the way. He’ll be back.”

Wilbur sighed sharp and heavy, his chest heaving once as his voice cracked. If Phil didn’t know him as well as he did, he might’ve thought the kid was about to start crying, but Wilbur took in another breath, swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and readjusted the straps of his pack before angrily trudging forward.

Techno glanced in Phil’s direction, the two sharing a look as Wilbur stormed ahead, his boots crunching over the dead grass and gravel.

“He loves that dog, Phil.” Techno muttered, sending him an uneasy side-eyed glance as they started walking. “He’s had that dog for years, even before I knew him.”

Phil nodded, a tense jut to his jaw as he watched Wilbur’s back. “Dogmeat’s tough. He can take care of himself for a few hours. Besides, he knows our scent, he’ll come back once he’s done doing…” He paused, looking back in the direction Dogmeat had run off in, a furrow formed between his brows. “…whatever it is he’s up to.”

Chapter Text

Tommy knew it was a bad sign that he hadn’t eaten anything since the day he woke up. They weren’t short on food anymore, they had plenty to eat, but he couldn’t force himself to take any of it. He’d felt like he was starving yesterday morning but now even the idea of swallowing made him nauseous. Each time he opened his eyes felt more difficult than the last. His head swam constantly, and if he did anything more than turn onto his side it would thrummed against his skull.

He’d woken up that morning trembling, and spent the rest of the day wrapped in the thickest blanket they had. Ever since he came back the sky was overcast. It was a touch darker at night, but by the time he noticed the change it had already been ‘light’ for hours. As he looked up now, peeking out the open concession stand windows, he could see mist obscuring the ground, the nearby buildings painted with a thin layer of white.

Despite what he knew would happen he pushed up to his elbows, the world spinning on its axis as he floundered for something stable to lean on. His palm hit the countertop and he grabbed it, pushing shakily to his feet. His teeth clicked together as he shut his mouth. Staggering backwards, tripping over the blanket tangled around his shoes before kicking it away he slammed the door open, letting it swing wildly with a loud twang as he stepped outside.

Snow. Fresh, a few centimeters thick but growing every second. A white blanket settling gradually over every surface.

“No…” He muttered, taking in a shuddering breath. “No, no no no no—” He stumbled back inside, but there was practically no change in temperature between out-there and in-here. The room spun slowly, an ache pounding against the front of his skull along with the churn of his uneasy stomach. What was he supposed to do? What could he do? Tubbo was still out cold and had shown no signs of waking. And something was wrong with him too, but he could’t put his finger on what it could be.

He had no way of making a fire. Even if he could, where would he build it? Outside? Why would he build a fire outside when he and Tubbo were inside? And if he built a fire inside, well… that sounded like a recipe for disaster. He wasn’t about to risk burning down the only shelter they’d managed to find.

He threw himself back down to the floor, squeezing his eyes shut as the headache pounding in his temples finally overpowered him, rendering him motionless for the remainder of the day.

Things would be better tomorrow.

________________________________________

Something was happening down the tracks.

He wasn’t sure how to describe it, but he knew it was bad. He knew how to tell Wilbur when something important was happening, but sometimes even if he tried his best, Wilbur didn’t understand. But this was different from the things he’d learned before. It smelled scary.

No, not scary, it smelled scared. Like sweat, but not hot. It was cold, like dead things. But it wasn’t dead… not yet, at least. That’s why he needed to do something now, while they still had time.

The ground was cold. The snow hurt his feet. He didn’t have any foot-covers, but it wasn’t hard to run. His feet were used to running. He followed his nose, he was good at that. Wilbur taught him how to follow his nose to find all kinds of things. Mostly the funny metal boxes Wilbur loved, but other things too.

The smell was getting stronger. Still faint at this distance, but he remembered it from that day.

He and Wilbur had gone on a walk to find more metal boxes. Other things too, but Wilbur always wanted the metal boxes the most. They were a good team, he and Wilbur. But that day in the city he’d smelled something different. That adrenaline-and-sweat smell. Usually that meant the bad people were close. Wilbur didn’t like them. No one really liked them it seamed, not Phil, not Techno, not anyone. It made sense that Wilbur would avoid them, but the smell had been different somehow. He didn’t know how, but he knew, so he’d told Wilbur to look.

Look.

Thankfully Wilbur was pretty good at telling when he needed something— not everyone did, that was another good thing about Wilbur —and so he had looked, and watched. They waited and watched together for a long time. Or what felt like a long time. He didn’t worry too much about time. Wilbur did. He’d been worried about the smell too, though he didn’t think Wilbur could use his nose the same way he could. If he did he wouldn’t eat half the things he did.

They’d waited for some time until the smell became stronger, and they watched as someone ran from the building. Wilbur hadn’t gone after them, and for so long he’d wondered why they hadn’t chased. They smelled scared and hurt, but more worrying than that was that it smelled like the bad stuff. The really, really bad stuff. Wilbur taught him to say whenever he smelled even a tiny bit of it. He didn’t understand what it was, but he didn’t need to. He trusted Wilbur, and Wilbur hated that stuff, so they steered clear of it always.

The smell was growing stronger now. His heart beat faster. It was not beating quickly because he was scared. It was beating quickly because he’d been running, but it was beating faster now because he was excited to find the source.

The person he and Wilbur had seen that day had been small, they’d smelled scared then, too. The smell was scared now, but… it was different too. He didn’t have many words to describe it, but he still understood it. The smell was coming from a building ahead on the road to his left, and so he veered toward that place, taking extra care to avoid what he could only assume was the source of the bad smell, which emanated strongly from the center of the lot.

He investigated the building, its scent as strong as it had ever been right at the edge. As he leaned against the outside of the building he noticed that the walls only went up a few feet before opening up into a line of open windows, allowing the outside air in.

That explained why the smell was so strong. The small person was inside.

He jumped onto the long table and hopped down inside. Or… ‘inside’ was relative, since there was little difference between the in and the out of this place. The snow piled inside just as much as it did out there. It was not a very good place to be. There on the floor was not only one small person, the one he recognized from the city, but another next to them.

They were asleep, and so he reached forward to nudge them gently, but to no effect. He tried again, sounding his voice in an attempt to wake them, but still neither of them showed any signs of rousing. He needed Wilbur. He would be able to bring them to the safe place, but he couldn’t leave them alone like this. They needed help now, so… maybe he could stay for a while until he was sure they’d be okay when he did eventually go get Wilbur.

They were laying close to one another so it wasn’t hard to find a spot where he could lie over both of them. Wilbur liked laying with him when it was cold out, so hopefully that would help, if only a little. There was only so much he could do.

He tried making noise for a while, in hopes of attracting help from any strangers passing by. Some strangers were alright, like the ones that walked with the cows. Most strangers were bad, like the angry people, but if need be he was confident he could take on one of them by himself.

The small people didn’t move for a long time. He was never very good at keeping track of time, but it was dark out by the time either of them moved. But one of them did move. He adjusted his position, and began nudging at their face with his nose until finally their eyes blinked open, focusing on his face.

They seem confused, but one hand reached up to touch his face, and he leaned into it, giving his friendliest smile.

“…Good boy?…” They whispered.

He voiced his agreement.

He could tell they were tired, and soon their hand dropped back to their side, staring up at the ceiling. Their breaths were uneven, so he adjusted his position to lay more completely on their chest. Wilbur’s breaths got uneven sometimes, and he’d learned that laying on his chest helped, despite how counter-productive it seemed in his own head.

Laying on their chest appeared to work now too, their breaths calmed back down after a few minutes. He laid his head down on their chest, letting out a small yawn. It was late, after all, and if he was going to go get Wilbur in the morning, he’d need to get some rest. It was a long way to run back to the warm place.

________________________________________

Biting winds whistled dangerously against the flat planes of the building, kicking up ice blowing snow in the stand’s windows, landing over the boys, flakes catching in Tommy’s eyelashes and shimmering in his hair.

Tubbo took a small breath in, eyes squinting open as his head swam with an intense headache, vision blurry and body aching. He was freezing, his hair stiff with frost, skin dry, stretched too tightly over the muscles of his face.

“Tommy?…” He croaked, turning to look beside him.

Tommy lied to his left, his face pale, even blue, especially around his lips and ears, eyes red-rimmed with dark bruises like he’d been up for days.

He looked… dead.

A numb hand reached up and patted his cheek franticly, a strangled whine escaping his mouth as he pressed his other hand on the frozen floor, to raise himself up. “Tommy, Tommy— Tommy, Tommy, Tommy!” He pleaded his name over and over and over, shaking his shoulder.

His head hurt terribly. The worst headache he’d ever had in his entire life. It hurt so much that his vision was bright with color, and fuzzy, out of focus.

That’s why it had been so surprising to see a strange face inches away from his own.

It was definitely a big dog. He didn’t need to sit up to know that. He looked like… a police dog, from his fuzzy memory of what those kinds of dogs looked like. Caramel brown fur with black patches along his nose and ears, and big golden eyes.

He’d lifted a hand, scratching the beast behind one ear, which he seemed to appreciate. “Uh… Good Boy?” He’d whispered, earning a small yip in reply.

He wasn’t sure why his brain decided to conjure up a police dog. He’d never had a dog, not even when he was little. He’d never been a big fan of police dogs either, so he had no idea how he’d managed to remember one so clearly. He could only remember one time he’d seen one this close.

It had been… maybe second or third grade. A police officer had come to their classroom. Maybe… career day, or something like that. He’d brought a dog with him, a great big furry monster, tongue hanging out of his mouth and sharp white teeth.

The policeman had told the class the dog’s name was Officer Buster, and all the girls had fawned over him like he was a cute little puppy, but Tubbo hadn’t liked him at all. With a mouthful of big sharp teeth… he’d been too scary.

But this dog was nice. He didn’t show his teeth like Officer Buster. He sniffed at Tubbo’s chin curiously for a moment or two before giving him a few small licks, but then rested his chin on his chest, tail thumping somewhere around his leg.

“Tommy?” He called, though with how gone his voice was it was less of a call and more of a hiss. “Tommy, is there… s’there a dog on me?” Maybe the sheer bizarre nature of the question would garner something from him, but… No. Nothing. Tommy refused to move, his pale blue face slack and emotionless, the same look he’d had since Tubbo had last been awake, which was… he felt like it had to have been a while ago.

Was this what dying felt like, he wondered? He always imagined it being faster. But when he started thinking about it, maybe this made more sense. Dying didn’t happen all at once. It happened little by little, little parts of you dying off until more of you is dead than isn’t.

His chest hurt.

“Please.” He whispered, his cracked lips parting for the first time in days as tears stroked down the corners of his frostbitten cheeks. “Please…” He took in a shaky hoarse breath. The dog whined, tail thumping harder as he wiggled closer to Tubbo, licking again at his chin. He squeezed his eyes closed, closing his numb fingers into fists before opening them again, trying to garner some level of feeling in them after all this time they’d spent in the freezing cold.

The weight on his chest felt… nice. He had to be imagining it. He had to be. But it was nice to think there was something there. Something alive and warm to keep him company. He’d remembered hearing somewhere, maybe in school, that people who were close to freezing to death felt warm right before they died.

Maybe that was okay. The world was so scary now, much scarier than he knew how to deal with. Monsters, giant bugs, people with guns who shot at them for no reason, invisible poison in everything… No one to help them, or keep them safe. No one to save them except themselves. And they’d failed. They’d tried so hard, and they’d failed. He and Tommy had been given a chance to survive that their parents hadn’t, but maybe… maybe they’d been doomed from the start. It was all fucked in the end.

This was it. This was how they died.

The dog on his chest whined again, his warm breaths tickling against his neck. It was nice. He didn’t feel so alone.

He was going to see his parents. Tommy would be there too, with them. He was so tired now, he was ready to see them again.

Chapter Text

“Dog-meat!” Wilbur called, one hand cupped around his cheek, voice echoing off the hills around them. The hollow trunks of the bare trees. He whistled, both pinkies stuck between his lips as the sound, high and piercing rang out. “Dog-meat! Here! Dogmeat, come boy! Dogmeat!”

“Quiet.” Phil hissed, nudging him sharply with his elbow.

He dropped his arms, the deep-set furrow in his brow never easing as he slumped his shoulders forward, hefting the heavy bag under his arm higher up. It had been over a day since Dogmeat ran off. They’d left the outskirts of the city just as the sun was coming up yesterday, and now it was nearing the horizon again. They’d still had no sign of the dog since the previous afternoon.

Wilbur had become inconsolable. Not saying a word to either Phil or Techno since the morning previous. The only words leaving his mouth being ‘Dogmeat’ or ‘Here boy.’ His pleas more and more desperate with every passing hour.

“We’re nearly there.” Phil reassured him, reaching a gloved hand up to rest on his shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “Dogmeat knows the train station, we’ve taken him here three winters now, he’ll know what to do. He knows where we’ll be.”

He kept his eyes on the horizon, hoping to see the four-legged silhouette of his closest friend. But nothing appeared. He sighed through his nose as he turned to the west, toward the setting sun where the train station sat stark and black, melding with the scenery it sat between. The windows on the second floor making it look like a beacon, the way the sunlight reflected off its panes.

“Once we get the supplies put away I’m going out after him.” Wilbur announced, picking up his pace slightly to make his way to the front of their little group.

“No.” Phil ordered, catching him by the elbow of his sleeve. “Ghouls are all over the train yard. I’m not letting you go anywhere on your own until sunrise tomorrow.”

“What?! Phil—”

He held out a hand, stopping any protest Wilbur might have had. “I know how you feel Wil, really, I do. I’m worried about him too.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes in exasperation, pulling away from Phil’s hand. “I’m not worried about whether or not you two care about my dog. I’m worried my best friend is lying dead somewhere in the wasteland, and I’m just standing here while I could go find him!”

“It’s too dangerous.” Phil shook his head once more. “We need all hands on deck, by the time we get the supplies done with it’ll be dark anyway. Techno and I will—”

“I’m not a teenager! I have a gun, I go into the city every day to scavenge for all of us, I’ve dealt with ghouls on my own, I’ve dealt with Raiders and blood bugs and molerats— I’m not a kid, I know how to take care of myself!”

“I know, I know you do. but you’ve gotta understand I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you out there.”

Wilbur leaned in, pulling on the arm Phil still had a firm grasp on as they stood inches from one another, the deep scowl on his face hot on Phil’s skin. “I’m never gonna forgive myself if something happens to that dog.” He ripped his arm from Phil’s grasp, the older man opening his mouth to continue his protest when—

“Quiet, both of you!” Techno hissed, waving at the two of them to shut up.

Wilbur closed his mouth and Phil raised a hand to his, his gaze wide as he looked around, boots crunching over fallen leaves covering the train tracks below. He trained his ears, trying to listen for the sound that had set Techno off.

The rusting skeleton of a train sat outside the station, its cars toppled and barren for the most part. It was the most dangerous part of the area for sure, far too many places to get stuck in, cornered under, pined beneath. Ghouls loved this place for some reason. They’d laze around, skulking about eating all the wildlife and scaring away most travelers. Not Wilbur Phil and Techno though, they came well prepared, and ready for a fight. The station was a sought-after landmark most winters, easy to defend and safe from the elements. Once others heard that someone had moved in, everyone was sure to steer clear. People didn’t bother you when they knew you could take over Bedford Station.

“There.” Techno pointed toward an inconspicuous mound under the closest carriage of the train, covered in a thin layer of dust, frost, and leaves. “That’s one. There’s two inside that car, and another on the far side.”

“How can you tell?” Wilbur asked as he pulled his pistol from its holster, attaching its scope so he could take a look for himself.

“There’s a foot sticking out there, see? They’re prone, but if we start shooting they’ll all attack at once.”

“Three more on the left.” Phil patted Techno’s shoulder and pointed to the trees. It was hard to make out, but sure enough three shambling frames outlined faintly against the tall trees were lurching their way forward, walking toward the hills. “They’re moving about… Think we should take them first?”

“That’s six… might be more though, we don’t want to get ambushed. Keep that finger off the trigger old man.”

Phil hummed, smacking the back of Techno’s head. “Don’t ‘old man’ me.”

“Two more in the station, top floor.” Wilbur pointed toward the highest windows. “That’s all I can see, might be more.”

“Phil, take the tree line, keep them at a distance and try to take them out before they reach us.” Techno said, earning a nod from the blond as he swung his rifle from across his back, loading one into the chamber. “Wil, wait ’til I finish the two by the cars, then make a run for the station and take out the two inside. If it’s more, get the hell out of there and give me an assist. We’ll tackle the upper floor together.”

“Got it.”

“Alright. Phil, give me a second to get down there, don’t call the shot ’til I’ve started.”

“You’ve got it kid.” He nodded, getting into position and setting his sites on one of the ghouls near the trees. “Get down there. I’ve got a clear shot, waiting on you.”

Wilbur knelt down in the tall grass, following behind Techno as they both slunk toward the tracks. Techno with his rifle, and Wilbur with his pistol in hand. Clearing the station had always been a tall task. Last winter there’d been over a dozen ghouls that wandered in, but thankfully this year didn’t seem as bad. Four near the tracks, three near the trees, and two in the station. Nine altogether.

Techno’s initial shot rang out across the field, and immediately Phil took his own toward the forest, killing one of the three ghouls instantly. The sound was deafening, but Wilbur knew how to brace himself against it, tense and ready, focused on Techno as Phil took another shot. He couldn’t focus on whether Phil was hitting or not, or whether the ghouls were dropping. Techno had taken out one and was backtracking as he loaded another round, taking out the second easily.

That was his cue. He set off, feet flying beneath him as he ran past Techno, skipping the porch steps and yanking hard on the front door, which opened wide and yawning, the hinges screaming in protest, threatening to break the door straight off. After all, the place wasn’t known for it’s good loot, it was known for being defendable, and infested with ghouls.

Leveling his gun he stepped inside and cleared the bottom floor easily. No ghouls in sight. Which meant Techno was on his own outside. The fight echoed distantly through the door, making it sound far away. The bottom floor was silent, but he could hear them shuffling around upstairs, probably alerted to the action outside.

Phil hadn’t fired any shots in the last few seconds, which he assumed meant the group of three at the trees had been taken care of. He’d grab his own pistol and help Techno finish off the rest outside while he took care of the second floor.

He ascended the stairs silently. He’d need to work fast, one bullet each wasn’t going to be enough to take them down, he’d need to pop at least three each maybe even four, which would involve a reload. He’d been bored enough last winter that he’d practiced jumping down the entire flight of stairs in one fell swoop, thirteen steps between him and the ghoul would give him just barely enough time to reload. If he could reload during the jump, even better.

He pressed his back against the rightmost wall, peeking up past the floor where he could see two pairs of decayed feet dragging against the floor, the setting sun revealing dust particles in the air. He took another step, but froze when the wood creaked beneath his boots.

Instantly both sets of feet turned toward him, the first already setting into a run as he backed away and raised his gun. The moment the ghoul crossed his line of fire he sent three quick shots, the first puncturing its neck, and the others staking claims in nearby regions of its face. Within seconds its body slumped to the ground and he turned, kicking off the mid-step, with one hand pressed against the stairwell’s ceiling to stop his head hitting the banister before his boots hit the floor.

He whipped around and sent two more bullets into the chest of the second ghoul, backtracking as quickly as he could without taking his eyes off the monster. “TECH!” He yelled, feeling his heart rate spike. He was getting cornered, and he didn’t have time to reload with the ghoul closing in. If he lowered his gun the thing was going to lunge. “TECHNO!”

Phil and Techno burst through the door, first looking toward the stairs, assuming that would be where the fight was, but it was Phil who noticed Wilbur cornered on the far side of the station.

“Wil. Duck.”

Wilbur hit the floor faster than he ever thought possible, and covered his head as he heard the shot ring out, and the ghoul’s body fall beside him. Dead.

He pulled his hands away slowly and let out a shaky sigh, pressing a hand to his chest as Phil stepped forward to offer him a hand up, which he took. “Jesus Christ…” He muttered, brushing his hands down the sleeves of his jacket.

“I prefer ‘Phil’.” He replied with a chuckle. “We should get these bodies out of here. We can burn them in the south end of the field, we don’t want any animals eating this stuff if we’re going to hunt in this area.”

Techno peeked back down from where he’d been checking the upper floor, catching Wilbur’s eye. “You wanna grab that one, I’ll get this one?”

“Sure.” He said with a shrug. “Phil, think you can manage a fire?”

“No problem.” He said with a nod, pulling a brass lighter from his coat pocket.

“Welcome home fellas.” Techno said with a chuckle, the body of the ghoul slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Later that night long after the bonfire had gone out Phil sat in front of a small but roaring campfire, poking at the coals with the end of his rifle. The wood split and splintered, its blackened bark cracking to reveal glowing embers within. He sighed, stretching upward, several pops reverberating throughout the rest of his spine before letting out a strangled groan, cracking his knuckles in the silence that followed.

He’d sent Techno out to gather more firewood from the nearby forest while he and Wilbur stayed at the station, making sure their claim on the place held strong. Once word got out about people like them clearing places around the Common Wealth, desperate stragglers would inevitably come by, either wanting to stay with them, or to beat them out of their stake. Over the years though people started getting the message. During the winter months, the Bedford Station belonged to them.

They’d gotten into a rough fight with a group of traders two winters ago. It’d been a rough year for everyone, not just the three of them, but everyone in the wasteland. Even the raider attacks had been few and far between, leaving others to think their numbers were feeling the pain too.

Wilbur had gotten sick just days after they’d arrived, which left Phil and Techno to protect the station on their own. Going from a group of three to two was a big deal. A group of three gunman could take down a group of ten or more with enough ammo and willpower, but just the pair of them… they’d be lucky to take down five or six.

That was the perk of traveling with other people, at least one of a few dozen. Protection. Strength in numbers. With a larger group one man going down wouldn’t be so damning, but Wilbur was a good shot and they needed him just as much as he and Techno would need Phil, or he and Wilbur would need Techno. They relied on each other for everything.

The fight hadn’t lasted long, but it was hard to go up against other wasters. Even going up against raiders was easier, at least on the conscience. Techno had been the one to shoot a young woman from the opposing party, killing her. That had been the final thing to drive them away, but they left her body where it laid, bleeding and cold. He’d assumed after a few days they’d come back for her, at the very least to save her affects, and hopefully to eventually bury her properly.

But after four days Techno had broken down, nearly in tears as he begged Phil to move it, burn it, bury it, anything to get it out of his sight. Even as he insisted he couldn’t stand to look at her for another second, he’d been adamant that he watch Phil bury her. The ground had been soft enough to dig into at the time, so Phil had elected to bury the poor girl. She’d been young, not a child, but not quite an adult. Her bright red hair spilling out from beneath a bandana that laid half-tied on her head.

He must’ve known her. The group they’d fired at weren’t raiders, but all the same someone who’d seen as much death as Techno had didn’t react to a random casualty that way. But he couldn’t bring himself to ask how he’d known her, who she’d been, in life, to him. It was far too late to ask questions like that now.

They’d finished burying her silently, no words spoken as they shoveled pile after pile of dirt over her until she was gone. Those bones were still out there, somewhere. They hadn’t marked the grave with anything, the vague western side of the building serving as the real estate of her grave.

He kept his gun on him, ready to defend at a moment’s notice, but thankfully the last few hours of evening stayed silent. No groups had travelled past, which led him to hope there wouldn’t be any contentions this year. It had only been a day, but one day of peace was a good sign.

Wilbur sulked on the porch, pretending to read a torn-up novel he kept in his jacket pocket. Phil could tell he was thinking about Dogmeat. That dog had been the only thing on the kid’s mind since they’d arrived, and it was easy to figure out why. They went way, way, way way way back. Further than him and Techno. Phil wouldn’t be surprised if Wilbur’d had the dog since he was a puppy, since Wil was a kid.

Not to put the young man down, but… he couldn’t see Wilbur being the tough dog-trainer type. If anything Dogmeat’s skills were overqualified for their group’s needs. For Wilbur’s needs. And he doted on the dog with treats and relaxation so frequently he was surprised his training stuck as well as it did.

Dogmeat had excellent communication skills, so much so that sometimes Phil was convinced Wilbur could translate the dog’s barks into English and vice versa. The bond they had was deeper than any relationship he’d ever had, or seen.

He strode over, crushing frosted weeds and grass beneath his boots to sit beside him on the porch steps, an apologetic look on his face. “…He’ll be alright, Wil.”

“I’m reading.” He mumbled dismissively, a sharpness to his voice that Phil knew was Wilbur’s warning. ‘Stay away’, it meant. He didn’t want to talk, refusing to look up from his book as he flipped to the next page.

“No, you’re not.” Phil argued with a small laugh, pushing the book down so Wilbur had no choice but to look up at him. “You’re worrying.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes and looked away. “He’s just a dog. It’s not a big deal. Like you said, he’ll come back.”

“Don’t say that.” He said, voice soft but insistent as his brows furrowed. “Dogmeat means the world to you, I know he does.”

He looked up at Phil sharply, a weak scowl on his face. “I’m trying to not think about it too hard, if you hadn’t noticed.” He yanked his book out from beneath Phil’s hand, dog-earing the page before shutting it.

“Wilbur!”

Wilbur looked up, blinking in surprise before his eyes focused in on the figure of Techno, a bundle of firewood under one arm and his other hand held up in a wave.

Phil raised a hand back in greeting, but Wilbur turned to look away, arms folded over his lap.

“WIL-BUR!!” Techno called again.

He scowled, stamping his boots against the porch steps before stepping into the grass. “What?!”

“C’mere!”

”You come here!”

“Wilbur get the hell over here would you?!” He snapped, waving a hand.

“Fucking Christ,” He trudged out into the field, one hand still clutching his book while the other he used to dig his nails into his palm. “What?”

Techno leaned forward from where he was sitting and nodded toward the setting sun. “Look.”

“What?!” He snapped again, turning to look across the field, only for his face to drop.

Techno chuckled, pointing toward a speck on the horizon, silhouetted by the sun and getting closer by the second.

“DOGMEAT!!” He shouted, throwing his book to the ground and falling into a dead sprint toward the dog with his arms wide open.

Phil strode up beside Techno with a laugh, shaking his head with a relieved sigh as Dogmeat leapt up onto Wilbur, his adamant barking that he usually found annoying was now a welcome sound.

“Told you he’d come back!” Techno called, cupping one hand around his mouth with a chuckle.

But when Wilbur looked back at them, he didn’t have that same easy-going smirk, he wasn’t smiling at all, he looked… worried. The look alone was enough to get Phil on his feet, a worried furrow in his own brow as he headed toward the two.

“…Wilbur?” He called, his face falling slightly. “Everything alright?” Maybe Dogmeat was injured. That would send Wilbur down a spiral, and none of them wanted to see the dog hurt.

He stumbled to a short stop a few yards away, confusion obvious on his face as Wilbur raised his hand from his side, a signal he knew he used when commanding Dogmeat. And immediately Dogmeat took off back in the direction he’d just come from, stopping to look behind him, and bark at Wilbur.

“Wilbur!” Phil shouted, picking up apace again. He could see that look in the kid’s eyes.

He was going to bolt.

“Wilbur WAIT—!!”

He didn’t so much as flinch, turning to sprint after the dog without looking back even once, the two disappearing beyond the trees in just a few seconds.

Techno swore and sprinted up behind Phil, grabbing his arm hard before he could follow after them.

He yanked against the younger man’s grip, but there was no real chance for Phil to put up a fight against him. Techno was leagues stronger than he was. “WILBUR!” He shouted. His voice echoed off the trees and empty planes surrounding them. Phil cursed, yanking his arm free of Techno’s grip only after the other was sure he wasn’t going to follow after him.

“They’ll be back.” Techno reassured gruffly. “Wilbur knows what he’s doing.”

Phil brushed past him, marching his way toward the train station once again and slamming the door, leaving Techno to tuck his hands into his coat pockets and follow behind at his own pace, stepping up onto the porch, and closing the door gently behind him.

Chapter Text

He pumped his arms at his sides, lungs dragging in frozen air and breathing fiery breaths out, the white puffs like steam from an engine. He’d never heard footsteps as fast as his were right now. He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever run as fast as he was.

Dogmeat was fifteen feet ahead of him, he could see the his grayish silhouette against the muted backdrop, the curtains of snow between them obscuring his figure into a hazy approximation.

They’d been running for thirty minutes, and Wilbur’s legs were about ready to give out beneath him. After the first time he’d stopped Dogmeat had nearly bit his damn hand off trying to get him going again, he knew whatever was up ahead had to be important.

There was only a handful of times he could remember Dogmeat acting this way, one of them being when Phil had been pinned down by heavy Raider fire in a normally calm and quiet section of Lexington. They’d moved in fast, not even to attack him specifically, but he’d been there all the same, and alike Raiders do, they went after him.

Dogmeat had nearly torn Wilbur’s arm off trying to get him to follow him. It was the first time anything like that had happened so he’d been more reluctant to follow. But he’d learned since then. When Dogmeat got serious, Wilbur knew it was better to follow and ask questions later.

He’d needed to salve and wrap his arm for a few days after that, both Phil and Techno chiding Wilbur for ‘allowing’ Dogmeat to bite him so viciously. It had been worth it though, and they soon learned to understand his urgency just as Wilbur had.

Dogmeat wasn’t just a sniffer dog. Wilbur had trained him to find things, follow people, but he’d also spent years training him to help get him out of disaster situations. If he somehow got stuck under a building, he wanted to have someone there who could pull him out. That training had come in handy on more than a few occasions, and every time he was grateful for Dogmeat’s quick thinking.

That was the training he was following now. He hadn’t bitten Wilbur out of anger or fear, he bit him because he needed him to run. To get to wherever they were going before something bad happened. What that was, Wilbur wasn’t sure, but Dogmeat couldn’t answer him, even if he asked.

His breaths were burning, his vision was going black around the edges. And with the way his legs were aching, he was forced to stop. Hands braced against his knees and shoulders pressed against his ears as he stared at the ground.

Dogmeat barked sharply, demanding they keep moving, but he needed a moment. He wasn’t even sure what they were getting, but if Dogmeat’s anxiety was any indication he knew they’d likely need to be ready for a fight. At this point he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fend off a ghoul even if he had a clear shot, his vision was so blurry with the snow.

He could hear Dogmeat’s paws scrabbling against the slick snowy pavement as he backtracked, and again he grabbed Wilbur’s hand with his teeth and pulled.

“Fuck— Dogmeat, release!” He ordered, pulling his hand away as he stood. He took a few steps forward, examining his hand. He winced as he noticed a track of oozing blood from one of the deeper marks on his outer palm. He pressed his thumb over the wound and watched as he pulled it away, leaving a red print over it.

“Damnit boy…” He muttered, shaking his hand out with a sigh. “I’m coming, can we just— take a second?” Dogmeat grumbled and shook out his fur as snow flew in every direction before barking at him again.

“Guess that’s a no.” He muttered to himself. Dogmeat took off running, and he followed after him as quickly as he could.

They must’ve run for another hour on and off before a dark shape began to rise above the horizon in front of them. Against the snowy background it was hard to make out exactly what it was, but Wilbur knew they were close to the ruins of the old drive-in theater. And when it finally started coming into view, he wasn’t surprised to see the tattered and rusted outline of the screen, and the concession stand that stood opposite of it.

“All this so you could take me to the movies?” He muttered as he once again stumbled to a stop. Despite the freezing air around him he was sweating, his feet numb but not nearly as bad as they could be if he stayed still. If he wanted to continue to not freeze, he needed to keep moving. “What the hell did you find all the way out here?”

Dogmeat whined and yipped at Wilbur, jumping up and nipping at his hand again before bounding forward, leaving tracks in the otherwise undisturbed snow.

Wilbur rolled his eyes, but they’d already come this far, and Dogmeat was obviously dedicated to whatever was out here enough to drag him all this way, and Dogmeat knew how to tell when something he wanted was nearby, but still… the drive-in? Really?

“This better be worth it.” He muttered as they crossed the old abandoned lot,

The hole in the center of the lot was a well-known issue. Radiation emanated from the place constantly, but it wasn’t too bad as long as no one got too close. Whoever’d dumped the stuff there in the first place, no one knew, but that didn’t change the fact that it was there.

“You know how to pick ‘em kid…” He mumbled. If he was being honest, he wasn’t feeling particularly confident in Dogmeat at the moment. He knew it was only in his head, but he could’ve sworn at that moment that he smelled the radiation emanating from the center of the lot.

With all the noise Dogmeat was making, at least he knew whatever was around wasn’t a raider. Dogmeat knew not to whine and bark at them. But that didn’t mean whatever was around here wasn’t dangerous. Molerats, roaches, other dogs, wild or not. Anything could be infesting the place.

As they got closer to the main building Dogmeat left his side and bound forward, sprinting across the lot and coming to a stop in front of the door, where he immediately laid down and pressed his nose to the snow-covered ground, the alert Wilbur had taught him for when he’d found what they were searching for. Wilbur gave him a quick nod, moving his coat aside to hover a hand over his gun. It was go-time.

He opened the concession stand door slowly, pistol gripped firmly in one hand, his back to the door and shoulder pulled, ready to fire. He trusted Dogmeat not to bring him into danger unprepared, but he needed to be careful all the same.

Once the opening was a fair few inches wide, Dogmeat bumped right past him and wiggled through the gap, something Wilbur had never seen him do before. He alerted several more times inside the stand, so Wilbur put his concern aside for the moment and holstered his weapon, pushing the door fully open and stepping inside.

His eyes caught on the two prone figures at once, he was glad he’d put his gun away, because he was certain if he’d been holding anything in that moment, it would have fallen to the floor as an ice cold rush ran down his spine. He uttered a curse before running in and falling to his knees beside the pair, his hands scrambling to find a pulse, anything. Any sign of life.

He recognized the blonde boy immediately. There was no denying it, that red hole-y sweater, and the radiation scar crawling down his neck. He took care not to touch it, god knows t must’ve hurt, but he reached under his chin and pressed two fingers there, searching for a pulse, any sign if life at all.

There. It was weak, but undeniable. “Thank Christ,“ He breathed, his voice cracking as he brushed the kid’s hair away from his forehead. He was sickly, sure. Boney, but alive.

He moved quickly to the other boy, and god, they were both young. Too young to be out on their own. Whoever their parents were, they deserved worse. And there wasn’t much Wilbur could imagine worse than this.

Focus, focus, focus. He pressed his fingers under his chin the same way he’d done to the first, and found another pulse there, even stronger than the blonde’s. He didn’t allow himself to celebrate. They were alive, but that could change quickly, especially with the snowfall outside.

“Who are you?…”

Wilbur’s heart stopped, his head snapping down toward the boy laying in front of him. He scrambled through his pockets, pulling out a lighter, flicking it a few times until the flame finally held strong. The kid’s eyes were open just barely, a hint of green shining in the light, the orange glow against his pale face making his skin appear blue.

“What’re you doing here?” He whispered, holding the flame between them.

The kid said nothing for a long moment, his breaths crackly and labored as Wilbur studied his face, and he studied Wilbur’s. Finally he spoke: “…Couldn’t… find anywhere else.” He mumbled, his mouth barely moving.

“What’s your name?”

“‘M Tubbo.” He breathed. He closed his eyes, turning his face away from the light. “T-turn it off, th’s too bright…”

“Sorry! Sorry.” He flicked the lighter back off and stuck it into his pocket. “My name’s Wilbur. It’s too cold to be camping out here, there’s a storm outside.” He insisted fervently, but quietly. “Where’s your parents, where’s your group?”

He waited for a response. “Tubbo?…”

He waited a few more seconds, leaning forward to gently shake his shoulder.

“Hey kid, hey, Tubbo.”

He muttered a curse under his breath and leaned back onto his heels, rubbing his palms together to garner some warmth, and allow himself a moment to think. The two boys in front of him were skinny, but carrying both of them anywhere would to be a difficult task. Getting them back to Bedford Station… he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to do it. No, no he would do it. There was no other option.

Looking around the concession stand it was obvious they’d been out here for a long while. More than a few days, more like a week, maybe more. That was a bad sign, it had been blustery and freezing for days. He noticed a few stacks of supplies in some of the open cupboards, his eyes widening at the sight of it all.

Of course. The blonde kid had snuck into a raider outpost. He’d made off with an armful of RadAway, of course he would take everything he could carry. There was a stack of fluid packs in one cupboard, a handful of food tins in another, and in the third…

Mentats.

There was more, but the tins sitting in a neat stack at the front of the cupboard grabbed his attention immediately. There were ten. Ten tins. He picked one up, held it to his ear, and shook it. Full. Ten full tins of mentats. He looked over his shoulder at the two boys, his breaths stilled in his chest for a single second, before he started grabbing the supplies by the handful, shoving them into his backpack as quickly as he could.

He popped open one of the mentat tins with his thumb, taking a pill out and holding it up in the moonlight before popping it into his mouth. The sweet strawberry-flavored coating melted away quickly to the bitter pill beneath, coating his mouth as he sighed. It wasn’t an instant effect, but already he felt himself relaxing, just knowing he had another. A whole stack of them.

“Alright.“ He muttered as he reached for the kid he’d spoken with. Tubbo. He lifted him up under his arms, sitting him against the wall while he lifted the blonde kid… No, no that wasn’t going to work. He wouldn’t be able to carry each of the boys with one arm, they were too heavy.

He knelt back down, moving the blonde boy onto his back with a bit of a struggle, before pulling the other into his arms. It was getting dark, and if he didn’t start moving soon they were all going to get snowed into this place, which was bad news for everyone involved.

“Come on, C’mon,“ He grunted as he adjusted the weight of the kid on his back, opening the concession door with his shoulder and stepping outside. The wind slapped him in the face immediately, slamming the metal door behind him with a sense of finality. He was leaning at nearly ninety degrees just to keep the kid on his back from slipping, and the weight of Tubbo in his arms already felt like too much to bare.

There was no time to look around for help. This was the situation he found himself in, and he had to deal with it on his own.

Dogmeat was barking, his voice barely heard over the whistling harsh breeze. Snowflakes pelted Wilbur’s face, and he could see the white particles sticking to Dogmeat’s coat. He stopped for a moment to Dogmeat’s displeasure, to pull his knit cap down over his ears before continuing. His pace was agonizingly slow.

“Dogmeat.” He muttered, more out of habit than a real need, but his dog was at his side in an instant regardless. Tail wagging and practically jumping at the chance to assist in some way. Wilbur sighed shakily, hefting the kid’s weight up once more. “Go… go find Techno.” He ordered, using the most commanding voice he could muster. “Find Techno and Phil. Bedford. Get Help.”

He barked, before bounding up through the freshly fallen snow, disappearing over the hill.

Great, that was good, but it still meant Wilbur was on his own for the time being, and with nothing else to distract him, the weight he carried in his arms and on his back felt heavier and heavier. He hummed, the vibration in his chest a fleeting distraction from the burn in his biceps and twinge in his spine. “I’m the type’a guy who likes to roam ‘round, where pretty girls are, you know that I’m around—”

He wasn’t so much singing the song as he was reciting the words he’d memorized from the radio, the monotonous recollection enough to entertain his brain, distract him from the pain in his arms, and the pounding of his heart. “I kiss ‘em and I hug ‘em, cause to me they’re all the same, I hug ‘em and I squeeze ‘em, they don’t even know my name, they call me the wanderer… the wanderer…” He took in a deep breath, forcing his feet to move. “I roam around, ‘round, ‘round’, ‘round…”

________________________________________

“Phil, sit down. You’re freaking me out.” Techno muttered, raising a brow at the older man from where he was sitting on the edge of his cot, a book in one hand and back leaned against the support beam behind him.

Pacing was a gentle term to describe what Phil was doing. His boots thudded noisily against the floor as he worked his way around the main floor of the train station. It was a steady rhythm of twenty paces for each round he did, and Techno was getting real tired of the repetitive motion of it. Occasionally pressing his hands against the walls with a deep sigh or a sharp inhale.

“Where the hell did they go, the— goddamnit Tech the fucking sky’s coming down out there!” He turned to the younger man, gesturing with a splayed hand toward the widow of the front door showing sheets of snow cascading to the ground, blown around in whirlwinds by sharp sporadic gusts.

“Wilbur’s survived more than a dozen winters by himself, he can survive one day. It was his choice to go out there.” Techno said nonchalantly, flipping to the next page in his book. “He’s got Dogmeat with him, he’ll be fine.”

“You can’t fool me with that act, you learned that from Wilbur, quit flipping the pages in a book you’re not reading.” Phil snapped, storming over and yanking the book out of his hands. “You’re just as scared as I am, but for some god-knows reason you like watching me squirm like an insect while you sit there pretending you don’t give two shits about your best friend!”

Techno glanced up at him with an unimpressed look. “…I was reading that. I’m worried, but I’m not going to tear my hair out about it.” Techno defended, though he could tell this was not the point of contention between them, sarcasm slipping into his tone. “The Art of War’s a good book, you should read it.”

“I’m going to go get him.” Phil muttered, tone assured as he began putting his pack together.

“No.” Techno called easily with a sigh, adjusting his position so his legs stretched out across his cot, crossing his ankles as he turned another page. “You’re not. Going after him is only going to get you lost. The storm’s just started, it’s only going to get worse. At least Wilbur knows where he’s going. You don’t. I’m not gonna go after him, and I won’t go after you either, old man.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Phil hissed incredulously, eyes wide as he thrust his pistol into its holster from where he’d left it on the table beside the door.

“Not a threat, a promise.” He replied with a chuckle, their eyes meeting over the edge of his book. “You’re not leaving. Not if I have anything to say about it.” He turned back to his book, flipping back to the previous page so he could reread it. Phil would get over it once Wilbur came back. He just needed to keep him safe in the meantime. His worry was understandable though, like he’d said, he was worried about Wilbur too. For now, there wasn’t much they could do other than wait for him to come back.

Phil scoffed, appalled. Techno wasn’t the type to make empty threats. His background as a Raider made him strong, dangerous, but Phil knew he’d never use the same methods he used to against him or Wilbur. But damnit, if Techno said he would stop him by any means necessary then…

He sighed sharply and threw his bag on the ground, storming up the stairs with a whispered string of curses.

Ice outside scraped against the door, the snow sweeping over and around the building in a thinly veiled threat of burial. Hopefully it wouldn’t snow more than a foot or so, maybe two feet. The wind whined against the loose wood panels outside, the whole building whining around him.

Or… no, that whining wasn’t the building. Or the wind.

Techno cursed sharply, shutting his book with a tight ‘smack’ before tossing it aside, striding quickly toward the door. He grabbed the handle and threw it open, the wind and snow rushing in, blowing out half their candles and sending the inside of the station into relative darkness.

Dogmeat sat, whimpering and tapping his feet anxiously on the porch steps. He had a thorough dusting of white over his back to the point where the snow formed a crust, but despite all that his tail still wagged, if half-heartedly. The moment Techno opened the door he began to bark.

“Jesus— PHIL!!” He called, turning back to look inside. He was already flying down the steps from the upper floor, eyes wide as he surged forward, catching himself on the doorframe.

“Where’s Wilbur?!” He asked, searching the field outside for any sign of him.

“I… don’t see him.” Techno muttered, stepping out onto the porch, the tips of his boots hanging over the edge as he leaned out to get a better look. He could barely see anything through the snow, the whiteness giving way to the darkness of night beyond their field of visibility.

He looked down where Dogmeat was still frantically pawing at their coats, whining and panting. “Where’s Wilbur, Dogmeat?” He asked, leaning down to take the german shepherd’s face into his hands. “Take us to him, show us Wilbur!”

Dogmeat whined, licking Phil’s nose once before pulling away from his hands and tapping his feet anxiously on the icy wood porch. He barked a few more times, pawing at Techno’s pant leg where he was staring out into the snow storm. Phil stood, stepping out onto the porch beside Techno. “…He’s still out there somewhere.” He whispered. He pushed off the support beam and headed back in, returning a moment later with a set of lanterns and a tinderbox all clutched in one hand, his coat in the other.

“Phil.” Techno warned lowly, his mouth open to protest.

“Don’t you dare say a fuckin’ word, you.” He snapped as he shoved his arms into the sleeves of his coat. “He’s out there in that storm and goddamnit you’re coming with me to find him. Dogmeat wouldn’t leave his side if he didn’t need us. We’re going to get him.”

________________________________________

Wilbur was beginning to notice a significant pick up in snowfall. Not only was it coming down heavier, but faster too, and with the way the wind was picking up, blowing in his face, against them— everything was against them —he was terrified of the consequences of getting lost in it.

Despite the cloud cover he could tell it was nearing evening. The brownish-grey tint of the clouds darkening degree by degree, and with the retreat of daylight came an even colder gust of wind, one that spat snow in his face like an icy sea spray. At this point the train station was still well over a mile away, and despite all the progress he’d made thus far he was still ages away from home.

Where was Dogmeat? He should’ve come back with help by now. Had he gotten stuck in the snow? It was pooling up around Wilbur’s boots, like dragging iron chains around his ankles. On dogmeat that would be the length of his legs, and with it being this fresh he wouldn’t be able to bound through it as easily.

“DOG-MEAT!!” He shouted, breaths panting as he searched the inky darkness for a sign of his friend. Hopefully he’d made it back to the station at least, maybe Phil and Techno had forced him to stay back, if he’d been worn thin from the storm… he hoped that was the case. He couldn’t bare to think that Dogmeat was out there suffering alone.

“This isn’t a fair assessment I know,” he addressed the kid in his arms, though even to his ears the words came out indiscernibly, too obscured through clenched teeth to be decipherable, “but all things considered, you’re too old to be carried for this long— not a complaint, just… f-for future reference.”

He prayed they were both still alive. But he was too scared to let go of them to check. If he slipped the kid off his back, he was terrified he wouldn’t be strong enough to pick him back up. His arms were locked around Tubbo practically by frost alone, his fingers gone numb.

“Please, please, Dogmeat, please.” He whispered through clenched teeth. “Please, come on boy, come on—”

But Dogmeat didn’t appear over the horizon like an answer to his prayers. He didn’t come bounding up the road with Phil and Techno in tow. His arms were long past hurting. His hands were long past pain. He was alone, carrying this burden on his own, and no one was coming to help him.

“DOGMEAT!” He shouted again, voice high and sharp and as loud as he could, echoing off the flat plains around him for what must’ve been miles. A dry sob caught in his throat as he continued marching forward through the snow, which was now well past his ankles and threatening to swallow his calves, his pant legs drenched with freezing snow water. He had to get home. He had to keep walking, and they would get there. The kids he carried were depending on him, and he wasn’t about to give up, if not for his own sake then for theirs.

“Come on, come on, I’m tougher than this.” He forced the words out through clenched teeth, taking one more step. Inhaling sharply through his nose a few times. “I’m tougher than this. I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.” He repeated over and over, making the conscious decision to take each step.

Breathe. Take another step. Tense up. Step. Breathe. Breathe. Step.

But there, standing dark and black against the beige backdrop of the snowstorm, like a heavenly golden glow. Bedford Station. Home. Warmth, and help. He choked in a deep breath, letting out a trembling sigh as he felt the weight in his arms increase at the thought of his heavy walk being near its end. It wasn’t over yet. He couldn’t give up now, not when he was so fucking close.

“Come on, c’mon, c’mon, come on!” He grimaced, forcing a yell from his chest just to feel something other than the freezing cold of the world. His throat was tattered, his eyes stung and the frost felt like needles in his face. He forced himself to trudge through the snow cover, his arms trembling.

He couldn’t quit. He couldn’t stop just yet, not when they were so close to safety. To warmth. To help. But his legs were tired, and no matter how hard he pushed himself to take another step, they refused to move. His body was fighting against him, forcing him to a panicked halt in the middle of the snowstorm. All the willpower he had left was spent keeping himself upright.

However it seemed even that was too much of a task. His left leg wobbled dangerously, forcing him to drop his knees with a painful cry, the kid on his back fell into the foot of snow at his side. The snow’s crust crushed easily under his weight, and powdered snow flew up into his face getting caught in his hair and eyelashes.

“No,“ He gasped, breathless. “No, no no no—” Tubbo was quickly covered in snow as well, the particles pooling in the folds of his shirt and jeans in seconds, getting caught in his dark hair and along his brows and lashes. Wilbur opened his mouth, a despairing, panicked wail pouring out, echoing off the empty snowfield surrounding him. ”PHIIIL!!!” He screamed, white mist puffing from his mouth, whisked away on the wind.

A small light flickered to life outside the building, a matching one appearing beside it. Wilbur heard more than felt a hysterical laugh bubble up from the pit of his stomach, a painful but relieved smile brimming on his face as he clutched the two boys close to his chest.

Phil and Techno were coming.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He mumbled, ducking his head against the wind in an effort to shelter them from its brunt. “I’ve got you, you’re… gonna’be ok-kay…”

He watched as the yellow glow separated into two smaller points of light. Lanterns. Like specks of snow in the distance, he couldn’t make out any other details, but the closer they got the more real they became. He could see Techno’s scarf flapping in the wind, Phil’s fur-lined hood, the looks of anguish and worry on their faces as they drew closer and closer.

For just a few seconds he allowed himself to finally collapse into the snow bank, the two boys resting against his chest as he stared up at the grey stormy sky. He could feel the snow piling up around his shoulders, and he let out a relieved exhale as he closed his eyes.

One of them, Phil or Techno, knelt down in the snow beside him, grasping him by the shoulders and pulling him limply into a sitting position. There was a voice over him, and it took longer than he expected to force himself to focus in on it, and even when he did it sounded muffled and distant, practically inaudible. They reached forward and cupped Wilbur’s face in their hands, one thumb brushing against his cheek, a patch of frost that had collected on his skin crumbling away.

“Phil?” He muttered as his teeth clacked together.

“No, it’s Techno.” He muttered from above. His voice, usually deep and gravelly, sounded high, more strained and panicked than Wilbur’d ever heard it. He felt arms wrap around one of the kids, relieving him of the weight. Immediately he reached up to scrub his coat sleeve over his face, finally disrupting the collection of frost that had formed over the bridge of his nose, cheeks and in his eyelashes.

“God,” Phil mumbled, his voice trembling as he stepped closer, the yellow light reflecting off the pale white and blue skin around Wilbur’s eyes and forehead, “there’s two of ‘em, Jesus Christ.”

“Phil, I’ve got this, can you—?”

Wilbur blinked a few times, finally able to see the blurry shape that he could only assume was Phil leaning down on front of him, taking Tubbo from his other arm.

An arm snaked around his shoulders, Phil was lifting him to his feet, despite his doe-like shaking legs and useless arms. Techno was ahead of them, the shape of the kid in his arms silhouetted against the white flecks of snow flying against them. They were walking now, and the station looked to be a lot closer than he remembered it being a moment ago.

“Ph—Phil I’m… tired.” He whispered, breath puffing against the other's jaw. The muscles of his stomach contracted tightly, and felt as though he might vomit right then and there, though thankfully the feeling passed just as suddenly as it arrived.

“I bet.” He replied, adjusting his grip on Wilbur’s shoulder so he could ball up the fabric of his coat in his hand, an extra level of insurance in the likely event he fell to the ground. “You’ve been walkin’ with… some heavy weight, for a long time.”

“Where’s Duh, D— D-Dog-meat?” He stammered, stumbling dangerously before Phil caught him, adjusting his weight so he was leaning more heavily against him.

“He’s inside.” He reassured. “‘Been waiting for you.”

Chapter Text

Techno was the first to make it to the station, opening the door with a swift, forceful shove of his shoulder and ducking through as a strong gust of wind threatened to extinguish their candles. Dogmeat barked, jumping off Wilbur’s cot the moment he stepped inside. Techno hushed him sharply, quieting him to incessant whines and a throttled tail. He sniffed at the shoes of the newcomers carried in Techno’s arms before focusing his attention fully on Wilbur.

“Lay them out on the cots Tech, I’ve got Wil.” Phil instructed as he supported the other, walking gingerly to a sleeping bag lying on the floor at the back of the room.

Dogmeat followed after, the moment Phil let go he was at Wilbur’s side, wriggling in and licking at his hands, digging gently at his coat so he could get even closer. “Good boy…” He whispered, reaching a numb arm up to brush uncoordinatedly at the dog’s ear. His hand fell limp against his head, but Dogmeat accepted the pat anyways, licking the tip of Wilbur’s nose in appreciation.

Techno knelt beside his own bed, laying the boy there. He hadn’t gotten a good look at his face until that moment. They’d been shrouded in darkness outside and the snowstorm hadn’t helped, and now in the light he could see the slope of his nose, the color on his cheeks, and it was… what he saw was…

Bad.

Christ, it was bad.

“Phil, This kid is burned.” He looked up, meeting his gaze with wide eyes.

He leaned down to brush a stray lock of hair from Wilbur’s face before walking over to Techno, boots against hollow floorboards thumping loudly in the quiet room before he approached the little stranger’s bedside, a look of confusion on his face. Techno reached down and cupped a hand around the boy’s jaw, his palm spanning from chin to hairline. As he moved the boy’s unkempt bangs away Phil let out a guttural gasp, a free hand flying up to cover his mouth in horror, a hint of disgust in his eyes.

“Jesus—”

“Yeah.” Techno muttered, letting his hand fall away. The kid’s head lolled against the pillow, eyes still gently closed. “Thought he was turning ghoul first, but… it’s a scar.”

“It’s a radiation scar.” Phil whispered, ghosting a finger over the border of the boy’s face, the area separating the smooth, if frostbitten skin from the rough white scar tissue. That kind of scaring was tough to survive without intense medical care, and a lot of chems.

Techno turned away to lay the other boy down on Wilbur’s cot just a few feet away, giving himself a moment to think, and to examine the other stranger Wilbur brought them. He noticed the kid’s hair looked like it might’ve been cropped short once, but now laid long and shaggy over his forehead, curling around his ears. He pulled down on the collar of his sweater, noticing a rad scar that ran over his collarbone and across his shoulder. His eyes drifted to the kid’s wrist, and—

“What the—” He tilted his head in confusion as he grabbed the odd clunky-looking machine strapped to the boy’s arm. From behind him Techno inhaled deeply and moved quickly to Phil’s side, dropping down to one knee before reached forward with one hand cupped around the rounded metal corner of the screen. “…Where the hell did he get a Pip-Boy?”

“A what?” Phil asked, feeling around the back of the thing for a clasp or snap of some kind. Luckily he found a pair of leather buckles that he quickly undid, finding the skin beneath the area raw and red, angry with irritation particularly around the edges. And just as he’d feared his entire arm and the back of his hand were covered in the same tan-white radiation scars.

“Pip-Boy.” Techno repeated. “One of the most advanced pieces of tech from before the war. Military-grade.” He held out a hand, which Phil deposited the device into. “I’ve come across a few of these in the wasteland, but never one that looked this good. These things are two hundred years old— The glass is still intact…”

“We’ll check it out later.” Phil dismissed it quickly waving a hand in the device’s direction. “Go get some antiseptic and antibiotics from upstairs. Bandages too.”

Techno nodded quickly, setting the computer down on a nearby table, his boots thumping loudly as he went up the stairs, the entire structure of the train station creaking with the motion.

“I’m alive.” Wilbur called jokingly from across the room, waving a weak hand in Phil’s direction.

“I see you’re recovering well.” He joked, chuckling. Wilbur’s lolled his head to the side to look up at him, a lopsided smirk, eyes half-open. “What happened, kid?”

“Found ‘em at the old drive-up theater.” He muttered, face falling into something less light-hearted. “They were sleeping in the concession stand. One of ‘em said his name’s Tubbo. Said they didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Which one’s Tubbo?”

Wilbur reached up one hand to his head, ruffling his own hair. “Brunette.”

Phil hummed, his thoughts beginning to pick up pace. He nodded to Wilbur before sitting up straight. “Get some rest. Techno and I are taking care of everything now.”

He muttered something else, but it was too soft for Phil to make sense of before he stood. Dogmeat lifted his head and rested it on Wilbur’s chest, licking at his nose.

Phil smiled, huffing out a small laugh as he reached down and scratched behind one of his ears. “You’re a smart boy, aren’t you? Yeah..” He asked, earning an excitably thumping tail wag from the German shepherd. “You take good care of him while we’re busy.” He gave the dog one last rowdy pat as he stood up, sighing heavily as he steeled himself for the examination he was about to do.

First things first he patted the kid down. His chest, pockets, shoes, everything. It was just a precaution, but he’d learned over the years that you could never be too careful. He’d once been ambushed by a gang of teenagers, none older than fifteen. He could’ve taken any of them on one on one, maybe even two or three, but there had been seven of them and one of him, and he hadn’t been about to use firepower against a group of starving kids.

As he reached into the kid’s pocket and pulled out a heavy-caliber handgun, he was glad he did. He looked toward the roof, rolling his eyes or possibly praying, even he wasn’t sure, as he unpinned the clip and let it fall heavily into his hand. But as he looked down his brow furrowed in confusion. It was empty. The spring pressed to the top of the clip.

He opened the gun and cocked it. Nothing in the chamber either. Not a single shot. Other than the gun the only thing he'd been carrying was a wrench. Probably the heaviest thing he could swing given how stringy the kid’s arms were. He pulled his geiger counter from the back pocket of his trousers. It was a tiny thing, bright sunshine-yellow with a simple switch and gauge to read the levels of rads coming off whatever it pointed at. It was common practice for new or unidentified objects, even people, but especially with the radiation scarring he wanted to be sure everything was in proper order.

He hiked up the kid’s sweater sleeve to his elbow, the fabric stiff with frost but quickly becoming drenched with water as it all began to thaw. He waved the geiger counter over his arm and watching as the needle ticked up, but thankfully not by as much as he’d expected. They must’ve had a Radaway. Much to his own relief the gauge barely ticked at all as he hovered it over the rest of the boy’s arm and neck.

Something caught his eye though. Something he hadn’t noticed in all the commotion. He lifted the kid’s wrist a few loops of cotton twine clinging to his skin. He brushed his thumb over the bindings lightly. They were frayed and filthy, like he’d been rubbing at his wrists, or maybe biting at them. There was a rough break where the two sides had obviously been connected at one point, leaving him now with two tight bracelets around each wrist.

“Got ‘em.” Techno called softly from the stairs, still trying to keep his voice down. Phil looked over his shoulder to see the younger man holding two glass bottles, one of antiseptic, the other antibiotics, and a roll of gauze in his other hand.

“Thanks. Hey, check him for rad scars.” He instructed, tossing the geiger counter to Techno just as Techno tossed the gauze roll to him, each of them catching the other. “Come look at this first.”

“What is it?”

He turned to the kid laying beside him as Techno’s boots thudded closer, a hand on his shoulder as he leaned into Phil’s side. “Are these shoelaces?” He asked, leaning away to show Techno the strings around the boy’s wrists.

“Well… yeah. They are.” He muttered shrugging his shoulders as he turned back to the other kid, walking away. “Why’s he got laces on his wrists? Extras?”

“No.” Phil ‘tsk’ed, shaking his head. “Look at the way they’re broken in the middle, he chewed through ‘em.” He raised his gaze to the kid in the other cot. Tubbo. His face slack and emotionless just as the blonde boy’s was.

He glanced at the end of the cot where his shoes poked out from beneath the blanket—

No laces.

He said nothing, lips pressed in a thin line as he continued his examination, but the idea began festering in his mind. He’d have to do his best to just ignore it for now. He tucked the kid’s arms through the sleeves of his sweater so he could pull it over his head, getting a full look at the scar as well as finding any other injuries he might have. The scars demanded his attention, spanning along the top of his arm, but the soft tissue of his forearm, palm, and underarm had thankfully been spared. It was his outer arm, shoulder, collarbone, and the left side of this neck that were spotted with rough white callouses.

There were other things too once he looked beyond the scars. A dark patch of purple-ish red skin on his lower hip and a substantial site of growing scar tissue that… looked an awful lot like a stab-wound. The idea soured Phil’s expression. He certainly hadn’t done anything about the wound once it was made, which worried him further. It had been shallow but severe nonetheless, and it had healed like that… He wondered if they’d had any painkillers, but decided it was best for his conscience to assume they had.

If someone was looking out for them, surely a guardian would’ve noticed this and done something about it. It was a large wound, not easily hidden. It was closed now, and while he feared he may need to re-open it to rid it of infection, he needed to assess everything before he could deal with the problems that needed dealing with immediately.

He applied pressure over the boy’s forearms, biceps and shoulders, looking for an indication of fractures or breaks since they’d likely lived on their own for some time. When nothing came to light he moved on to his ribs and stomach, pulling a pitiful whine from the kid when he pressed on either side of his chest. He winced in apology. It wasn’t a break thankfully, but the muscles were clearly sore.

“Kid’s got some pretty powerful radiation coming from his side.” Techno called over to him with a shake of his head and a sigh. “There’s dried blood down his neck and arm all the way to his hand. Some jagged cuts on the inner sides of his fingers, and some significant bruising along his jaw. It’s old though, nearly clear now.”

“I had the same thing with this one, the cut fingers.” Phil muttered, nodding absently in Techno’s direction. “Looks like lifting injuries to me.”

Techno hummed, muttering something under his breath as he continued his examination.

Strangely it was one of the final things he’d planned to do that brought the more alarming thing to light. While removing the kid’s sneakers he noticed something unnerving in the way his ankle rested on the cot, bent outward.

When he moved it, gently at first but then with more confidence once he was sure it wasn’t broken, he could feel something under the skin that was not bone. He leaned down to get a closer look, pressing against his ankle from the other side, and watching as a dark shape surfaced upwards.

“…Tech, hand me your knife.” He mumbled, holding out a hand in his direction expectantly.

“What?” He raised a brow at the request but reached into his holster, unclipping the leather strap that kept his hunting knife secure before handing it off to Phil, handle first.

He took it expertly, leveling the tip of the knife at the edge of the object before swiftly piercing the skin, creating an ‘x’ an inch or so long across the center of his ankle. “Come on…” He whispered, pressing a finger against the back of his ankle, maneuvering it left and right until finally he used the tip of the knife to pry it out.

The caliber was massive. This was no pea-shooter, hell, it was bigger than the rounds his pistol used. It was… it was sniper ammunition. There was no mistaking it. He couldn’t think of anything else that looked quite like that.

Blood pooled from the wound and dribbled down his foot. Phil glanced toward his face, expecting to see a pained furrow in his brow, a tense wrinkle at the bridge of his nose… but no. Nothing. “How long do you think they were out there?” He asked, not taking his eyes off the kid but addressing the question to Techno.

“More than a week. Two weeks? A month? Maybe less, maybe more.” He replied, his tone half-listening, focusing on the other boy in front of him just as Phil was focused on the blonde kid.

He made a non-committal hum and turned his own focus back to the task at hand, quickly grabbing a roll of gauze before stitching, packing, and dressing the wound in expert fashion.

“What, you think I’m wrong?”

“No.” He said quickly, voice rising, but the begrudging look on his face said otherwise. “Maybe. It’s just… Tech, I pulled a bullet outta this kid’s foot.”

“You what?” He hissed, immediately at Phil’s side with wide eyes. “He had a what in his what?”

“Bullet. Foot. In it.” He motioned with the knife toward the shiny brass casing sitting on the table beside the bed, a small, innocuous ring of red forming around it.

“Jesus, who the fuck’s out there shooting at kids?”

Phil raised a brow, tilting his head slightly in Techno’s direction.

“Raiders don’t shoot kids.” He defended, folding his arms. “At least I didn’t. And I’d never heard of anyone who did.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen, but we’ve got no proof.” He sighed and shook his head. “This is… a lot.”

“Come on.” Techno whispered, reaching down to grab Phil’s arm gently. “They’ll survive for tonight. You look beat.”

Phil chuckled as he turned away, giving him a long look that the younger contested for a moment, a silent battle to see which of them would win. In the end though Techno was the one to huff out a scoff through his nose, give Phil’s arm a reassuring squeeze, before heading off to get prepared for bed himself, leaving Phil to his own devices.

After sewing a few stitches into the kid’s ankle he brushed some antiseptic over his palms, expertly wrapping them with gauze. Now was time for the big problem. “Okay…” He sighed, rubbing his hands together nervously as he lifted the kid’s shirt to once again reveal the bruised area of his hip. “Let’s see what you have going on here, hm?”

With a shaky sigh, brushing a thumb over the injury and grabbing Techno’s knife once more, he made a small incision into the muddled purple-and-brown bruise. Blood immediately began pouring from the wound the moment it was opened, a red spurt splattering against the collar of Phil’s shirt before the steady flow dribbled down his side, coloring his hip and staining the waist of his jeans.

“Shit—” He grabbed a towel from the cot beside him and hastily wiping away the blood. As he’d thought, there was something causing a build-up of blood in the muscle around his hip. He tucked the towel under his side and watched, gently pressing around the perimeter of the wound as more blood flowed, staining a section of the towel deep red.

After a minute it tapered down to a trickle before stopping. It was just as he’d hoped. there’d been an internal injury, but due to the size of the outer lesion the blood hadn’t had time to exit, forming a tense, painful bruise. He took a surgical needle from his bag and threaded it smoothly, closing the wound with four quick swipes. The coloration would ease over the next few days, by the time he was well enough to walk it would be nearly healed.

He set his tools down on a rag and wiped his hands, turning from the cot to head upstairs for the night when he stopped himself, glancing back down at the boy’s hands. His tied wrists. He had no way of knowing why they’d been tied, if the brown-haired boy had tied them or not, but he knew one thing. No one was going to be bound up in his house. Not so long as he was in charge. He took the boy’s wrists in one hand, using Techno’s knife to free him of his restraints.

Something irked him about those laces. The thought of it kept him awake for the better half of the night despite being bone-tired, right down to the marrow. He laid facing the ceiling, arms propped behind his head as he studied the wood boards above him.

Techno slept like a rock across the room. He didn’t understand how he could do it, Wilbur was downstairs with a case of hypothermia, and they had a pair of complete strangers in their cots who were two feet away from death’s doorstep. He sighed, wiping a hand down his face and itching his cheek with blunt nails as he thought it through. Had the boys been friends? Enemies? Was it safe to leave them alone down there? What if they woke up? Would they try to kill one another? Was the blonde kid dangerous, or the other way around?

He could imagine the kid sitting against a wall of a dark room, gnawing desperately at the joint between the shoelaces to tear them apart, pulling and pulling with his wrists until finally they snapped. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and sighed through his nose.

Something else. Think of something else.

Wilbur was going to be alright. That was a decent thought. He’d been out there for far longer than he should have, but he’d had a heavy coat boots and a hat to keep him warm. He was most concerned about his hands.

He sighed loudly, pressing the heels of his palms into his closed eyes, flashes of color erupted in his vision. His arms fell to his sides and he glared at the ceiling. They had no clue what they were in for, and there was no way to find out until those boys woke up. The storm had started two days ago, and based on their condition they’d been out there much longer. They’d had gloves or blankets at some point though, since their hands hadn’t shown the same level of cold exposure. They had a lot of little injuries, but the biggest concern for both of them was pneumonia. Out in that cold, breathing in ice and snow, it wouldn’t take much to make it happen.

“If you keep sighin’ I’m gonna wrap gauze around your head ’til you can’t open your mouth.” Techno groaned from across the room, turning onto his back and looking over at Phil.

“There’s something bugging me.” He whispered, propping himself up on his elbows. “That blonde kid had laces around his wrists, and Tubbo doesn’t have any laces in his shoes.”

“…Tubbo?”

He waved his hand dismissively in his direction. “Wilbur got his name when he found them. But that’s weird. Isn’t it? The laces? Doesn’t that give you a bad feeling?”

He sighed through his nose, reaching up both hands to rub at his face. “Yes. It’s weird. It gives me a bad feeling. We can cuff him to the cot if that would make you feel better. But based on what I saw he won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. That goes for both of ‘em.”

Phil sighed, closing his eyes. “You’re right. No, you’re right. We’ll see what happens when they wake up. I just… hope they won’t be at one another’s throats to moment they do.”

“We’ll be able to deal with that if it happens.” Techno replied, shaking his head. “You worry too much about things that haven’t happened yet.”

“It’s kept me alive this long.” He laughed softly. “I’ll try to think quietly Tech.” He whispered. “Try to get some sleep.”

“You do the same.” He replied, rolling back onto his side, away from Phil. It took mere moments for Phil to notice a significant shift in the younger man’s breathing, and for light snoring to begin. He rolled his eyes in amazement and shaken his head before closing his own eyes.

________________________________________

The next morning all was silent at the Station. Wilbur spent the night on a sleeping bag at the back of the first floor, and was still sleeping by the time Phil and Techno were awake, a strange scenario for both of them. They hovered anxiously near him, Phil being the medic, knelt beside him while Techno leaned against the wall a few inches back, glancing in Wilbur’s direction as they whispered to one another.

“Should we wake him?” He mumbled, arms crossed over his chest.

Phil pressed the back of his palm to Wilbur’s forehead, and then his cheek, then sighed through his nose as his arm dropped back to his side. Frostbite dappled his cheeks, dusting them in red, the skin around his eyes and nose patchy and irritated, the same with his chest and legs. And a high fever too.

“…Let him be, he needs the rest.” He whispered, shaking his head. He stood back up and gave Techno a glance, nodding in the direction of the strangers. “Go check on Tubbo for me.”

Techno scoffed as he turned around and weaved his way through the crates and cots that took up the majority of the main level’s floorspace. Phil gave him a look, raising a brow. “Something funny, Tech?”

“There’s no way the kid’s name is ‘Tubbo’. Either Wilbur misheard him, my hunch, or he lied, which is also believable.”

“Why would he lie?” He didn’t look up from where he was adjusting the edges of the blanket on the kid’s cot. “I’ve been in the same spot they’re in right now and trust me, I don’t think I would have the brain power to come up with a lie even if I’d wanted to.”

Techno paused, looking back up at Phil in muted bewilderment. “…Every once in a while there are these moments where you let something slip, I wonder if you do it on purpose, and I have an internal breakdown for the rest of the day wondering who the hell you are.”

Phil smirked. “Just check on the kid, Tech.”

Techno paused and gave Phil a long look before returning to the task at hand, checking the boy’s pulse and the status of his fever. “Not a flinch. Fever’s still up… and his pulse is weaker.” He pressed his hands to his knees to stand, groaning softly before heading toward the stairs. “I’ll grab a stimpak, d’you need one for him?”

“Woah woah woah!” Phil blocked his path, placing a hand against his chest. “Stimpaks can’t cure everything, they won’t do anything for a fever, and they sure as hell won’t do anything for frostbite or starvation.”

Techno, confused, took a step back and glanced over his shoulder at the kids. “…Using a stimpak would help their physical injuries, and they have plenty of those. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Simpaks are pure adrenaline, and depending on who puts ‘em together it could have a dozen other things in there with it.” He leaned against the wall, putting some space between them without allowing him through. “It’s counter-intuitive, but stimpacks will only make things worse. Maybe once we get this fever under control, maybe then stimpacks will be an option.”

Techno took another step back, sticking his tongue in his cheek and biting down. He hummed sharply, but said nothing else as he turned around and found a seat on a crate near the middle of the room. Phil let him be, finishing up his check on the blonde kid before finding a seat of his own across from Techno, back against a support beam behind him.

The station was deathly silent other than the occasional breeze hitting the outer walls from the west, leaving Phil and Techno in an amicable yet anxious silence. On a normal day Wilbur was the first awake. He was the liveliest out of the three of them, always pacing, making noise whether it was with his radio, snapping his fingers, singing, or reading loudly— Phil had laughed when Techno complained about how loud Wilbur was when he read. He felt indestructible. It was odd to see him like this.

Dogmeat stayed dedicatedly at his side, Phil wouldn’t have expected anything less from the most loyal dog he’d ever met. Dogmeat was definitely one of a kind, and to him Wilbur was made of solid gold. While he did occasionally give the two strangers in their midst a good sniff, he always found his way back to Wilbur’s side. He laid over Wilbur’s legs, and lifted his head when he heard Phil’s quiet footsteps approach, ears swiveled to train on his quiet voice.

He chuckled, reaching over to rub between the dog’s ears. “Hey, troublemaker.” Dogmeat ducked out from under his hand and rested his chin on Phil’s wrist, licking his arm one before staring up at him with big, bright golden eyes.

Wilbur groaned, pulling Phil’s focus away from the dog and onto him, one hand going to run through his hair, the other resting over his chest. His eyes slowly opened, sighing deeply once he realized where he was, and who he was with. He visibly relaxed back onto the sleeping bag, eyes half-closed but decidedly awake.

“Hey.” Phil whispered, patting Wilbur’s chest once. “How are you feeling?”

He hesitated for a moment, a reflex he’d learned to Phil’s worry. But there was no use hiding how he felt. “My arms hurt pretty bad.” He adjusted his position, moving his shoulders up and down on the sleeping bag, pulling a wince from between his teeth. Phil pressed his hand down on his chest, keeping him grounded.

“You carried two kids across a field for about four miles. In a blizzard.” Techno pointed out dully, raising a brow at him as if to say ’You should have seen this coming.’

“Not now.” Phil whispered, tossing a half-hearted glare in the direction of the opposite end of the room. “Go boil some water over the fire.”

“I’m being punished!” He cried dramatically, tossing his head back as he headed for the door, stepping out into the chilled morning air. “This is what being punished looks like Wilbur, I know you’ve never experienced it before, but it’s an example you could learn from.”

Phil chuckled, looking at the now closed front for for a moment longer before turning back to Wilbur in front of him. “You have a fever. You’re gonna stay put here for the rest of the day, alright?”

“How’re they doin’?” He asked, ignoring Phil question instead to lean up to get a look at the boy laying in the cot nearest to them. Phil again pressed down on him, easily keeping him prone to the floor.

“They haven’t woken up yet, but the blonde kid’s pulse is stronger now.” He hesitated, wondering if he should say what he was about to say. “…I was worried he wouldn’t make it through the night. But he’s holding on. They both are.”

Wilbur sighed deeply, leaning his head back against the pillow under him, his eyes falling closed. “Thank fuck, they’re alive.”

Phil blinked in surprise, it hadn’t occurred to him until that moment that Wilbur wouldn’t have known whether the boys had been alive or dead as he carried them. That as he walked for miles and miles, he wasn’t sure whether he was carrying two boys… or two bodies.

“Yes, they are alive.” He reassured with more conviction than he'd had at first. “They’re already doing much better than when you brought them in.”

“But they haven’t woken up yet?” He muttered again, opening his eyes to look up at Phil again with furrowed brows.

“…No, not yet.”

Chapter Text

Letters jittered across the page as Wilbur turned it, resting his thumb in the center of the book as he read aloud. His usual reading pace was halved, reduced to a slow drawl riddled with mistakes. Fever colored his cheeks and forehead, and though his stomach ached and muscles complained, reading was a great comfort to him. He was willing to put himself through some physical aching to achieve the warmth that came from reading one of his favorite books.

He rested his head against the edge of Tubbo’s cot as he read aloud, his thumb gently grazing the edge of the pages, toying with the idea of a paper cut. He propped the book up in his hand and rested his elbow on the pillow, palm pressed to his cheek.

“He started down the rough wooden steps, ducked his head and then flicked the lighter and swung the flame out over the darkness like an offering. Coldness and damp. An ungodly stench. The boy clutched at his coat. He could see part of a stone wall, clay floor, an old mattress darkly stained.

He crouched and stepped down again and held out the light. Huddled against the back wall were naked people, male and female, trying to hide, shielding their faces with their hands. On the mattress lay a man with his legs gone to the hip and the stumps of them blackened and burnt. The smell was hideous.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

Then one by one they turned and blinked in the pitiful light. “Help us,” they whispered. “Please help us.”

“Christ,” he said. “Oh Christ.” He turned and grabbed the boy. “Hurry,” he said. “Hurry.” He'd dropped the lighter. No time to look. He pushed the boy up the stairs.

“Help us,” they called.

Hurry. A bearded face appeared blinking at the foot of the stairs. “Please,” he called. “Please.

Hurry. For God's sake hurry. He shoved the boy through the hatch and sent him sprawling. He stood and got hold of the door and swung it over and let it slam down. He turned to grab the boy, but he’d gotten up and was doing his little dance of terror.

“For the love of God will you come on,” he hissed. But the boy was pointing out the window and when he looked he went cold all over. Coming across the field toward the house were four bearded men and two women. He grabbed the boy by the hand. “Christ,” he said. “Run. Run.”

“Is that supposed to comfort them?”

He next sentence died in his throat, a surprised sound punctuating it’s end. He raised his head, a pinched nerve at the back of his neck sending a wave of pain down his spine at the sudden motion. Across the room Techno sat on an old stool, facing him with an expression that could have been boredom to someone else, but Wilbur could see the edge in his eyes. He had a bone to pick. He tucked his index finger between the pages to mark his spot and softly closed the book around it, the weak cover bending as he did.

“It’s a good story, you came in at a poor moment.”

“I’ve been sittin’ here a while.” He tapped an impatient finger against his knee. “You think we're going to die, don’t you? We're not going to die, Why do you think we're going to die? Do you think I lie to you?.” He parroted an earlier line, voice exaggeratedly rough and growly, mimicking the man from the story. “‘You think I might lie to you about dying’ ‘It takes a long time to die from starvation’.” Don’t you have anything lighter to read? No wonder you’re such a melodrama all the time.”

“I’ve been in the middle of this one a while, thought I should finish it before starting something else.” He muttered defensively, bunching his shoulders up as he settled against the wall again, opening to his marked page. “Sorry if you find it annoying.”

“Why bother with this? They’re dead asleep, it’s not like they—”

“Don’t.” He glared daggers over the edge of his book. “Don’t say— that word.”

He scoffed, tilting his head back against the support beam as he rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, you are so paranoid. Saying ‘dead’ won’t do anything. There’s no God waiting for one of us to say ’die’.”

“Get out!” He snapped, his thin patience finally breaking. He pressed his hands to the ground as though to stand, though in his state he wasn’t sure he’d actually be able to. His voice, hoarse with sickness, cracked in awkward places. But those stilts and pitches brought a fiery quality to the demand that his usual tone wouldn’t have possessed. He smacked the book shut once more and pushed himself up from the floor. “If you must be an ass, do it somewhere else!”

Dogmeat, who up until that point had laid under the nameless boy’s cot, muzzle in his paws, raised his head and growled low in his throat. A quiet warning.

Techno cursed under his breath, unimpressed but not willing to wait for Wilbur’s bluff to call itself. He meandered over to the door, shrugging on his heavy winter coat before stepping out into the snow. The door shut with a muted finality that Wilbur scoffed at, rolling his eyes as he stared off at no particular corner of the room.

“Bastard.” He leaned his temple back against the edge of Tubbo’s cot. “Sorry about him. He’s… well, he gets like that sometimes.” He opened the book up again and scanned the page, finding his spot once more about halfway down, the first large paragraph after the thin list of dialogue between the man and the boy. He cleared his throat before carrying on.

________________________________________

Since Wilbur was out of commission as their scavenger for at least the next week, Phil had volunteered to take up the task so long as he promised he’d take over Phil’s job of ‘guarding’ the train station, which basically meant shooting anyone who came through the door that wasn’t Phil or Techno.

He adjusted the straps of his rucksack, hiking it up as he stepped over a lifted section of asphalt, staring up at the buildings crumbling around him. There wasn’t much to find in the outer buildings, he and Wilbur weren’t the only ones scavenging through the remnants of the city. Most of the higher value products: food, lighters, weapons, are all either in tight-security buildings or closer to the city’s center where raiders and mutants roamed free.

His first issue was getting there. Raiders had a monopoly on all the major streets and overpasses, so in order to make it past them the trip was either tripled or quadrupled in time depending on which route you took. Luckily Wilbur had a special path he’d mapped out that used the sewer system to bypass a majority of the raider posts.

He had Wilbur write it out on a scrap of paper, and while the kid wasn’t a cartographer by any stretch of the imagination, the directions were legible and fairly coherent. Due to the nature of the route a normal map wouldn’t be much help, so instead of tracing a path on a city map he’d simply listed the different turns he’d have to take in order. Once he came to the end of the list there should be a manhole with a retractable ladder he could use to reach the surface.

While being underground meant he was safe from any prying eyes, it only took one raider checking the drains to bring a brigade down on his head. There was also the danger of ghouls, who thrived in the pitch black dank conditions underground. But Wilbur had reassured him that he’d cleared the tunnels of ghouls already. Unless he went around opening doors that he shouldn’t, he wouldn’t be bothered.

To give Wilbur credit where credit was due, scavving was not an easy job. Out of the three of them, his work was the riskiest, and involved a lot of luck. The goal of scavenging was to return with everything you could possibly carry and then some, which meant going in with the bare minimum for of supplies. Even the entails were too much according to him. Phil’s normal garb consisted of heavy metal armor, a packed bag and a giant gun strapped to his back. All that gear didn’t meld well with Wilbur’s setup.

“You’ve gotta put more faith in speed than firepower.” He’s muttered as Phil sat beside him on the floor. “You’ve got a pistol with five, max six rounds per clip, and a big empty bag, probably more than one. It’s better to have one big bag than two or three small ones, and don’t worry about night gear, you won’t be out there more than five or six hours.”

“No armor? No weapons?” He asked shaking his head.

“Nope.” Wilbur replied, popping the ‘p’. “It only slows me down. Priority one is to get your stash safe. Priority two is staying alive. Both require you to be fast on your feet.”

“I’m starting to question your choice in profession, Wil.” He joked nervously.

He was near the end of the sewer now, he’d be resurfacing soon. His heart hammered at the thought. Throughout his venture heard heavy gunfire and explosions were unending overhead, some even powerful enough to shake the ground he stood on, but nothing so devastating as to expose the tunnels.

He whistled nervously, one hand ghosting over the pistol on his belt. He hadn’t been forced to confront anything thus far, just as Wilbur had promised, but now came the big question. The Raiders’ territory was constantly changing and expanding, places that had no raider presence one week could be crawling with them the next.

“Wil…” He breathed his name like a prayer, squeezing his eyes closed as he approached the ladder. Above him was the manhole cover just as he’d promised, a few holes in the metal allowing dull grey sunlight to peek through. A crude metal bar bent into the shape of a lever to the right of the ladder allowed it to extend to the floor, its legs hitting the concrete with a loud ‘CLANG!’ That echoed off the cavernous walls.

He didn’t waste a second, frantically climbing the ladder. It was too heavy to move like that though so he instead braced his forearms against it and pushed. He pushed as hard as he could, and by some stroke of luck the cover caught the edge of the concrete, allowing him to angle it up and catch the edge with his fingers, pushing it fully out of his way.

Wilbur had coached him on the battle plans he ran through before going out. He had an excellent grasp on the raiders motions as a group, their patterns of movement, he knew which compounds were stronger than others, which he could sneak past and which he needed to go out of his way to avoid.

He peeked out hesitantly first, rising up just far enough to clear the street before pushing the cover off completely, staying in a low crouch until he found cover behind one of the larger buildings to his left. Wilbur’s words echoed in his head:

‘You’re not there to take the raiders down. Your pistol is for defense, not offense. Grab what looks useful and get the hell out of there.’

________________________________________

Wilbur’s eyes opened slowly as he came back to consciousness, lifting his head from where his neck bent awkwardly behind him. He reached up and rubbed sleep from his eyes, setting his pistol down in his lap before doing so. His vision swam as he sighed, leaning over to the side table and setting the pistol there.

Before he’d left Phil had essentially told him to ‘be good’ while he was off doing his job, leaving him with a pat on the head as he walked out the door. He spent his time sitting in his sleeping bag on the floor, pistol in hand. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t fall asleep sitting there for an hour or two at a time.

He felt stupid and weak, his mind working slowly and his body aching. It was nice to feel like he had some responsibility though, a purpose, contribution, but he knew full-well Phil was still doing all his own work after they went to sleep at night. In the morning their supplies were organized and inventoried, weapons cleaned, clothes and tools where they were meant to be, rations prepared, ready to cook and eat. That’s just how he was.

Honestly Wilbur had no idea how anyone put up with the guy’s constant mothering before he and Techno came along. He’d never asked him about it, but part of him was convinced Phil must have a family out there in the wastes. A wife, maybe a kid too. At least he must’ve at some point if not now. If not it was a damn shame. The guy had a heart the size of North America.

The front door suddenly burst open, Wilbur scrambled to grab his pistol off the table, but suddenly stopped with a relieved look when he finally saw Phil, red-faced and grinning in the doorway.

“Wilbur!” He called, snow billowing against his back before he pushed it closed, peeling off his coat with a trembling sigh and tossing it onto the clothes pile by the door along with his hat and gloves. He looked ridiculous then, hair stuck to his face with snow water and a bit of sweat.

“What’s happened?” He asked, voice crackling with his raised pitch. He set his gun back on the table as he tried to stand, leaning agains the wall with shaking legs.

“Look.” He grinned, tossing a can in Wilbur’s direction. He reach a hand up to catch it, fumbling with it for a moment before turning it in his hands.

“…Chicken Noodle?”

“Found ‘em stocked in a kitchen cabinet downtown, there were three of them. Whole bunch of other stuff too, but I thought that’d cheer you up a bit.”

Wilbur smiled up at him, handing the can back as Phil walked up to him. “That’ll help?”

“Mhm.” He knelt on one knee next to Tubbo, and raised a hand to his face, still freezing cold from the wind and ice outside. Despite his raging fever he made no motion at the touch. Not even a flinch. His face completely slack, numb to the world around him.

“…We need to get something in their systems soon.” He muttered, more to himself than to either of them, or even Wilbur. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket, slicing through the can’s top with a bit of effort. “Gentle stuff like this’ll do more than you’d think. If we can get it into ‘em they’ll actually be able to keep it down.”

Phil strode in, the front door flapping once in the wind before closing, the latch falling into place as Wilbur turned to follow him, his shoulders tensed and hunched forward.

“I… I’m sorry.” He muttered suddenly, catching Phil by surprise with the way his voice trembled.

He looked over his shoulder, turning around when he saw the dejected look on his face. “Wil?” He whispered, raising a brow. “What—?”

“I’ve been so useless, I can’t do anything.” He pulled his arms tightly around himself, his eyes glued to the floor.

“What?” Phil leaned back and gave him a long look, one of confusion and bewilderment. “You’ve been helping plenty. What’s with you?”

“Techno’s upset with me ‘cause of them,” His voice turned breathy, nearly frantic as he looked at either of the boys, trying to focus on anything aside from Phil’s face, his own burning with shame. “I— he kept saying things like ‘die’… I made them you guys’ problem when I-I’m the one who brought ‘em here, Dogmeat ran off, a-and I followed after him right after even though you said— and I brought them back ‘cause, ‘cause—”

Phil’s expression darkened for a moment at the thought of Techno before he shook off the feeling, focusing on the problem at hand. “You brought them here because we’re family. That’s what family does. Those kids aren’t your problem. They’re no ones. That’s why you took responsibility. No one told you to help them. No one told you to carry them all that way. You did that on your own. It’ an honorable thing.”

Phil refused to let him turn away, but he couldn’t stop Wilbur from turning his head, his eyes closed as he tried to ignore what Phil was saying.

“I’m proud of you for it. You’re a good man Wil. You have a kind heart. Techno has his way of doing things, and he’s a good man too. We’re all trying to be the best men this world allows us to be.” He squeezed his shoulders, leaning down to catch his eye. “Don’t be ashamed of a good thing. Techno can feel whatever way he pleases about it. That’s none of your business and none of mine, and you can tell him that next time he says something to you about it.”

He sighed shakily, a few tears dripping to the floor as he looked up, giving Phil a small nod. That seemed to be enough though, as he stepped away, letting go of his shoulders. “Now, I’m going to set up a fire outside. Keep those boys good company while I’m gone.”

“Yessir.” He muttered, offering a two-fingered salute.

“Good man.” He replied, nodding again before closing the door behind him.

The wind whistled in his ears as he trudged toward the tree line, tensing and un-tensing his fists as he thought about what he was going to say. He could hear Techno’s axe from across the field, it wasn’t hard to find exactly where he was getting firewood.

He and Wilbur had a way of speaking to one another that some might think was… harsh. Normally it didn’t seem to phase Wilbur at all, he thrived on the banter, and Phil wasn’t one to stop a good thing going. But Techno could take things too far, and with Wilbur in a vulnerable place he wouldn’t doubt the younger man might take advantage of him purely for the entertainment of it.

That was something Techno had always had. In the two or three years Phil had come to know him he’d seen it on more than one occasion. He loved the feeling of watching a bug squirm beneath the treads of his boot. Normally it didn’t matter much, but those instincts, whatever they were, came out in the way he spoke too. To Wilbur, to himself.

He was a good man, and Phil would defend him on that fact to the grave, just as he knew Wilbur would. He just needed to be reminded of the line in the same every so often.

“Techno!”

He looked up, lifting the axe in his hands easily and resting it over his shoulder as he turned back, a trail if footsteps through the foot-deep snow connecting with the figure of Phil, his blond hair whipping around in the wind as he approached.

They were a decent way away from the train station, it sat like a coffee mug on a shelf in the distance, the glow of yellow light illuminating through the upper windows and doorway.

“Techno!” Phil called again.

“Here!” He replied, stepping more prominently out of the trees and waving a hand in his direction. He met Phil halfway from that point, a small part of him finding the bundled fashion of his scarf and fur-lined coat collar somewhat amusing.

They stepped into the shield of the forest, the whistling of the wind less biting between the tall trunks. “I heard you and Wilbur had an argument while I was gone.” He pulled his scarf down, revealing bright frost bitten cheeks and a puff of white mist from his mouth.

“It wasn’t bad, he’s being paranoid. He was reading out loud, I teased him about it, and of course he got defensive the way he always does. I’m sure he made it out like I said something terrible, didn’t he?”

“No, no, not really, no.” He shook his head, leaning against one of the nearby trees. “He said you were saying 'things like ‘die’.’ I didn’t get much more out of him than that.”

Techno exhaled, the sound turning into a distasteful chuckle as he leaned back, eyes toward the sky. “I said— I don’t even remember exactly what is was, wait no— no, I remember, I said they were ‘dead asleep’, and he snaps at me saying “don’t say that! Bah bah bah-” As if just saying it would do anything.”

“You know how Wilbur is.” He chided, folding his arms. “I know you’re fiends, you like to rile one another up from time to time, I know how it can help get him out of a mood sometimes. But right now he’s having a fit over it.”

“He has a fit over every little thing every few days or so, he needs to learn how to deal with his emotions. I’m not getting involved with this whole thing, unlike you two. The moment you get attached to something, anything, anyone, you’re just asking to get hurt.”

“That’s sort of what having relationships with anyone will do to you. You’re attached to Wilbur and I, aren’t you?”

“That’s different.” He said, folding his arms tightly over his chest. “It’s mutually beneficial for us all to work together. There’s safety in numbers, but not when those numbers can’t look out for themselves. I don’t want a kid looking out for me, and I don’t want to look out for a kid, let alone two of ‘em.”

“Well think about it like this: When you were a kid someone looked out for you didn’t they?”

“Yeah, my parents. The people who put me on this planet, they were the ones responsible for me.” Techno walked away at that point, swinging his axe up onto his shoulder. “Now I’m the one responsible for myself.”

Phil sighed, watching him leave for a few seconds before shaking his head and running after him, boots crunching through the smooth snow cover. “Okay, but these kids don’t have parents to look after them.”

“Who says they don’t? They’re probably out there somewhere, and what makes that any of my business?” Techno responded, not bothering to look at Phil behind him as he began examining a tree to decide if it would make decent firewood.

“They were out on their own, hurt and starving for weeks, months maybe. If they’ve got parents somewhere out there, I’d sooner take them in myself then give them back. You’re telling me if you were alone, hurt and starving, you wouldn’t want someone to help you?”

Techno lifted his axe and tested his mark against the tree, swinging it a few times before committing. He sent a sharp chop into its base, then another before leaning back with a sigh, rolling his shoulders. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying it’s no one’s responsibility but mine that I was in that situation. So it’s no one’s responsibility but mine to get out of it.”

“You’d rather we throw them out into the snow than take care of them, is that it?” He shouted as he swung his axe at the tree a third time.

The axe hit again. “You’re being emotional.”

Another hit. “And you’re being a stone cold bastard!!”

Techno chuckled, pulling his axe from the trunk of the tree with a hearty tug.

Exasperated, Phil threw his hands up in the air, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Whatever! I can’t believe you sometimes.” He turned on his heel and stormed back toward the train station, disrupting the cottony silence of the snowfield with his heavy footfalls.

He pushed the door open and closed it loudly, pulling Wilbur’s head up from where he’d been resting it on the edge of one of the cots, eyes bleary and expression concerned. He sighed through his nose as he tore his gloves off, tossing them to the side amongst the pile of all their other winter clothes.

“What’s wrong?”

He sighed, pulling the scarf from his neck and throwing it into the pile. “Techno’s being an asshole.”

“You talked to him?” He pushed himself up from his place on the floor, dusting his pants off and shaking his numb legs. “What did he say?”

He walked over to where Wilbur was settled between the two cots and squeezed in beside him, unthreading the laces of his boots before tossing them off with another sigh. “Sometimes I can’t stand either of you,” he rolled his eyes in his direction, “and sometimes it’s just one I don’t like.”

Wilbur chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I swear, I spend more time mad at him than I do being happy.”

Phil looked down, smile fading. “…We don’t spend much time being happy these days.”

They sat together against the wall for a long while, nothing but the sounds of the house around them to mark the time as it passed. The creaks and groans. Wilbur looked down, thumbing through the pages of his book idly as Phil stared at the ceiling in thought.

He opened his eyes and hummed suddenly, remembering the soup cooking outside as he pushed himself to his feet, leaving Wilbur behind, confused and bewildered as he ran out the door to check on it. It creaked and slammed against the doorframe behind him as he stumbled to a stop. The pot was steaming, near boiling but thankfully when he opened the lid it looked perfectly fine, if a bit hot to be eaten straight away. No matter. He took the ladle that hung on a hook to the side of the tripod and scooped up a serving. They kept a stack of metal bowls next to the fire pit out of convenience’s sake, so he had to pour out a pile of snow before he was able to ladle the soup into it.

Wilbur was there to open the door for him as he walked back up the stairs, but the moment he saw the bowl in his hands he seemed to remember Phil’s original reason for stepping outside in the first place, just as he had.

“Shit—” He cursed under his breath as he walked inside, shaking off the snow from the cuffs of his pants as he made his way to the back of the station where the boys laid in their cots. “I’d be a terrible father.” He muttered as he knelt beside the blond boy’s bedside. “Forgetting something so simple—”

Wilbur walked up beside him, watching from a few feet back as he carefully raised the kid’s head and slowly fed the soup to him with the utmost care and patience. “…I dunno.” He muttered. “I think you’d do fine.”

Phil scoffed, shaking his head. “Your vote of confidence is appreciated.” He looked over his shoulder, seeing that familiar indecisiveness on Wilbur’s face as silence fell over the room once more. “…Why don’t you read more of that story. I heard you the other day.”

“You mean ‘The Road’? You… really wanna hear it?” He raised a brow, hesitantly picking it up and opening to the most recent dog-eared page. “Just as a warning it’s, kind of a downer. But it has some high points.”

“What I remember of it seemed interesting. In a sad, melancholy kind of way.” He nodded. “Go on.”

“It’s a good story, you could borrow my book sometime and read the whole thing.”

Phil hummed, leaning his head back against the wall as he closed his eyes. That kind of hum that comes when saying ‘no’ is the wrong thing to do. “Maybe. Just read from where you’ve left off and then I’ll decide.” Wilbur nodded, and leaned his head against Phil’s shoulder, tucking his arms in close.

________________________________________

The front door opened again hours later after the sun had lowered, and with it the temperature, forcing Techno back inside. They looked up simultaneously from where they’d been sitting— Wilbur’s focus on the book, Phil half-asleep beside him —to see him shedding his coat, gently kicking the door closed with the heel of his boot.

They eyed one other warily, neither sure how to traverses the thick air between them. Neither one sure of how the other felt. Techno strode across the room, settling on a sleeping bag on the opposite end of the room, hands tucked behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, chewing on nothing.

“…I’ll make us some dinner.” Phil said softly, mostly to Wilbur before he shifted to stand. He grabbed the two remaining cans of soup he’d brought back from his scavenging trip before throwing on his coat, escaping into the night. In his absence Wilbur sank down to lay flat on the floor, looking up at the ceiling with a strangely intense, pained look on his face. So much so that he looked on the verge of tears.

Techno glanced over, an empathetic winkle forming between his brows as Wilbur made an involuntary noise of discomfort. He wasn’t one to pity people, particularly his friends, and especially not someone he respected as much as Wilbur. But he couldn’t help but feel bad for him.

Sensing eyes on his back Wilbur froze, shoulders tense, before turning onto his other side and looking over at Techno with a difficult-to-parse expression. Somewhat unfocused, looking less at him and more through him.

“What?” He asked, raising a brow. A hint of annoyance in his tone, a threat of unpleasantry.

“…Nothing.” He looked away, focusing on something else across the room. “…I don’t feel well.” He added on a moment later. His face, already red with fever, somehow deepened in color.

“What d’you want me to do?” Techno asked, the gruffness and sarcasm strangely absent from the question. Wilbur paused, not having expecting such a genuine response from him. “It’s your arms. They’re bothering you aren’t they?”

“…They’re sore.” He relented weakly.

“I could help, if you want.” Techno offered, though he didn’t sound very sure of himself. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you though.”

“Trust me, you can’t make it worse.”

Techno watched him for another minute, the two lapsing into silence before he finally let out a long sigh and pushed himself to his feet. He crossed the length of floor between them easily and sat back down cross-legged beside him, reaching down to press his fingertips into Wilbur’s bicep. Immediately he grimaced, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth and exhaling a shuddering gasp as Techno pressed harder, moving his fingers in circles.

“Am I hurting you?” He asked, pausing.

“Yeah,“ Wilbur bit out, teeth clenched tightly. “Yeah, but it’s alright.”

He nodded again, pressing on his arms despite Wilbur’s painful exclamations. He asked periodically if it was too much, if he wanted him to stop, but he always claimed it felt better than doing nothing. “Carrying two kids for miles and miles is going to do that to you. Your muscles weren’t used to the strain, it’s a miracle you didn’t tear anything.” He chided as he pressed his thumb into Wilbur’s arm.

“Okay— stop.” He finally conceded, sighing heavily as Techno pulled his hands away. “Fuck.”

“…I’m sorry.” Techno muttered.

“No, it’s alright, honest. I asked, and it did help—”

“No, not that. About what I said. Earlier.”

“Huh?” Wilbur asked, lifting his head in confusion.

Techno looked away, and if there was one word Wilbur never thought he would ever use to describe him, it was ‘sheepish’. But that’s exactly the expression he saw on Techno’s face. He drew himself inward, eyes cast to the floor. “I’m sorry for teasing you about the whole ‘reading’ thing. And saying… the other thing. That I said. Before.”

Wilbur chuckled, resting his head back on the floor with a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I—” Techno sighed, clicking his teeth together. “I know I don’t always show it but I worry about you a hell of a lot Wil. You’re such a…”

Wilbur’s brow furrowed, a defensive look blooming on his face as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. “I’m a what?”

Techno pressed his lips tightly together, exhaling through his nose. “You’ve got such a big heart. I worry sometimes that you care about everyone else accept yourself. You ran out into that storm ‘cause your dog was barking—”

“Dogmeat wouldn’t lead me to anything I couldn’t handle.” He defended, shaking his head. “He’s a smart—”

“I’m glad you trust him,” Techno interrupted, “I am, but Phil and I were left S-O-L while you were gone. Phil was beside himself, and to be honest kid, so was I. You can’t do shit like that, I’m in my twenties and my hair is turning white.”

“Techno, I’m in my twenties.” He chuckled, but it quickly turned to a frown when he saw the look on Techno’s face, something indescribable about his eyes, Wilbur half expected him to reach down and grab him by the throat. “I— what I mean is just, we’re both responsible for ourselves, right?”

“Yeah, but being responsible for yourself requires the ability to be responsible. You need to worry about yourself, I know you trust Dogmeat, but you ran into a blizzard like it was nothing, and now you’re sick.” Techno leaned back and raked his nails through his hair as he began to pace in front of him. “You’d sooner jump in front of a bullet for me than dodge one heading for you. We look out for each other, but when you go dark like that I can’t look out for you.”

“…Oh.” He whispered, looking down at himself.

Techno chuckled, shaking his head. “Just— for future reference. We’ve known each other for three years, I’d hope you trust me enough to know I’ve got your back. If you’d wasted two seconds asking me to come with you, you probably wouldn’t be sitting here sick as you are.”

“I’m not that sick.” He countered weakly, though the look on Techno’s face was enough to make him eat his words.

He sighed, looking down at the book in Wilbur’s hands “…You can read.” He said, his eyes darting to the floor. “If you want. I won’t stop you, or interrupt or anything.”

Wilbur nodded and pulled the book from his pocket, flipping back to the dog-eared page.

“He dragged a footlocker across the floor between the bunks and covered it with a towel and set out the plates and cups and plastic utensils. He set out a bowl of biscuits covered with a hand towel and a plate of butter and a can of condensed milk. Salt and pepper. He looked at the boy. The boy looked drugged. He brought the frying pan from the stove and forked a piece of browned ham onto the boy's plate and scooped scrambled eggs from the other pan and ladled out spoonfuls of baked beans and poured coffee into their cups. The boy looked up at him.

“Go ahead,” he said, “don’t let it get cold.”

“What do I eat first?”

“Whatever you like.”

“Is this coffee?”

“Yes. Here. You put the butter on your biscuits. Like this.”

“Okay.”

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you feel okay?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Do you think we should thank the people?”

“The people?”

“The people who gave us all this.”

“Well. Yes, I guess we could do that.”

“Will you do it?”

“Why don’t you?”

“I don’t know how.”

“Yes you do. You know how to say thank you.” The boy sat staring at his plate. He seemed lost. The man was about to speak when he said:

“Dear people, thank you for all this food. We know that you saved it for yourself and if you were here we wouldn’t eat it no matter how hungry we were and we're sorry that you didn’t get to eat it and we hope that you're safe in heaven with God.”

Wilbur glanced up, noticing Phil and Techno’s faces as they listened. Phil’s eyes shined, and he couldn’t seem to look away even as they looked at one another. Techno had a similar gaze, though he had the wherewithal to glance to the side when Wilbur looked in his direction. He lowered his head back down, reading the final words on the page.

He looked up. “Is that okay?” he said.

“Yes. I think that's okay.”

Chapter Text

“Hit me again.” Techno tapped the table with the blunt nail of his middle finger, prompting Phil to lay a card face down in front of him that he quickly pulled into his hand, reorganizing them accordingly. Wilbur and Phil had managed to rope him into a few rounds of black jack, and while he’d been apprehensive at the start he appeared to be enjoying himself now that they’d started betting.

There wasn’t much they didn’t share. They held a group fund of caps, and while a majority of their medical supplies technically belonged to Phil, he was more than welcome to share. That being said, he did sometimes hold back, as did Techno and Wilbur. Currently on the table, Phil had a polished golden flip lighter, Wilbur offered one of his novels, and Techno put up a pair of leather gloves.

He bit the corner of his lip and sighed, tossing his hand onto the table, showing two kings and an eight. “I’m out.”

Phil glanced across the table. “Wil?”

He wriggled in his seat, a growing grin on his face he was attempting, poorly, to hide. “I’m ready. What’ve you got?”

He set down his cards, showing an ace and a jack.

“Hah!” Wilbur cheered, throwing down a two, five, six and seven. “I win!”

“Not so fast.” He reached forward, sliding Wil’s cards toward himself. “You’ve got twenty, not twenty-one.”

“Whaaat?” He whined, leaning forward to take the cards back into his hand. “I thought the goal was to not get twenty-one.”

“It’s not to go over twenty-one. Besides, if the house gets twenty one you automatically lose.” Phil explained, swiping the cards back into the deck as he began shuffling again, Wilbur’s muttered grumbling mixing into the background noise of wind and creaking wood.

Techno sighed and leaned back in his chair, inadvertently giving Wilbur a golden opportunity to reach a foot over and tip him forward again, jolting him as the front legs of his chair struck the floor with a ‘pop’. “God, I’m dy— I mean I’ve… gotta find somethin’ else to do. Phil, you got anything?”

“I’m still getting through that book.” Wilbur suggested as Phil tucked the cards into their box.

Techno made a face. “I said I don’t want to be bored, that doesn’t mean I want to be depressed.”

“Again.” Phil whispered under his breath, glancing at Wilbur with a smirk. He chuckled, the two elbowing one another as Techno stood and headed toward the door. Phil looked up, whistling sharply at his back. “Don’t open that, you’ll blow out all the candles.”

“I’m grabbing a drink.” He muttered, pulling the door open and quickly shutting it behind him, even so, the front half of the station’s candles extinguished. Phil cursed under his breath.

“Damnit! He’s relighting those himself, I’m not helpin’ this time.”

Wilbur shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand how he can drink something so cold, I’d rather spend time heating something and then drink it.”

Phil rolled his eyes, still perturbed by Techno’s antics before he leaned over, offering some plain advice. “If you drank beer you’d understand. I’d sooner drink a whole bottle of freezing vodka than a whole bottle of warm beer, no matter the size.”

As if to emphasize Phil’s point Techno returned at that moment, slipping through the door as quickly as possible with a pair of beers in one hand.

“You bastard, you’re relighting those candles yourself!” Phil chided, automatically outstretching his hand as Techno approached, offering one of the snow-covered bottles to him. “Sorry I didn’t grab you anything Wil, I didn’t know what you’d want.” He mumbled, though Wilbur was already waving him off halfway through the apology.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not thirsty.”

The two older men chuckled, clinking the necks of the brown bottles together as Wilbur removed himself from the table, choosing instead to check on the strangers.

It felt odd to call them strangers, considering he’d introduced himself to Tubbo, and learned his name. But it felt wrong to say ‘Tubbo and the other kid’, cause he was sure if he’d had the opportunity to learn the blonde’s name, he would’ve told him.

But the kid… his hands were cold as Wilbur reached down to hold one of them, his other hand resting on the boy’s chest. “…Phil…” He muttered, his brow furrowing as he leaned down. He and Techno were still talking loudly at the card table. “Phil!!”

Their jovial conversation paused, both of them turning toward him.

“He’s not breathing!”

“Shit—” Phil launched himself from the table, chair toppling to the floor as he crossed the room. He pressed two fingers roughly under the boy’s jaw, cursing again when he found his pulse weak and thready. “Back off.” He demanded, moving into the space Wilbur occupied before he had a chance to move himself.

Techno stood beside him a few feet away, pulling him back by the arm an inch or two to give Phil more space. They watched as he placed his hands over his chest and pumped his arms up and down, the legs of the cot scrapping the floor, shaking with the force of it. He placed his ear against the kid’s chest, muttering something under his breath as he started compressions again.

Techno didn’t dare breathe. Wilburs fingers dug into his arms anxiously, both of them watching in horror as Phil pressed and pressed his hands down again, and again, and again. He checked his heart, eyes darting microscopically, unseeing.

Finally after an eternity he pulled away, standing straight again. “He’s back, but he’s not looking good.”

“Holy shit.” Techno wrapped an arm around his shoulders as he stood, strength fading.

“What?!” Wilbur turned sharply, eyes wide. “What the hell do you mean? He was fine yesterday—”

“He’s been in a coma, Wil. They both have. There’s nothing ‘fine’ about either of them. We haven’t gotten anything in them since my last scavenging trip three days ago, and even that was only barely.”

Wilbur’s jaw clicked shut, his face hot and angry. Phil swallowed, tongue sticking in his throat.

“Wilbur.” He said, trying not to sound grave. But it was always when he was trying not to be that his voice gained its serious lilt, and Wilbur was so good at catching onto that tone. He tried not to pause, knowing he’d just hem and haw and choke it down if he didn’t do it all at once. “They’re… not going to get better. We need to start thinking about, about what we’re going to do when they, uh, when they—”

Wilbur’s face fell, his withered expression finally cracking. He was smart, a hell of a lot smarter than they gave him credit for most of the time. Phil didn’t need to spell it out for him to pick up the meaning of his words.

“They’re so little.” He whispered, slow to start but growing more adamant until Phil held a hand up to stop him. His voice trembled, quiet enough he would’ve missed it if he hadn’t watched the words fall from his mouth. “They’re so little, Phil.”

“They weren’t made for this.” Even as he tried to be brave, to be the support Wilbur needed in that moment, he couldn’t keep his own voice from sounding strained. “At this point it’s out of our hands. We don’t have a choice. We’ve done everything we could.”

“They were getting better.” He pleaded, though the moment he said it, he realized that it wasn’t true. Not really. Tubbo had spoken half a dozen words to him at the drive-in, and since then neither of them had done more than… breathe. And even that they’d done only barely.

“It’s not fair.” He spat suddenly, voice trembling with rage, teeth grinding together over every word.

“No.” Phil said, resolute and bitter in agreement. “It’s not.” He pulled him close, wrapping an arm around him and leaning in. “If you have something you need to say, anything, you need to say it now.” He warned, pulling back to see new tears dripping down the young man’s face. He reached up, cupping a gloved hand around Wilbur’s cheek, gently brushing one away with his thumb.

“It’s not—”

“It’s not. I know it’s not.”

________________________________________

Wilbur watched the distant hills with a dead stare, little more than a suggestion through the harsh curtain of snow pelting them. He stood on the porch, a mug of steaming hot water warming his trembling hands. Phil was in the same position, each of them bundled in their warmest winter clothes while Techno took a minute inside to say his goodbyes.

It surprised him when he’d asked to talk at all, let alone go in first. Ever since Wilbur brought them home Techno had been against their presence. Aggressively against it. But when he’d heard his voice, soft, almost pleading as he asked to have a few minutes… he was sure he must’ve missed something. Phil had cast a worried look in Wilbur’s direction when he’d asked, but he’d nodded along without complaint. If he had something to say, he wasn’t going to deny him that.

They said nothing as they stood on the porch, the storm beyond them like a black roiling ocean, wind tearing at their coats. Yet even in the chaos the porch stood like a bubble, protecting them from its brunt, allowing them to view it as though through glass.

He turned toward the station just as a shadow cast over the frosted glass of the front door. It swung open suddenly, forcing him to stumble backwards as Techno stepped out, eyes red-rimmed with a sharp inhale through his nose. He glanced sharply in Wilbur’s direction, the two catching one another’s gazes for a fraction of a second. For Wilbur it felt like an eternity, he could see every wrinkle of Techno’s face, the redness of his nose and cheeks, the tremble of his jaw like he was clenching it tight, trapping something wild inside.

Then it passed. He stepped off the porch muttering something about firewood as he headed into the mist, toward the forest, though he didn’t stop to grab his axe. Phil called after him, cursing sharply as he stumbled down the snow-covered porch steps, leaving Wilbur standing alone.

He waited a few seconds, staring with wide eyes into the storm as the sounds of Phil’s shouting mixed with the wind, their forms dissolving into the flurries. After a few more seconds the calls disintegrated into nothing. He turned, glancing one last time toward the trees before opening the door to step inside.

His boots thudded against the floorboards with a dreadful finality that made him want to yank them off and chuck them back outside into the snow. But the door was already closed behind him, so he resigned himself to the room. Ever since he’d brought them in the station had become so much warmer. Brighter, in a literal sense. They’d lit more candles and hung up as many blankets as they could to heat and insulate the room, all the colored patterns and soft fabric made the space feel… hopeful, which left a bitter taste in his mouth now.

Tubbo laid in the cot nearest to the door while the other boy was at the back, so he moved toward him first, taking a knee at his bedside and brushing sweat-stained bangs from his face.

“I guess I should—” He bit down on his bottom lip, falling onto his backside with his legs laying limply beneath him. It wasn’t that easy, no matter how simple Phil made it sound. He didn’t want to let go. He leaned down to press his forehead against the edge of the cot as his face burned, hot tears pattering down his cheeks, jaw trembling. “Fuck, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I just can’t. Phil said I should, and I want to, or, I— don’t, but if I don’t have a choice I’d rather say it than not but I can’t.”

He lifted his head off the pillow and pressed a kiss to the kid’s forehead, eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t want you to go.” He rested his head on the cot’s edge before pulling away. He pushed himself to shaky feet, using one of the support beams to lean against before making his way to Tubbo’s cot, stomach sinking like a stone, churning like a sea.

They were just kids, they never had a chance.

He staggered backwards, pressing his shoulders against the beam as a sob forced itself up his throat. He covered his face with one hand as new tears washed all down his face. A sob stole his breath, his shoulders shaking as he tried to force out a sound that wasn’t there to be made. He gasped, sliding down to the floor, hands coming up to hold his head, face hot and vision blurred with tears.

He pushed tears away with the back of his palm, moving inch by inch to rest his cheek against the rough fabric of the quilt, nose centimeters away from his. Tubbo radiated heat, his breaths puffing weakly against Wilbur’s chin. He took in a near silent breath, but between them it felt like the loudest thing Wilbur had ever heard, leaving his ears ringing.

“Kid?” He whispered, so soft that the sound of his tongue against his teeth drowned out any noise his voice really made. Even so, he feared it would wake him. Part of him wished he’d wake right then, eyes bright and clear. The other half of him knew that, really, if he woke up he’d be in pain, feverish and confused and hurt. Wilbur didn’t want that for him.

“Tubbo?” He whispered.

Nothing.

He took a breath through his nose and leaned back, resting his arms overtop his knees, fingers tapping anxiously against his arm.

“Let me sleep, I am tired of my grief,
I would like you… to love me, to love me, to love me.

This is the night when these woods sigh.

Come with me, There are people who cannot speak,
Without smiling.

But they would take me from your hand.
Or they would try, they would try.

This is the murmur of the land.

This is the sound of love’s marching band.
And how they hold you like a gun.

And how I sing you like a song, I heard when I was young.
And buried, for a night like this, buried for a night like this…”

He held his breath a moment longer, feeling the pressure of a sob behind his tongue that he didn’t want to allow out. A strangled whine escaped before he ducked down, pressing his forehead to the boy’s shoulder, finally letting go. He gasped for breath, shoulders shaking as he sat, arms limp at his sides and sitting on his heels. “I don’t know what to do,” he plead, “I don’t know what to do, tell me what to do, please, please… please, I don’t know what to do. Please, tell me what to do.”

The door opening and closing behind him barely registered to his ears, and he couldn’t care much either way wether it was Phil or Techno who knelt down and wrapped their arms around him, pulling him away from the cot and pressing his head against their shoulder. He hadn’t realized how hard he was crying until he felt hands on his chest, felt the rough fabric of a coat against his face. His hands were trembling terribly, every part of him felt like it was unraveling.

In all his years traveling the wasteland he’d watched animals die, monsters, creatures, raiders, even some of his own neighbors, people he’d really, truly cared about. This felt different.

“I’ve got you.” Techno muttered, tucking his chin over Wilbur’s head and holding him close. “I got you Wil.”

Phil hovered worriedly near the door, his arms squeezed around his middle as he watched Techno hold Wilbur. He couldn’t help but feel responsible for suggesting they go in on their own in the first place. He thought that giving Wilbur time to be alone and say goodbye would help. But all it did was bring the torment he’d been feeling to a tailspin. And this was his crash.

“Come on, stand up kid.” Techno muttered softly, pulling Wilbur to his feet, unsteady as he was. He let Wilbur lean on him, and instead of allowing him to lay down on the sleeping bag at the back of the room he took him upstairs. Wilbur stumbled numbly on the steps, bracing one hand against the wall as Techno held onto his other, his arm looped around his shoulders.

Phil listened to Techno’s gentle reassurances, the way Wilbur pleaded desperately with him wordlessly, his sobs overwhelming. But after a few minutes, after the cries finally died down Techno reappeared, descending the stairs to stand in front of him.

“I need to talk to you.” He growled, taking Phil by the arm and pulling him roughly out the door before he had time to answer, closing it forcefully behind the two of them.

He pressed a hand against the door and turned to Phil, a finger pointed at his chest. “He cannot be here when they die.” He bit, each word vehemently pronounced.

“I know.” Phil nodded, looking back in through the door’s window with a worried crease between his brows.

“This is going to be a heavy defeat.”

Phil could tell he was straining to keep his tone even, the warble in his throat a warning of the storm brewing within. His eyes burned into Phil’s. He looked away as he licked chapped lips, nodding to himself as he chewed on his lower. “I’ll take him into the city for a few days. Long enough for you to… finish it.”

“I won’t bury them if they’re not dead.”

Instantly Phil shook his head, more fervent than before. “No— Christ! No, God no, I wouldn’t ask you to do that. Never.”

“You understand then, that if they’re not dead by the time you two are back, they’ll still be here, and we’ll all have to do that, together?”

Phil nodded. “He needs to get away from this place for a few days I think, the walking will do him good, after that fever he’s been a bit—”

“Jittery.” Techno replied knowingly. They both nodded to one another once. “I’ll take care of it, as long as you take care of him.”

“Trust me, I will.” Phil said, giving Techno’s shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry.”

________________________________________

The next day Phil put together a pack of food for he and Wilbur to take with them into the city, planning on attempting to get access to Diamond City, but with how exclusive the place was, Phil wasn’t convinced they’d be able to get inside. If the worst came to pass they’d be able to find shelter in one of the abandoned office buildings downtown while they scavenged for useful items in the rubble.

Wilbur readied himself hollowly for the trip, shrugging on his coat and slipping his feet into his boots silently. All three of them knew what the trip was for. He knew full well that Phil and Techno were not planning on the boy’s still… being around, once they got back. He knew they knew he knew too, and the fact that they were being this hushed about it irked him in a way he couldn’t describe.

A silent pain saturated the air, sinking its teeth into each of them individually. As Phil took Wilbur by the shoulder and led him out onto the porch Techno followed after them, leaning against one of the posts as they stepped down into the snow.

Phil turned back to face him, hiking the weight of his back higher up. “We’ll be back in a few days.” He reassured, taking a step back up to squeeze Techno’s arm. “If… anything happens in that time, you know what to do.” He whispered.

He nodded, giving Phil a pat on the shoulder. The soft language around the subject both rubbed at him annoyingly, yet soothed some volatile part of him he didn’t often acknowledge. He stood by, watching as Wilbur walked past him out the door, expression stony like a ghost, eyes cast at the ground.

Maybe it was the acknowledgment of that tender part of his heart that prompted it, but he reached out to stop him. “Hey.” Wilbur turned, looking back at Techno, and watched in slight confusion as he descended the porch steps, walked straight to him, and wrapped his arms around him with a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be alright.” He whispered simply, patting Wilbur’s back once or twice before pulling away. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Wilbur stood, shocked from the contact, but hugged Techno and let go a beat after he did. “Thank you.” He whispered.

“Bring me back something good from the city, alright?”

Wilbur stepped back down the stairs and stood next to Phil. Although he was about a head taller than him, he looked small and frail, his shoulders pulled in and head down. “You’ve got it.” Phil said with a nod, patting Wilbur on the shoulder before they turned, heading toward the city.

Techno watched them as they left, waiting outside for the ten or so minutes it took for their figures to slowly disappear beyond the horizon, heading for the city’s edge. He sighed, looking up at the sun, hanging just low enough in the sky to warn of the incoming evening, and walked back inside.

It was a morbid affair, waiting for someone to die. He didn’t blame Wilbur for not wanting to witness it, and although Phil was a trained and vetted gunman with more than his fair share of fights, both victories and defeats, that didn’t make the blows any less devastating on him.

Essentially he was acting as a stand-by mortician. Waiting anxiously until the moment his services were needed. None of them had the strength nor the desire to end things early. The strangers would slip away quietly, and Techno would be there to bury them before Wilbur and Phil returned to ease their pain.

That’s what he was good at. Despite how dependable and honorable Phil tried to be— and god, he really did try, and succeed a majority of the time— he wasn’t capable of shutting away that feeling, emotive part of himself as completely as Techno could.

He wasn’t oblivious to his own reasoning for… the way he was. It was easy to bare a cold edge in every situation; to be unfeeling and detached. He looked at things simply, ignoring the details, the parts of him that whispered about ‘how it made him feel.’ It came in handy as a raider, he’d known that. It wasn’t something he’d gained in becoming one, but something that drew him to it. He had this ability to just… shut them out. Looking back now he realized that even back then, it had been something that separated him from the others.

Most raiders didn’t need to shut out their emotions. They didn’t have them in the first place. Some may have functioned on the same methods he’d used, sure, and a smaller fraction of those people may have even defected the way he had.

For so long he’d felt like that ability was something wrong with him. It was certainly something that Wilbur and Phil found disconcerting, but it was in situations like this, which they found themselves in far too often, when it became a needed skill. It felt good to have something to contribute, something special only he could do that made life easier for the people he cared most about.

But now he felt like he was fraying at the seams. He’d never had a reaction like this to anything in this life. Not when Phil got nipped by a stray bullet the week after they met, not when Wilbur got polio two winters ago.

Maybe… maybe when his parents died. He didn’t like remembering that time, but he’d been devastated understandably, but he’d never cried. That put off much of the people in the settlement he’d grown up in. He’d left not long after that, and it wasn’t long until a group of raiders caught him. Before they could manage to kill him he’d asked how it was being a raider, if anyone could be a raider. After that the rest of his life had been put into place.

He felt sorry for the two of them, sure, and maybe it had something to do with how much effort they’d put in to getting them well again. They’d spent time and supplies, effort, blood and sweat put in to making them better, and to have that all go down the drain was defeating. He was utterly defeated, the experience had floored him completely. To see everything they’d done; Wilbur, aching and ill, laying on the floor for days, weeping and screaming like mad. Phil making trips back and forth from the city, spending his nights bone-tired as he went over the boys’ injuries again and again and again trying to piece them together like a puzzle. And him…

What had he done, really?

Suddenly he felt cold, the dawn of understanding crossing over his face. He’d done… nothing. That was it. He’d been so terrified the entire time of becoming even mildly attached to either of these strangers that he’d completely forgone any opportunity to help.

If he’d done something, would they have survived? What could he have done? By the time Wilbur got to them they were practically dead, and it was solely due to Phil’s tenacity and persistence that they’d stayed alive as long as they had,

They were strangers, unknown children ill-prepared for the apocalypse that laid before them in the Commonwealth. That had had little effect on Techno’s affinity toward them, in fact he’d used it as an excuse for why they shouldn’t help them. By whose rule was it that they should be responsible for these two kids they knew nothing about? They could be assholes for all they know.

But then he saw the way Phil looked at them, with a glimmer in his eyes, a spark of hope that Techno had never seen there before. Wilbur had it too, the way he read to them, sang to them, told them stories about his day and all this thoughts like they could hear it. They were so ready for the boys to be well, they forgot there was a chance they wouldn’t be.

But now… why, why now was he feeling the same way? He wasn’t hopeful, he was… he was aching with disappointment. Regret. He mourned for all the feelings he wished he’d felt when he’d had the chance. But now it was too late. The time had passed.

All that was left to do was bury them.

Chapter Text

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

He looked up from the river bank, squinting against the harsh sunlight as he looked up at Tommy, his silhouetted dark above him, before turning back to his collection of stones in the sand. “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?” He repeated, his voice peaking on the word. “What, you don’t even have any ideas? You could be anything!”

“Not anything.” He corrected under his breath as he sat, the ground cold and soft with river water. “I couldn’t be a football player, or… I don’t know, an aeroplane pilot.”

“Sure you could! Why d’you think you couldn’t do that stuff?”

He frowned, dipping his handfuls of stones into the river to clean them of sand remnants. “Cause I’m not big enough to be a football player, and flying planes is too scary.”

“You’ll get bigger.” He giggled, half-joking.

A sudden shower of water splashed over his head and shoulders, shocking him. He gasped. “Tommy!”

“What? It’s just water!” He laughed again, back pedaling as Tubbo rose to his feet. He screamed, running down the riverbank as Tubbo thrust his hands into the water, sending a shower over his back, and they ran after one another, Tommy always glancing over his shoulder to check if Tubbo was still after him, and just as he would, he’d reach down and send a furious wave of water over his back.

He reached up and grabbed Tommy by the shoulders and pulled back hard, sending them both careening into the river, the world going silent as water filled his ears, and the world warped and shifted within the ripples and waves.

As he pushed himself up out of the water he found Tommy standing above him, grinning. His chest heaving. Laughing. Grinning like mad. The sun warmed his shoulders and cheeks, and for all the world he couldn’t imagine himself in any place other then right here. This moment.

“I know what I want to be when I grow up.” He said, rainwater slicking his lips and face, forcing him once again to squint upwards at him. Tommy’s breaths slowed, his eyes going a centimeter wider and his smile faltering as he recalled the question. Tubbo grinned. “I want to be your best friend.”

And just like that his smile returned, so wide he could barely keep his eyes open. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

He woke in the morning to a silence that had covered the station like a shroud. Wilbur and Phil had left the previous morning, leaving him to his own devices until they returned in five days. He’d done his best to stay busy: organizing and re-organizing their inventory three or four times, he’d even folded and hung all their coats, hats, and gloves that were normally piled to the side of the front door.

The station was cleaner and neater than it had ever been, and as he looked over everything he felt like he would gnaw his fingers off if he didn’t find something to do before noon. He’d been watching the planes to the north and south and tree line to the east for the past hour or so since lunch. With the sky so clear after days of storms, he wanted to spend as much time outside as he physically could.

An old crumbling overpass sat to the west, beyond that the edge of the city, misty and distant, though not so far as to be inaccessible. Part of him was anxious for Phil and Wilbur’s return, the end to his aimless routine, but the other louder, larger part of him dreaded it. The boys weren’t dead yet, and they probably wouldn’t for at least the next three or four days, which would leave him with just one to get the job done before they returned.

He considered using his time to dig a hole. Or… two holes. Or maybe one big hole. But the more he thought about it the more he could feel his soul trying to leave his body, so despite the effort it would take he decided he would stick to what he’d told Phil: He wouldn’t bury them if they weren’t dead. They weren’t dead, and until they were there was no need to dig a hole. But he couldn’t stay in the station. He’d crawl out of his skin if he forced himself to sit still and wait this out.

He stepped back into the station, the whistling the wind cut off abruptly by the shutting of the door. The candles were burning low, the whole room cast in a dim yellow light that, if he hadn’t stepped straight out of the midafternoon sun, he might’ve assumed was midnight. It was too quiet, and despite the fact that neither of the strangers inside had awoken, it still didn’t feel right to go about his day without regard to the noise he was making.

His chest was beginning to ache, so he hastily shoved his hands into his gloves and threw his gun over his shoulder, tossing a glance over his shoulder at each of the boys before stepping out the door, shutting it tightly behind him.

The moment he stepped off the porch he felt guilt wash over him like a wave. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should be inside, watching, waiting. But he couldn’t stand it, he just couldn’t, and how much harm could one day outside do? He’d be back in a few hours.

He turned back to look at the station, the sun glinting through the windows of the upper floor, amplifying the frosty midday sunlight.

He’d be back in a few hours.

He picked his axe up from the side of the building, breaking a few hedge branches as he pulled it from it’s resting spot and swinging it over his shoulder. The forest was dense, but even so there was already a small clearing to the west where he’d taken most of their firewood from. It was better to clear one large area than pick and choose a new plot each day, at least that way he wouldn’t be tripping over stumps everywhere he walked.

The clearing had grown a lot since they’d arrived. They’ been running through firewood like mad, and looking at their stock some days felt like he was trying to hold sand in his hands, always losing bit by bit until it was all gone, sooner than he expected.

The stumps he left behind stood a few inches above the long grass, maybe a foot tall each. Easy to avoid.

A loud chuffing sound to his left caused him to freeze. Before he knew what he was hiding from backpedaled into the taller trees behind him, pressing his back to the trunk of a thin, sickly oak.

Whatever it was it was big, and loud. Its breathing alone was deafening and laborious, filling his ears as his heart pounded in his chest. He tilted his head back against the tree trunk, breaths coming faster than he’d like as he forced himself to slow down and think.

It wasn’t a rad stag, even they weren’t big enough to make the ground shake with every step. He gripped the barrel of his gun tight to his chest. It wasn’t a mongrel dog for the same reason, those would just launch themselves at travelers the moment they saw them.

’Think, think, what was big enough to—’

Oh no.

It bayed loudly, the sound of it furiously sniffing the air and ground around it’s feet, no more than a yard or two away. He didn’t dare move. It knew he was here. He hadn’t gotten a good look at it before it was on him, maybe it was blind? There was no way to tell, and he wasn’t about to risk revealing himself to it on a vague possibility.

A twig broke under its own foot and it roared, spinning around and backing away from the noise, swaying its gigantic head to the left and right. And there it was. Standing at six feet tall on all fours, balding with sickly patches of thinning hair on its back, and two large milky white eyes. A Yao Guai.

It was blind. But that didn’t mean he was safe. It was clearly angry, it knew he was here, and if he made a single noise… Well, he’d be dead before he had time to regret it.

It raised its head, sniffing the air in an attempt to locate him. He couldn’t just wait and hope it left him alone, it was likely hungry, maybe even starving, and he smelled like food.

‘Well I’m not food.’ He thought, once again tightening the grip on his gun. He’d have to move fast, and keep shooting no matter what happened. Just keep shooting.

He swung out one foot, planting himself in a wide stance as he raised his gun and began unloading into the beast, pulling the trigger again and again, hoping he would hit it somewhere vital and stop it’s onslaught. It was on him in an instant, a swipe of it’s gigantic clawed paw missing his chest by less than an inch, he felt a cool wind on his stomach.

He’d need to reload soon, and it was absorbing his shots like dust on the wind. He took a step back, missing another of the Yao Guai’s attacks as it rushed him again and again. Suddenly he was on the ground, head spinning and left ear ringing, the Yao Guai was over him, roaring in his face as its claws dug deep into his shoulders.

He might’ve screamed, swiping frantically at his jacket pocket where he knew his next magazine was, the weight of it again his fingers as they pressed into the fabric.

The Yao Guai hit him again and he could feel hot sticky liquid leaking down his cheeks, his vision tinted red. As it raised it’s gigantic paw in the air again he reached down and grabbed the magazine from his pocket, ejecting the emptied cartridge, and pressed the new one into place, pointing the barrel of his gun at the creature’s throat.

________________________________________

He’d replaced the pot hanging over the campfire with a hanging grill, pieces of sizzling meat skewered together sending a aroma wafting through the air that made his stomach ache with hunger as he turned them over, a delicious dark char on one side giving way to the bright red raw meat.

His face ached too, though less so after another stimpack. He hadn’t taken any with him on his trip out, a stupid thing to forget now that he looked back on it, so as he’d removed the usable meat from the Yao Guai’s body he could feel the beads of blood dripping down his cheeks, coloring his hands and staining everything it touched in red. It was only after he set the meat by the fire and boiled some snow into water that he was finally able to clean the scratches and inject himself with the medicine.

The skin across his cheeks and nose was taught and new, old leather reattached at a seam with a clean suture. The new skin would we a lighter color for a long time, just as any scar would, but after a year no one would be able to tell there’d ever been a scar there to begin with.

His head was still spinning, it’d gotten a few good hits in on him before he’d managed to take it down, but when considering who was dead and who wasn’t, a concussion was hardly something to complain about. He’d beaten it.

He lifted one of the skewers from the fire, the meat still far too hot to eat, but even so he tore a chunk from the end, testing it between his teeth. A taste like nothing he’d had before— oily, somewhat bland, but even so his heart raced as he swallowed it, taking another bite.

He’d beaten it.

The meat would fair well out in the cold, there was an old ice box around the side of the house he could easily store the remainder in, and so he doused the fire and grabbed what was left, hauling the raw meat to the fridge before stepping back inside, shutting the howling wind out as the tentative warmth enveloped him fully.

He glanced from one figure to another in the cots as he removed his gloves, sighing through his nose and leaning down beside the nearest, brushing a lock of hair from his face. He observed the lines of his brow, his nose. He was there. Breathing. Alive, but empty in many ways.

He’d never been one for emotional showcases. Singing, dancing, reading aloud… anything showing passion or heart, it just wasn’t his way of doing things. That was Wilbur’s way. But sitting there in silence, away from the rest of the world, he couldn’t bare the sound.

He opened his mouth, lips parting hesitantly as he sang in a raspy voice: “Bruno… did you know that the greeks, in the morning would eat oranges? They were firm believers in fruit curing fevers, and I agree. They believed that an orange warmed the stomach…”

He rested his head on his hands, which laid on the edge of Tubbo’s cot, eyes darting microscopically over his face, those slack features, as a feeling he couldn’t name prodded deep in his chest.

“If only oranges would save you.” He whispered.

The candles burned low as he stood, making his way over to Wilbur’s cot to check on the other kid laying there, kneeling down at the end of the bed. He was just as ashen and pale as the other, his frame thin, thinner than it had been when he arrived.

Who were they to one another? Phil had been the first to ask that question when he’d noticed the strings around the blonde boy’s wrists, but he’d dismissed him so quickly he’d never even thought to answer it. Were they friends? Brothers? Did they hate each other? Did they even know each other?

Sitting halfway under the end of the cot sat Wilbur’s footlocker. A green army-standard chest, and inside was Wilbur’s hoard. A whole library’s worth of books, all he’d read a dozen times each, minimum. Its latch was never locked, so he lifted the lid and grabbed the first book he saw, not caring what it was so long as it would pass the time.

He trudged back to his sleeping bag, the same spot Wilbur had occupied the past week as he recovered. He’d decided to hole up in the same position while he stood watch over the boys. It was easy enough, he could see why Wilbur’d chosen that particular spot. He leaned back against the nearby support beam and sighed, opening it up to the first page:

“Once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book called ’True Stories from Nature’ about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. In the book it said: ‘Boa constrictors swallow their prey whole without chewing it. After that they are unable to move, and they sleep through the six months they needed for digestion.’

I pondered this deeply, and after some work with a colored pencil I succeeded in making my first drawing. I showed my masterpiece to the grown-ups and asked them whether the drawing frightened them. But they answered: “Frighten? Why should anyone be frightened by a hat?”

My drawing was not a picture of a hat. It was a picture of a boa constrictor digesting an elephant. But since the grown-ups were not able to understand it, I made another drawing: I drew the inside of a boa constrictor, so that the grown-ups could see it clearly. They always need to have things explained.

The grown-ups' response this time was to advise me to lay aside my drawings of boa constrictors, whether from the inside or the outside, and devote myself instead to geography, history, arithmetic, and grammar. That is why, at the age of six, I gave up what might’ve been a magnificent career as a painter. I’d been disheartened by the failure of my Drawing Number One and my Drawing Number Two. Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it’s tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.”

His eyes drifted over each page, absorbing the story slowly like a sponge. The simple drawings that accompanied each explanation were… sweet, he supposed. And for a moment he indulged the narrator; imagining, as best he could, a boa constrictor devouring an elephant.

A pair of fingers brushing against his side made him flinch, staggering away before turning to look, standing pin-straight with wide eyes looking down to see a hand, a single index finger caught around one of his belt loops.

He turned back in shock, the boy’s pale face tilted up toward him, nose and cheeks flushed red with fever, but even as he looked for all the world like a picture of death he stared at Techno with bright blue eyes. Immediately he fell to a knee, removing the hand gently from his belt and holding it between both of his own.

“Hey! Hey,” He whispered frantically. He groaned, brow pinched as his head was softly jostled. Techno reached forward, placing his hands on either side of his head. “Hey.” He whispered again, the corners of his mouth turning upwards as a laugh escaped him. “Hey kid.”

He blinked once, long and slow. “Hey.” He rasped.

Techno chuckled, the sound bubbled up from within as his head fell forward against the boy’s chest, his breaths rising and falling against his forehead. He breathed deep through his nose and looked up again. “Hey.” He said, unsure of what else he could possibly say. What else he was supposed to do.

“Where’s…“ He coughed, clearing his throat as his voice cracked from disuse and glanced around the room. “Where’s ‘ubbo?”

“Uh, he’s, he’s here.” Techno reassured, leaning away so he could lean up and see the other kid, Tubbo, lying in the nearby cot. He had to think, the kid was fading fast. He was awake for the first time in over a week, Phil was going to want answers. Wilbur was going to go mental. He could make some educated guesses on the kinds of questions they’d ask. If he ended up falling asleep again at least they’d have some information.

“What’s your name?” He kicked himself internally for not asking that sooner, ‘should have started with that.’ He thought to himself.

“I’m Tom—” He coughed roughly into his shoulder, never taking his eyes off Techno. “My name’s Tommy.”

He nodded, a nervous attempt at reassurance pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Tommy. It’s good to— it’s nice to finally know it. I’m Techno.” His faded slightly, the seriousness of their situation dawning on him. “…Where’re you and Tubbo from? Where are your parents?”

The kid made a face, eyes cast to the side and brow pinched painfully.

“If you tell me, my friends Phil and Wilbur and I, we can help you find them. We’re good at finding people.”

“They’re not…” Tommy hesitated, curling in on himself. As much as he could with how numb and achy his limbs still felt. “They’re in the, the vault.”

“The…” Techno’s face dropped in surprise. He leaned away from Tommy and again glanced over at Tubbo still asleep in his cot. “Vault…”

That word. That word said more than Tommy seemed to realize. It certainly answered some questions. Their susceptibility to radiation for one, and having the Pip-Boy. These kids came from a vault. While that did answer some questions, dozens more cropped up in his mind. Had they been lab rats? Social-experiments? Were they the result of generations of people living underground with no true knowledge of the wasteland? No wonder they were starving and rad-poisoned. They never had a fighting chance on their own.

“The vault.” He repeated, earning another tiny nod. “Which one?”

“Which— what d’you mean which one? The vault.”

Techno sighed through his nose, doing his best not to look exhausted or discouraged. Great. So he didn’t know much about how the vaults worked. That was sort of understandable when he thought about it, there were dozens of vaults scattered all over the commonwealth, to determine which one he and Tubbo were from would take… well, maybe with more time they could narrow it down.

“Doesn’ matter anyways.” Tommy whispered. “They’re gone.”

“Oh…” Techno’s stomach sank like a stone, weighing him down as he sat on the floor heavily. “I’m… sorry. I’m real sorry to hear that.”

“Is Tubbo ‘kay? I-I can’t see ‘im.” He asked again, leaning up to get a better look at his friend, but his head must’ve been spinning, because he didn’t get far at all before he fell back to the pillow beneath him, squeezing his eyes closed and gripping the sides of the cot with weak hands.

“Sorry, sorry,“ He muttered, pressing a grounding hand against his arm. “You’ve been sick for a long time. You’ll be real dizzy for a while. D’you want something to drink?” He moved to stand, but was suddenly caught as Tommy’s hand flew to his wrist, his grip tighter than Techno expected.

“NO!” He snapped, voice cracking painfully as he propped himself shakily on one elbow. He held onto him tensely, like if he let him go Techno would dissolve into thin air. “No, nonono don’t, don’t—”

“Okay! Okay, okay, okay.” He sank down to his knees, placing his other hand over Tommy’s and gently removing his tensed, curled fingers from his wrist. “I’ll stay right here then, don’t worry.”

For a long time they said nothing. Tommy observed the room, taking in his surroundings slowly as Techno took in his presence. He noticed the creases and lines of the boy’s face. He was just a kid, more so than any other person in the wasteland could say.

“This is Bedford Station.” He explained as Tommy looked around. “I live here with some friends of mine, Wilbur and Phil. They’ll be back in a few days, they went out to—” he hesitated, “—get more supplies. Phil’s a medic, he’s been looking out for you and your friend since we found you two, and Wilbur, he’s the one who found you in the first place, back at that drive-in.”

“…How’d he find us?” He asked, his gaze meeting Techno’s with that same crease deepening between his brows. “The radio?”

It was an odd thing to ask, but Techno chose not to question it. “No.” he reassured, noticing the fear in his voice at the thought. “It was his dog. Dogmeat, he ran out in the snow and brought the two of you back here a few hours later.”

Tommy gave him a long, distrusting look. “Y-You’ve been there before? To the drive-in?”

“A few times.” He answered honestly despite his scrutinizing gaze. “We never stayed there, it’s not good shelter, especially not in winter. It’s falling apart, not to mention the vat of radioactive water festering in the lot.”

Tommy made a fearful noise at the mere mention of it, shifting around uncomfortably. “That wasn’t— i-it wasn’t my fault, we didn’t know it, it’s not anyone’s—”

He pressed a hand against the kid’s chest, easing him back down to the cot as his heart hammered under his palm. “Easy, take a breath.” He muttered, but Tommy wasn’t having it. He gripped the edges of the cot’s frame and pushed himself upwards despite his weakness, breaths coming faster and faster.

Something was wrong. “Tommy?” He asked, keeping his voice as steady as he could, though he’d be lying if he said he felt ‘calm’.

“I need to make sure he’s okay.” He whimpered, desperately trying to sit up. “The medicine didn’t work for him, he needs help—” He leaned to the side, nearly topping to the floor before Techno surged forward and pushed him back by his shoulders.

“Easy, easy! He’s fine, he’s—” he hesitated again, “—sleeping. Just like you were.”

“It’s not his fault.” Hot feverish tears dripped down his cheeks as he gripped Techno’s sleeves tightly, and despite his weakness he shook him once as he spoke. “You know that right?”

He stared at Tommy for a few moments in shock, unsure what he was supposed to say. The kid was working himself into a panic, breaths shallow and fast, his hands clamped to his shirt trembling as he pled with Techno to understand. “I, I-I know.” He nodded, placing his own hands over Tommy’s and pulling them away. “It’s not Tubbo’s fault. I know. It’s no one’s fault. No one is blaming either of you.”

Tommy breathed through his teeth, sucking in deep noisy breaths as he ducked down, finally letting go of his shirt. “Okay.” He whispered, nodding more to himself than to Techno. “Okay… okay.”

“Okay.” He echoed back, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He breathed the word like a sigh, his gaze distant as he stared at the floor. “Yeah, I’m okay, I just… I just don’t feel good.”

“I wouldn’t feel good either if I just woke up from a six-day sleep.” He muttered, shaking his head. “When we found you two you were both in bad shape, like I said. You especially.” He poked his chest with one finger before sitting back, a support beam behind him making for a good backrest. “You had a pretty big hole in your hip.”

Tommy squinted his eyes as he fought to remember, the haze over him clouding much of what had happened before waking up here and now. “…No.” He shook his head hollowly, more of a knee-jerk reaction than a genuine thought. “It, it was… wasn’t that big, it was—”

“Big enough you needed stitches.” Techno interrupted, giving him a chiding look. “Don’t tell me you were walking around fine and dandy with a wound like that.”

“We had to move.” He explained weakly, looking up at Techno from the threads of the cot beneath him. “There was a plane, he and I— it was my fault, I went first and Tubbo had to get me.”

“The plane?” He echoed, eyes widening as he sat up straight. “You— the quarry plane?! Are you shitting me? You went inside it?! How’d you get in there?!”

Tommy blinked in surprise, taking a moment to catch up with their conversation. “I… jumped?” He mumbled it to himself, as though even he didn’t believe it. “I caught the door and rolled in. But there was a broken buckle that cut me. And… I hit my head on the door frame. Next thing I knew Tubbo was pulling me out.”

“Fuck,” he shook his head and leaned back, rolling his eyes upward, “you jumped. You jumped from where? No one can get in that plane, no one’s even tried.” Tommy just looked at him and shrugged, shaking his head. Techno chuckled. “Phil’ll get a kick out of that one I suppose, if the news doesn’t kill ‘im right then. Wilbur too, he’s gotten pretty attached to the thought of you two—” He stopped himself suddenly.

‘Don’t tell the kid you thought he was gonna die.’ He thought to himself. ’That’s not something you say to a kid.’

“—uh… anyway. At the very least I’ll get a kick out of telling them.”

Tommy laughed through his nose, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Though the motion didn’t reach his eyes. “…What’d you say your name was?”

“Techno.” He said easily, giving him another nod as he said it.

“Techno.” He repeated. “Is that like, your nickname, or—?”

“Nope, that’s my name-name.” He replied with a huff, laughing at the mix of surprise and confusion on his face. “What, you never heard of a guy bein’ named ‘Techno’? You’ve got a friend named ‘Tubbo’, I thought that one’d be pretty normal for you.”

Tommy laughed again, the smile nearly meeting his eyes. “His name-name is Toby.” He replied with a shrug. “Just guessed ‘Techno’ meant something other than ‘Techno’.”

“’S short for ‘Technoblade’.”

“Technoblade?” He repeated, eyes widened in disbelief. “No way, that’s the coolest name ever! Technoblade.”

Now it was his turn to laugh, a shine to Tommy’s eyes that he’d never seen before, something like awe and wonder that warmed his heart. “…Are you hungry?” He asked, his shoulders realizing as the air around them eased into something less intense, the adrenaline from Tommy’s sudden awakening waning as they continued to talk.

He thought for a second before looking up at Techno and shaking his head. “…No, not really.”

“Hm, well hopefully you’ll work up an appetite for somethin’ by tonight.” He muttered softly.

“What’s that?”

“Huh?” He looked down, noticing for the first time the was his thumb had been flipping idly through the corner of his borrowed book as they’d been talking. He held it up for Tommy to see. “Nothin, it’s a book I got from Wilbur’s stuff.”

“I know it.” His eyes brightened as he leaned forward, reaching out for it. Techno offered it to him easily, passing it to him. “The Little Prince.” He echoed the title with a wistful smile, thumbs brushing over the simple illustration on the cover. “I was reading this in school.”

“I read the first chapter this morning.” Techno said, leaning his elbows onto his knees as he watched Tommy flip through the pages himself. “It was… well, it was something.”

“It’s a good book.” Tommy said, almost defensively as he looked in Techno’s direction. “I’ve read chapter three.”

“Want me to read it to you?”

He didn’t really know why he offered. It wouldn’t be difficult he supposed, he’d already been reading and it wouldn’t hurt to read the rest out loud. Besides, the way Tommy was looking at the book, like it was made of gold, if it’d make the kid happy he was willing to do anything.

Tommy hesitated for a moment, brought out of his memory by the offer as he looked at Techno, and then at the book in his hands. “…Do you want to?”

“Wouldn’t offer to if I didn’t.” He said, reaching a hand out for Tommy to pass the book to him. He handed the book back, and Techno took it from him gently, opening it to the first page of the second chapter:

“I lived my life alone, without anyone to truly talk to. Until I had an accident with my plane in the Sahara Desert. I had no mechanic nor passengers, so I set myself to attempt the difficult repairs alone. The first night I slept on the sand, a thousand miles from any human habitation. More isolated than a shipwrecked sailor on a raft in the middle of the ocean. Thus you can imagine my amazement at sunrise, when I was awakened by a little voice.

“If you please— draw me a sheep!”

I saw a most extraordinary small person, standing there examining me with great seriousness. I stared at this sudden apparition with my eyes fairly starting out of my head in astonishment. I’d crashed in the desert a thousand miles from any inhabited region, and yet my little man seemed neither to be straying uncertainly, nor fainting from fatigue or hunger, thirst or fear. Nothing about him gave any suggestion of a child lost in the desert.

When at last I was able to speak, I said to him: “But— what are you doing here?”

And in answer he repeated, very slowly, as if he were speaking of a matter of great consequence: “If you please, draw me a sheep…”

When a mystery is too overpowering one dare not disobey. Absurd as it might seem, thousands of miles from habitation and in danger of death, I took out a sheet of paper and my fountain-pen. But then I remembered how my studies had been concentrated on geography, history, arithmetic and grammar, and I told the little chap— a bit crossly, too —that I didn’t know how to draw.

He answered me: "That doesn't matter. Draw me a sheep.”

But I had never drawn a sheep. So I drew for him one of the two pictures I had drawn so often, that of the boa constrictor from the outside. I was astounded to hear him greet it with: “No, no, no! I don’t want an elephant inside a boa constrictor. A boa constrictor is a dangerous creature, and an elephant is too cumbersome. Where I live everything is very small. What I need is a sheep. Draw me a sheep.”

So I made a drawing. He looked at it carefully, and said: "No. This sheep is very sickly. Make me another.” So I made another. My friend smiled. “You see yourself,” he said, “that this is not a sheep. This is a ram. It has horns.” So then I did my drawing over again, but this was rejected too. “This one is too old. I want a sheep that will live a long time.”

By then my patience had been exhausted, I was in a hurry to take my engine apart, so I tossed off one final drawing, with this explanation: “This is only his box. The sheep you asked for is inside.”

I was very surprised to see a light break over the face of my young judge: “That is exactly the way I wanted it! Do you think that this sheep will have to have a great deal of grass?”

“Why?”

“Because where I live everything is very small.”

“There will surely be enough grass for him," I said. "It is a very small sheep I’ve given you.”

He bent his head over the drawing. “Not so small that— Look! He’s gone to sleep!”

And that is how I made the acquaintance of the little prince.”

Chapter Text

“Straighten your knees up. Just like that. Good.”

Tommy’s legs shook dangerously as he did as Techno said, pushing himself up from the edge of the hot with a heavy, shuddering breath.

“Hold onto me.”

He reached forward, wrapping an arm around Techno’s outstretched elbow and lifting himself further up as he leaned into his side. His muscles tensed as he curled inward, using all the strength he had to simply stay upright before finally Techno muttered something he didn’t catch, and pressed on his chest, sending him backwards back onto the cot.

“I’m sorry.” He choked, pressing a hand to his chest where he could feel his thrumming, pulsing heartbeat through his ribs. “I-I wanna try—”

“No.”

Tommy looked up at him, fear clear in his eyes. Techno looked away.

“Your muscles are too weak. You’ll need to get stronger before you can walk.”

“Why? I was fine… a week or two ago.”

Techno sighed as he leaned back against the beam beside Tommy’s cot, sliding down to sit on the floor in front of him. “Your body’s been laying here for a week, and before that Wilbur said you and your friend were in about the same state at the drive in. How long were you there, like that?”

Tommy’s jaw shut, his teeth grinding gently together as he thought back.

“And how long did you go without eating? Wilbur said he didn’t find any food in the drive-in when he found you.”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head hollowly as he stared at his hands, trying hard to remember. “We were there for… at least four or five days, probably more. A lot more before then, but before that were were both walking around. One day Tubbo just… didn’t wake up. After a couple days neither did I.”

He said nothing, just watching Tommy as he stared, hands hovering above his thighs, palms up as though he were reading his past in their callouses, in the prints on his fingers. There was so much he didn’t know about him. And he was so young, he may be incapable of explaining it. Even if he could, he wouldn’t want to put him through that pain.

“Why…” He started, pulling Techno’s attention back to his face, his pinched brow. “Why wouldn’t he wake up?”

He considered not responding. Keeping quiet. The question clearly wasn’t aimed at him, Tommy wasn’t even looking at him; but an opening was an opening, and he couldn’t let him shut down so soon after waking.

“Your body needs fat to work.” He began, lifting his shirt to show a healthy roundness to his stomach and arms. “Eating maintains that, otherwise you’ll run out of energy. And your body can’t just stop when that happens. It’ll use whatever it has at its disposal to stay alive, including your muscle. It only takes a week without food for your body to start eating itself.”

Tommy stared at him, a pained look in his eyes that ripped into him more than he expected it would. Suddenly he felt he’d said something very wrong.

He took a shaking breath. “When do you think Tubbo’s gonna wake up?”

“…I don’t know.” He admitted softly, shaking his head. “There’s no way to know.”

There was still no telling wether Tubbo would wake. Tommy still was not well, he couldn’t stand, and even though it had been over twelve hours since he first woke, he still hadn’t eaten anything. And not for a lack of trying on Techno’s part either. Three times he’d asked if the boy was hungry, and on two of those occasions he’d brought a steaming bowl of bone broth to him despite his answer. But none, not one of those times, did he eat any of it.

He looked over at Tubbo, his face plain and emotionless. Pale and stony as he laid, a picture of death. Somewhere in the back of Tommy’s mind he had to know there was no guarantee his friend would wake as. He had, but now was not the time to say something like that out loud.

“What was he like anyway?”

Tommy blinked in surprise, not expecting the question as he looked to Techno from across the room. “…He’s my best friend.”

“You’ve said that. But what’s he like?”

“I dunno, he’s,” he thought, struggling to find the right words, “smart. Really smart. He wanted to be a football player. He got some of the best grades, and he was in the robots club at school.”

Techno raised a brow at that. ”Robots club?”

“Yeah! Robots. You know, little machines?”

Techno thought hard for a moment about all the encounters he’d experienced with robots in the past. The Assaultrons and Protectrons across the wasteland he’d had to deal with over the years. “Little machines… right.”

“They’d have these competitions for who could build the best one sometimes, and he even one a couple! He’s—…”

Techno glanced over at him, raising a brow at the way Tommy cut himself off so suddenly, the kid’s eyes drifting to the profile of his friend across the room. Techno looked that way too, his eyes drifting over the shape on the cot before looking back to Tommy again.

“He’s a good friend too. Nice, super nice like, the nicest guy I’ve ever met. He puts up with me every day and I mean, we’re pretty much stuck together now so it’s nice we get along as well as we do, you know?”

Techno laughed, though the feeling didn’t quite resonate. “Right.” He whispered.

“Ever since we left the vault all he’s done, all he’s wanted to do is take care of me. And he really tries you know? I know neither of us are that old yet but he’s… he’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and I can’t imagine a better one than him.”

“The way you talk about him sounds the same way I talk about my friends.” Techno replied, leaning forward to ruffle his hair. “Friends like that are rare, so it’s important to hang on tight to ‘em, especially in a world like this one.”

Tommy nodded, glancing at Tubbo once more. “I can’t imagine getting this far without ‘im.”

“What was it like?” He blurted out, once again catching Tommy off guard as he glanced up to meet Techno’s eye. “Before.” He specified, voice soft.

He sat frozen before looking away, his gaze catching on the edge of the cot where he bagged playing with a loose strand of thread. “Everything was cleaner.” Techno laughed, and Tommy smiled too. “Really, I mean it. There was… the plants weren’t all dead, there were leaves on the trees and the grass was nice and green, people lived in the towns, there were a lot more people.”

“The trees and grass turn green in the summer.” Techno muttered, as though that fact might give him some hope. Techno could feel his opportunity to say something slipping away with each second that elapsed between them. He wanted to reassure him in some way, give him some hope. But what was there to say anymore? What hope did he, of all people, have to give?

“People shopped at the grocery stores, they didn’t steal from people… as much.” He whispered the last part, making them both laugh again. “There was just… more.”

“The world isn’t empty.” He began. “I know it might seem like it is, but I promise there’s more out there than you’ve seen.”

“You don’t know what I’ve seen.” He whispered, his tone more biting than Techno had expected.

“I didn’t mean anything by that.” He cautioned. “There’s still… more in the world, that’s all.” He looked up, waiting for Tommy to say something else, but he ignored him.

________________________________________

“Push hard.” He instructed, voice calm and focused as he stood a few feet away.

Tommy laid on his back, his arms down at his sides, hands clutched to the cool metal support rod of the cot as he pushed hard against the wall with his legs.

“If you want to walk you have to be able to move your own weight.” He explained.

“I’m trying.” He whispered through gritted teeth, the muscles of his stomach taught and trembling with his effort. He pushed hard, as hard as he could, sweat gathering on his brow as his spine curved.

“Stop.” Techno reached forward, pushing down on his stomach so his back was pressed against the bed once more. “You’re leveraging your back muscles. You need to engage your legs, or it won’t move.”

“I was moving it though!”

“Not the right way.” He waved his hand dismissively, taking his place back against the support beam behind the cot. “Again.”

“This is stupid.” He muttered, adjusting his feet so they were equal distance apart before he began pushing again.

“This is how you learn to walk. My friend Phil had to teach a man to walk again after he was shot in the back. I watched him do it.”

Tommy sighed, relaxing for a moment as he leaned his head back, looking at Techno over the lip of the mattress. “Who shot him?”

“Don’t know.” He replied, chewing on his nail as he spoke. “Raider.”

Tommy hummed, his eyes darting downwards as his face fell into a knowing frown.

Techno groaned, pushing off the support once more. “That’s enough for one day, it’s late. I’m starving, and you need to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Techno paused, his ears trained minutely on the fear in his reply. “…Well you’re going to eat something anyways, because if you don’t you’ll get sick again, and I won’t let that happen.”

“You can’t make me.”

He turned back to look at Tommy with a wide-eyed glare, a mix of surprise and contempt. “What?”

“I won’t eat it.” He stated simply, a defiant furrow in his brow. “You can’t make me.”

“And why won’t you eat it?”

For a long second they only stared at one another, Tommy’s expression revealing nothing about his motivations, meanwhile Techno was nearly seething, uncertain of the boy’s intentions.

“…Well, if you’re not going to eat, I won’t either.”

Tommy blinked in surprise, watching in confusion as Techno walked across the room to the door and removed his boots, tossing them next to the neatly organized rack of coats.

“You really aren’t gonna eat?”

“It’s getting late, it’s about time we both got some sleep.” He muttered dully, ignoring his question. He pulled his sleeping bag over, sitting down and untying his boots in the silence between them.

And the silence reigned Tommy watched him, and Techno watched the candlelight flickering across the boy’s face. “We’ll eat tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Tommy whispered, though his voice broke on the word, showing his nerves.

Techno blew out the candle, throwing them into darkness, the sounds of the station’s structure groaning in the wind amplified without the candles illuminating the space. The wind blustered against the outside, whistling in the trees and tossing snow around the porch, the shh, shh, shh, like the wind was trying to lull them to sleep.

“Techno?” He asked.

“Hm.”

“Do you like dogs?”

He sighed, hitting his head against his arms, his hands pinned under his neck. “…not particularly.”

“I do.”

He didn’t respond, letting Tommy’s quiet voice hang in the air over their heads. Hoping the kid would take the hint an quiet down. If he wasn’t going to eat, he could at least try to sleep when Techno asked him to.

“I used to have a dog.”

Fine. He’ll bite. “Oh yeah? What was his name?”

“Henry.”

He hummed again, letting his eyes fall closed. “Good name.”

Tommy made some noise of agreement. “Have you ever had a dog?”

“…Once. I’d just turned twenty, and the… group I used to be a part of, they’d found some wild dog pups out in the forest, wanted to train ‘em up to be protectors for our team.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

He chuckled, though there was a hint of anxiousness to it. “Yeah, I… had this one pup handed off to me. Named him Dave. He was…” He remembered watching that dog jump up on a trader, a man with his wife, and three others. The blood he’d shed. The screaming— “…a good dog.”

“What kind was he?”

“A wild one.”

“Yeah, but what breed?”

“Wasn’t a breed for him. He was just a dog.”

“What did he look like?”

He sighed loudly again, voicing his annoyance, but too far down the rabbit hole to stop there. “He was… brown. All over. Real short hair and pointed ears. He had a big chest and skinny legs, and big white teeth. He lost an eye in a fight when he was a few years old.”

Tommy made a disgruntled noise. “Was he mean?”

“He was a little mean.”

“Did he ever bite you?”

“Yes.”

Did you love him still?”

“Y—” Techno paused, blinking in surprise at the question. He’d never thought much about Dave the dog, he’d been a sudden and fleeting presence in his life.

“Techno?…”

“I… Yes, I… loved him.”

He hummed, and Techno could hear the smile in the shape of the sound. But even so he couldn’t help the internal stress that came with it, that with each breath he could hear the crackling of his lungs. He could hear Tommy shifted around under his covers, the sheets rubbing together as the wool cover was pulled up to his chest.

“What if…when I fall asleep I don’t wake up again?”

“You will.” He whispered.

“You don’t know that. You said Tubbo and I were asleep for days. My muscles ate each other.”

He sighed, reminded of their conversation earlier that morning. “You’re getting stronger. Little by little. You sat up today, you couldn’t do that yesterday.” He reassured, redirecting the question ever so slightly. “You woke up today. You’ll wake up tomorrow. And the day after that, and on and on until you’re old and gray. But in order to wake up you’ve gotta fall asleep.”

“But what if I die?” He asked again.

Techno could feel him staring, his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “You won’t die.”

Tommy took a breath, ready to interject when Techno managed to get out in front of him.

“—You won’t.” He said more forcefully, opening his eyes and propping himself up on his elbows. He looked over at Tommy, and though he couldn’t see him he felt his eyes on him. “By the grace of God if I woke up in the middle of the night to the grim reaper standing over you I’d shoot him between the eyes before I let him touch a hair on your head.” That made Tommy laugh, even if it did sound nervous and breathy. “Sleep now, alright? I’ll see you in the morning.”

And the night fell silent.

________________________________________

When he woke the next morning the station was completely silent. The kind of fragile morning air that, the moment it breaks, is irreparable. The morning will be gone, the day replacing it instantly and without hesitation.

So he did everything he could to stay still and silent for as long as possible. For a while he laid in his sleeping bag staring at the ceiling, straining his ears to hear anything at all. No wind outside, no snow pelting the roof, no footsteps or creaking throughout the station. The boards and windows had all settled into place during the night.

He turned his head to look up at Tommy, the sound of his hair ruffling against the pillow deafening in his ears. His cheek squished against the side of the cot he snored away, mouth half-open with one arm under his head, the other hanging over the side where he held Techno’s hand. Sometime in the night their collective grips must’ve loosened, because he’d woken with his hand laying free on the floor, untethered.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face as he contemplated getting up. If he did Tommy would wake immediately after, no question. He might as well tear the bandaid off while they still had most of the day to get around.

“Tommy.” He whispered, reaching up to tap his arm with the back of his hand. “Wake up.” He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut before squinting down at Techno. “It’s morning.” He watched as the kid looked down at him, sighed through his nose and said nothing, only moving the minimal amount necessary, only his eyes gazing at him through his brows. Half-lidded and lethargic.

“You must be hungry.” He suggested in a whisper, hoping the prompt might stir something in him. Some kind of motivation.

If he wanted to cook their breakfast he’d need to start a fire outside, which meant leaving Tommy on his own, and It’s not that he didn’t trust the kid, it was… well, maybe it was a little bit that he didn’t trust him yet, the memory of the previous night still fresh in his mind.

“You can’t make me.”

He turned back to look at Tommy with a wide-eyed glare, a mix of surprise and contempt. “What?”

“I won’t eat it.” He stated simply, a defiant furrow in his brow. “You can’t make me.”

As he sat up Tommy continued staring at him. Despite sleeping through the entire night, he was still so weak. On the edge of falling under again. “What do you want to eat.” He asked, his tone more orderly than he’d hoped for. “Just tell me and I’ll make it for you.”

“I’m not hungry.” He whispered, turning to hide his face in his pillow. He coughed harshly, the sound of it grating to his ears. It went on for longer than he’d thought too, wincing as tears pricked the corners of the kid’s eyes.

“Are you gonna live?” He asked, giving him a small smile that fell flat when Tommy didn’t look his way. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. “I’m pretty hungry myself, so I’ll make some food and once you’re ready to eat you just tell me and I’ll bring you some.”

He tried his best not to think too hard about it, but even as he milled around the station getting his winter gear Tommy said nothing, ignoring him in favor of staring at the floor, occasionally coughing into his elbow.

Tommy had only been awake for a day and a half and already he felt he was failing some kind of test. He was a kid, a sick little kid, and right now he was the person he had, the only person who could help him. His cough was already harsher than it was yesterday. His fever higher.

He wasn’t getting better anymore, and Techno couldn’t help but feel that was his fault.

He slipped his boots on at the door before looking over this shoulder one last time, leaning to see around the support beam in front of Tommy’s cot. “I’m going outside to cook something for us to eat.” He called softly, opening the door. “‘Won’t be far.”

“What—”

He turned back to see him finally looking back at him, pushing against his cot to sit up. “How long will it take?”

“Not long, less than twenty minutes.” He nodded again. “Don’t wander.”

He laughed softly at the idea as Techno shut the door solidly behind him, a curt cut off that left him abruptly alone in the silent station for the first time.

He hadn’t been able to look around much since he woke up, not that there was much to see. He was inside a cabin-like building with wood-board walls and floors. Four support beams kept the ceiling from collapsing in on them, and a staircase to his left told him there was at least one upper floor.

Boxes, crates, and open supplies littered the tiny space. Candles covered every flat surface, and next to the door sat an open wardrobe with coats, boots, hats and gloves spilling onto the floor. Everything was packed on top of everything else, the only truly clear space being that immediately around the camping cot he sat on, and the one Tubbo laid in across the room.

Tubbo. The moment he acknowledged his friend’s presence he felt a determination growing in his gut to check on him. He’d panicked momentarily about the state of him yesterday, but with Techno watching him he hadn’t wanted to make any sudden moves.

Slowly, as slowly as he could he slid his legs over the edge of the bed and pushed. Pushed hard. He could just barely lift his weight from the bed with his arms, shaking as they were, and his legs felt like numb tree limbs attached to his hips. He could hardly move.

The realization of just how stuck he was dawned on him. This guy, Techno, he had complete control over what he could do. He hadn’t left his side for a moment until now, and— sure, he’d asked him to stay because he hadn’t wanted to be alone, but still… how could he be sure he was trustworthy? He’d been nice enough, a little cold, but he was compassionate. But just because he was smart and kind didn't mean he was trustworthy.

With a dangerously harsh push he fell to the floor, knees buckling instantly below him as his heart pounded. Black dots danced in his vision as he took a breath, letting it go slowly. Luckily there were hand-holds everywhere around him, and with some effort he was able to lock his legs and lean hard against the crates around him to move, as jerky and uncoordinated as it felt to do so. He was up. That was more than he could say for the last two days’ efforts.

He placed his hands against the wall of crates, fingers curled around its raw edges. “Tubbo.” He called hoarsely, glancing over his shoulder toward the door. Techno could walk back in at any second, and he didn’t want to be caught walking around like this. “Tubbo.”

His cot wasn’t on the complete opposite side of the room, rather it floated in the middle of two support beams, bordered on one side by yet another make-shift wall of crates. He took in a sharp breath, stumbling gracelessly as his knees hit the floor at Tubbo’s bedside.

And as he looked at him all he saw was… a skeleton. Pale skin and a colorless face. Purple bruises stained his under-eyes and through his cheeks he could see the darkness of his mouth. He breathed in ragged breaths, a hand reaching for his mouth before changing direction, grabbing Tubbo’s hand with both of his.

“Tommy?”

His head snapped toward the door as Techno’s muffled voice called through the wood met his ears. It opened a moment later, revealing the burly man, snow-covered and wide eyed as he found Tommy’s cot empty, glancing to where he’d fallen to the floor beside Tubbo.

He took another trembling breath, his grip on Tubbo’s hand tightening as protests spilled from his mouth. “He’s dead!” He sobbed, chin dimpled and quivering. “He’s DEAD!”

“Wh—no, no no no he’s not, he’s not!” Techno’s voice was filled with panic, the most emotion he’d heard from the man since waking two mornings ago. The door snapped shut behind him as he slammed it, crossing the threshold to fall beside him on the floor.

“He’s not dead, I promise, look, look— come here, come here!” He reached a hand out, palm up toward him as Tommy backed away fearfully. “He’s alive. Look, give, give me your hand.” A soft sob shook Tommy’s chest as he pressed his palm to Tubbo’s chest, removing his own. “His heart’s still beating, he’s still breathing.”

He pulled his hand out of Techno’s grasp and clutched his chest, ducking his head down as his heart stuttered. He was still crying so violently, Tubbo was alive, and that was good. He’d nearly died, a couple times, and so had Tommy. They’d watched other people die, they’d fought tooth and claw for any scrap they could get their hands on, and they were still here. They were both still here.

He had no more fight left in him, it all bubbled to the surface.

“Did you hear what I said?” Techno asked softly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Do you understand?”

He bobbed his head up and down, but didn’t move from his position as he curled in on himself, his sobs racking his whole body. Techno sighed through his nose, running a hand up and down his arm slowly. He leaned into it, letting out a shuddering breath before inhaling sharply. Then the words started spilling out.

“There was this— this man.” He whispered, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “He grabbed Tubbo by his face so I hit him with a wrench, and then he dropped him, and—” He choked on his words, dissolving into sobs and hiding his face in his knees.

Techno said nothing, waiting while he caught his breath.

He closed his eyes as he fought to keep himself from fully breaking down, blinking away the tears that dripped down his chin. “Tubbo h-hit ‘im with a rock and we left ‘im there.” He paused, teeth grinding together. “We just… left him. We took stuff. We— we took a lot of stuff from a lot of places.”

“You’re alright.” He reassured in a whisper. “It doesn’t seem like it but it’s alright. People take things from other people all the time now. It’s never good to hurt someone if you can help it, but he was hurting you, he was hurting your friend. If you hadn’t protected yourselves, would you still be here?”

He thought about it, looking down at his knees. “It doesn’t feel good to think about.”

“It shouldn’t. It won’t.” He agreed. “I have to protect myself from people who want to hurt me too, and so do Phil and Wilbur. If someone tried to hurt them, I’d hope to God they fight like hell. If they’ve gotta kill someone, so be it.”

“Oh.” He hummed, going quiet as he leaned down, resting his chin on his knees. “I don’t want to make anyone do anything.”

“Who’s making them do anything?” He stood, offering a hand to Tommy. “Defending yourself is not an attack against someone else.”

“Defending yourself isn’t an attack on somebody else…” He repeated under his breath, looking back at where Tubbo laid in the cot to his right. They’d done that. A lot. They defended themselves from the roaches at the vault, against the man in Concord, from the ghouls in the river shack.

“Come on.” Techno pushed to his feet, snow and ice water dripping from the shoulders of his coat as he offered a hand to Tommy, who took it, though still hesitant. He kept him steady, more carrying him than anything else as they moved back to his cot. He sat down heavily on the mattress, and Techno helped lift his legs up under him, pulling the thick wool blanket around his shoulders.

“Food’s nearly ready outside, I’ll bring it to you, alright? And we’ll eat together.” He spoke softly, his eyes cast toward the floor as he arranged the blanket neatly around Tommy’s shoulders, his thumb grazing his arm in a way that was far too comforting a presence for someone he’d met only two days ago.

His breaths still hadn’t quite settled, coming in small hiccups as his eyes burned and his nose ran, salty tracks making his skin itch as he wiped his face with the ratty sleeve of his sweater. Techno could barely meet his eye as he left, and he watched him leave, the door shutting softly once more as he was thrown back into silence.

And he sat. Waiting. He watched the door for so long he wasn’t even certain how many seconds it had been since he last blinked. So he blinked, and a few more tears traced down his cheeks as his vision grew blurry.

Techno was back either in a minute or two or hours later, it was impossible to determine which based solely on his recollection. He blinked, and suddenly he was there, setting a metal bowl on the table beside his cot, steaming broth with lumps of vegetables.

He took a seat on the floor in front of Tommy with his own bowl, his movements ridged from a stiffness in his joints, settling against the ground with a tense sigh before shrugging his arms out of his heavy coat. All the while Tommy watched him, his face, his hands, his boots. He watched as he lifted the bowl with one hadn’t to his lips to sip from the corner of it, flinching when it burned his tongue. He quickly looked down at his lap just at Techno raised his head, a fraction of a second before their eyes could meet.

“I’m…” he pressed his lips together, hands fidgeting with one another in his lap as he breathed in, “I’m afraid.”

“Why are you afraid?”

He looked up, the softness of his voice foreign to his ears, and his eyes began to shine as his throat tightened once more. He swallowed silently.

Techno watched him, setting his bowl down on the floor and leaning forward, his hands clasped loosely together as he rested his arms on his knees. “Are you afraid of me?” He asked.

“Yes.”

He looked away, lips pursed. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. “I can… leave you be, if you like. Until Phil and Wilbur return.” Tommy didn’t say anything, so he kept going: “You’ll like Wilbur, he’s very funny, he’s got a kind look to him, Phil too. Not like me. I know my face can be scary to look at.”

Tommy looked up at him, the micro movements of his eyes showing the way he took in Techno’s features. His hair was long, thin at the ends and braided near his face to keep the uneven strands from his eyes. His jaw, covered in a thick beard, was sturdy and square, hiding his mouth. His eyes were narrow and his brow sat firmly above them in a near constant grimace, his face dirty, scarred.

“Wilbur has a dog, I told you that, remember?” Tommy nodded. “He’ll be back too when they arrive, and I’m sure Wilbur will let you see him of you’d like that.”

“I,” Tommy flinched at the sound of his voice, wet and whimpering, his throat closing as his face began to heat up, “I want… I want Tubbo to wake up.”

Tubbo would know what to do. What to say. He’d know how to say the feelings that Tommy couldn’t put into words, he’d say ‘don’t judge people by their looks’, and it would feel real, like it was true, and meant something; that he didn’t have to be afraid of someone just because they looked scary. But he was alone. And he didn’t know what to do without Tubbo beside him.

“I know. I want him to wake up too.” He agreed, his hand almost raising from his knee to reach out, to give him some comfort, before he thought better of it and clasped them together again. “Why don’t I… read the next chapter of that story, yeah? The one from the other day.”

Tommy nodded wordlessly, wiping the tears from his face with the dry heel of his palm as Techno picked up the novel from his bedside table, and opened to his dog-eared page.

“It took me a long time to learn where he came from. The little prince, who asked me so many questions, never seemed to hear the ones I asked him. It was from words dropped by chance that little by little everything was revealed to me.

The first time he saw my airplane for instance (I shall not draw my airplane; that would be much too complicated for me), he asked: “What is that object?”

“That is not an object. It flies. It is an airplane. It is my airplane.” And I was proud to have him learn that I could fly.

He cried out then: “What! You dropped down from the sky?”

“Yes,” I answered, modestly.

“Oh! That is funny!” And the little prince broke into a lovely peal of laughter, which irritated me very much. I like my misfortunes to be taken seriously. Then he added: "So you, too, come from the sky! Which is your planet?"

At that moment I caught a gleam of light in the impenetrable mystery of his presence; and I demanded, abruptly: “Do you come from another planet?” But he did not reply. He tossed his head gently, without taking his eyes from my plane:

“It is true that on that you can't have come from very far away.” And he sank into a reverie, which lasted a long time. Then, taking my sheep out of his pocket, he buried himself in the contemplation of his treasure.

You can imagine how my curiosity was aroused by this half-confidence about the ‘other planets.’ I made a great effort, therefore, to find out more on this subject. “My little man, where do you come from? What is this ‘where I live,’ of which you speak? Where do you want to take your sheep?”

After a reflective silence he answered: “The thing that is so good about the box you have given me is that at night he can use it as his house.”

“That is so. And if you are good I will give you a string, too, so that you can tie him during the day, and a post to tie him to.”

But the little prince seemed shocked by this offer: “Tie him! What a queer idea!”

“But if you don't tie him he will wander off somewhere, and get lost.”

My friend broke into another peal of laughter: “But where do you think he would go?”

“Anywhere. Straight ahead of him.”

Then the little prince said, earnestly: “That doesn't matter. Where I live, everything is so small!” And, with perhaps a hint of sadness, he added: “Straight ahead of him, nobody can go very far.”

Chapter Text

It was clear to Techno that he was hungry.

Over a week he’d been in the station, three days he’d been awake, and in all that time the only thing he’d seen go into the kid was a few spoonfuls of foggy vegetable broth. Regardless of how many times he tried, how many meals he ate in front of him, and despite the fact that he could see the hunger in his face, he insisted he wasn’t.

He was starving, and he knew he was starving. And he wasn’t doing anything about it.

What made the most sense, what had taken him a full night of contemplation to come to was that he must be afraid of getting sick again. It was the most reasonable thing he could think of, but that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t eaten for over three days.

His voice echoed in his mind from the night prior, scarcely a whisper and trembling with fear: ‘what if when I fall asleep I don’t wake up?’ ‘what if I die?’ He was rightfully terrified. He was in an unfamiliar place, unable to take care of himself and in the presence of a man who he did not know; and who, to a ten year old, resembled the textbook definition of a threat.

“Here.” He set a steaming bowl of thin broth on his bedside table and sat down on the floor beside the cot, as had become routine for their meals despite the fact that Tommy had yet to join him.

Predictably, he refused. “I don’t want it.”

By this time he didn’t spare a glance to acknowledge him, instead lifting his own bowl to his lips and taking a long sip from its edge. He could feel Tommy staring at him, and although he hated being watched he made a small show of finishing half the bowl in a single motion, setting it on his knee with the support and balance of one hand, humming in satisfaction.

Tommy glared, leaning his back against the wall. “How’s he doing?”

“Surprisingly well.” He replied honestly, thumb grazing he edge of the soup bowl where the metal was warped, slightly sharp. “His fever is still high but his breathing’s improved, he’s not wheezing anymore and I managed to get a bowl of something into him yesterday and today.”

Tommy nodded, eyes lowering to his lap as he played with a loose thread on his sweater. It was his turn to watch, like all the times he had over the last seventy-two hours he took in his frame: thin and getting thinner, hair unruly, grazing his shoulders in choppy locks. It wasn’t lost on him that more than a few strands were stuck to the surface of his pillow. His fingernails were cracked, a dot of red blood beading on his left hand ring finger.

His body was breaking down. ‘Eating itself’, as he’d said the day prior. The fact that he was awake did not mean he was saved. He wasn’t ill in the traditional sense. His disease wasn’t viral, or genetic. He seemed incapable of thinking through his actions to their conclusions. He was hungry, but he wouldn’t eat. He wanted to walk, but he couldn’t stand.

He stood, leaving his half-finished meal on the floor as he passed through the station toward the stairs. On the crate to his left sat one of Phil’s med-kits, and he grabbed some swabs and antiseptic, and a tin box of band-aids from inside.

“Let me see your hand.” He said, offering his own.

He unfolded his arms, offering his left instinctually, likely knowing what Techno had planned. He pressed the pad of his thumb lightly against the top of his nail, noticing the way he winced, and the blood pooled in the valley between his nail and the skin of his finger. He doused a swab and pressed it to his nail. He flinched, but didn’t pull away, allowing him to wrap a clean band-aid around his finger.

“Anything else I should know about?”

He lifted his hands, opening his palms toward Techno so he could see. The inner rim of his joints were lined with scars, maybe three weeks old. He and Phil had assumed they’d been from a lifting injury when they’d observed the boys their first night… but now Tommy was awake. He could ask him. He could ask him anything.

“How’d this happen?” His thumb grazed one of the scars, webbed across his fingers like brambles, sharp and interconnected.

“The garage door at the Red Rocket truck stop. It wouldn’t open so we had to lift it. I guess it cut my fingers pretty bad.”

Techno hummed, turning his hands over and back again. He’d had a few bruises on his hands and arms when he’d arrived, but most were gone now. His skin was dry though, with dirt caked under his nails. “Mind if I cut these nails? It’ll feel more comfortable for you, I’m sure of it.”

There was a long silence between them as Techno continued checking his hands and Tommy hesitated to either accept or deny his offer.

“Everything else looks fine by me.” He muttered, letting Tommy’s hand slowly drop to his lap as he let go. “So, how about that? I’ve got some nail clippers in the first aid kit, it won’t take long. You can do it yourself too if you’d like.”

He’d considered the possibility of the kid hurting himself on the clippers, but they were so small it was impossible to do any real damage with them. Even if they slipped, the worst that could happen was he needed another band-aid.

“You can do it.” He agreed finally, holding out his hand once more between them.

“Hold that thought, I’ve gotta grab ‘em first.” He stood, pressing a hand to his hair and ruffling it softly as he stepped away with the bottle of antiseptic.

His fingers flexed with tension as he opened the med-kit up again, wondering if perhaps that sort of touch hadn’t been welcome from him. He’d done it practically subconsciously, his hand reaching out of its own volition to ruffle the kid’s hair in reassurance. He wanted to look over his shoulder to gauge his response, but he didn’t want to spy on him either. He knew first hand how much it irked him to feel Wilbur or Phil staring at him from around a corner.

But as he slipped back around the corner with the clippers and some cotton balls in hand Tommy seemed… fine. Still watching him with those icy blue eyes, but not any more afraid or suspicious than he’d been seconds before.

He offered his hand freely once more and Techno took it gently in his own, cleaning his nails one by one before cutting them, the snap of the clippers emphasizing the lack of noise around them. He didn’t clip them horribly short, not wanting to risk nicking his skin, but by the time he was finished they were all the same length with no rips or tears. A drastic improvement.

“—Do you have a mirror?” He asked suddenly. Techno looked up, surprised at the request and even more surprised to see a look of quiet desperation on Tommy’s face.

“Yeah I think so. Somewhere around here we’ve got one.” He sent a cursory glance around the station for something vaguely reflective before trudging slowly up the stairs, returning after a minute or two with a silver tray in one hand. “Here, there ya go.”

Tommy held it in both hands, tilting his chin left and right as he took in his reflection. The face staring at him looked nothing like himself. The boy in the tray was scrawny, his forehead and jaw smeared with mud and dirt, and his skin littered with tiny cuts from brambles and thorns, all already scabbed and healing. The dirt on his cheeks was marked by tear-tracks, an echo of the panicked fit he’d endured the previous day. Not to mention the angry scar sitting starkly against his skin, bright and eye-catching even in the low candlelight.

He didn’t say anything right away, still staring into the tray as he took a shaky breath, his shaking hands making it harder to make out his reflection.

He looked like a rat.

“Alright, that’s enough for now.” Techno said softly, reaching a hand out for the tray. When he didn’t immediately hand it back, he took the mirror gently from his hands. “Wait here, I have to put this back.”

“Techno?”

He turned, leaning against the support beam as he looked back down at him. “Yeah kid, what?”

“Do I look… bad?”

“What—” He shook his head in surprise, raising a brow at the kid sitting dejectedly in front of him. “‘Course you don’t.”

“But I’ve got… My hairs too long, and my face is—”

“You look like a little boy.” He interrupted, seeing the reddish hue of Tommy’s cheeks, the pinch of his brow. He laid the tray down on the crate beside him and knelt beside the cot. “You look like a little boy, just like any other little boy.”

He sighed, eyes shining as he wiped his sleeve across his cheek, leaving another streak of dirt on his skin. “But I’ve got a big patch on my neck, and all over my arm, and hand.”

“I’ve seen plenty of people with scars just like that.” He reached forward and took Tommy’s hand, squeezing it. “I’ve seen kids with rad-scars before just like that one.”

“What about my hair, and my face and my sweater and, and all that?”

“We can cut your hair.” He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “You look fine. Don’t worry so much about it. The only person lookin’ at you is me, alright?”

He left then to put the mirror away upstairs where it belonged. This worry about his appearance was something Techno wasn’t familiar with. He only took a wack at his own hair when it started getting in his way, same with his facial hair. He kept his face clean when he remembered to, mostly in the summer when the heat constantly reminded him how hairy his face was. But everyone in their trio knew that. They weren’t worried about how they looked to one another.

As he leaned down to put the mirror back in it’s proper place he stopped himself, looking at his reflection. Brown, somewhat stringy hair laying over his shoulders, reaching down to his mid-chest. A rough-looking beard that hide too much of his face, giving him an older look.

It looked… like him. He looked the way he always looked.

For a moment he tried to imagine what it would be like to see himself in that place. The place Tommy was from. During that time Tommy would have been there. He’d be clean-shaven, that was a given. People back then almost never wore beards if he remembered correctly. His hair would be cut short if Tommy’s aversion to his own hair was enough to go by. As hard as he tried though, as much as he squinted and shifted his reflection around in the mirror… he was always himself.

He sighed, letting his hand fall to his side as his gaze lengthened, looking out the dark station windows at the field and the highway beyond. Not for the first time that day his mind wandered to Phil and Wilbur. They had to be on their way back by now, the city was big but it wasn’t that big, and besides, they were really going on a glorified camping trip rather than anything else.

What were they going to do when they walked inside and saw Tommy? That at least he could imagine easily. Wilbur would enter first since Phil had that thing about entering last, and he’d freak out, start yammering and pacing while Phil dropped his shit to do a round of questions before starting another exam.

As much as he liked to joke to himself, he was worried deep down. More for Tommy’s sake than his friends’. The kid was like a mouse, skittish and flighty. Phil was understanding enough, but Wilbur was dramatic by nature, and he wasn’t sure if he trusted him to keep a calm face for the kid’s sake.

When he came back down the stairs Tommy was laying on his side looking around the room, hands picking idly at another loose thread on the sleeve of his sweater.

He looked down. The tray was still in his hand. “…Do you want me to cut your hair?”

He froze, looking over at Techno with a raised brow. “What, right now?”

“Yeah, right now. I’ve got a knife.” He froze, rethinking that thought. “…Or I’m sure I could find a pair of scissors around here somewhere.”

“Uh…” He looked away, a nervous, excited glint in his eye at the prospect. “Yeah! Yeah, but uh, use the s-scissors. Please.”

He chuckled and nodded to him as he went about getting set up for the cut. They did have a pair of scissors, and he knew just where they were thanks to his manic organization during his first day of isolation. He swiped a loose cloth from the wardrobe and wet it in a bucket of thawed snow water they kept next to the front door before leaning over and taking one of his sharpening rods from the shelf, running the scissors along it to ensure their edges were clean and sharp.

He grabbed an empty crate from beside the stairs and brought it over, setting it down in front of the cot. “Alright kid, take a seat.”

Tommy’s expression brightened immediately and, with some help, he knelt down on the crate while Techno sat behind him, giving his hair a gentle tousle as they both looked into the mirror as Tommy held it. “What d’you want me to do? Just chop it all off? I don’t think I can go shorter than this.” He takes his fingers and holds up a lock of Tommy’s hair between them.

“I dunno. No one’s ever asked me.”

“What d’you mean no one’s ever asked? Haven’t you ever gotten your hair cut before?”

“Well, yeah. But my uh, m-mom was always there to tell them what to do.”

“Oooh.” He nodded to himself, rolling his eyes. That was going to make things a little harder. “In that case, how would you feel if I just gave it my best shot?”

“That’s fine, as long as it’s shorter.” Tommy looked down as Techno ran a hand over his hair a few more times, figuring out his main plan of attack. He took the cloth and wrung it out over his hands, wetting the kid’s hair down a decent amount before he did anything.

He remembered one spring later in his childhood, when he would’ve been around Tommy’s age, and in dire need of a haircut. Winter had just ended and that particular year he’d refused to let his mother anywhere near his hair, wanting to see how long it would grow before spring came. And when it did his hair was nearly to his elbows. Six months and he’d gone from sheep-shorn short to his father making jokes about him looking like a girl. Needless to say his mother cut it all down to size easily within the span of an afternoon.

“Your hair’s pretty thick.” He muttered, more to himself than to Tommy as he cut away the first few locks.

“Mom says I’ve got hair like my dad's.” He said, voice soft. “She’s got red hair. She always tells me that she’s so glad I got my dad’s hair cause she got made fun of when she was little for her hair.”

“Hm.” Techno nodded, half-listening as he adjusted the tilt of Tommy’s head, cutting a few more pieces.

“I didn’t ever understand that.” He whispered as he looked down at the floor, pieces of blond-ish brown hair accumulating there one by one. “I always thought she was so pretty. She’s got to be one of the prettiest ladies in the world, and people made fun of her for her hair.”

“People make fun of other people for weird things.” Techno whispered back, shaking his head almost subconsciously. “Wilbur told me once that he was made fun of by the other kids in his settlement for wearing glasses.”

Tommy hummed. “I used to know a kid who wore glasses, the same thing would happen to him, at school all the bullies’d try to take ‘em right off his face.”

Techno chuckled. “I guess some things are universal. He told me he was always wrapping them up, bending them back into shape, cause those kids’d steal ‘em, step on ‘em, bend ‘em, crack the lenses, all that. And it was hard work to keep findin’ new pairs of glasses for him so instead of telling his parents he’d just go and fight the kids to get his glasses back on his own.”

“That’s pretty tough.” Tommy muttered, playing with the loose strings on his sweater sleeve once more. “You and him seem like pretty tough guys Techno.”

“We live in a tough world, it’s nothin’ special.” He leaned back, ruffling his hair one more time for good measure before grabbing the mirror from his side and handing it to Tommy over his shoulder. “Alright, now, be honest, how’s it look?”

For a tense moment Tommy didn’t say anything, turning this way and that to look at as much of the haircut as he could see, one hand going to the back of his neck to feel the hair, cut close to his skin, a little longer on top that reminded him of the way his mother would ask for his hair to be cut. It was longer than normal, but he didn’t mind that, so long at it was off his neck and not curling around his ears.

“…It’s good.” He whispered, nodding slowly as he turned every which way. “I like it.”

Techno sighed, wiping an imaginary bead of sweat from his brow that made Tommy laugh at his reflection in the mirror. “Thank Christ, I was worried for a second you were gonna tell me you hated it.”

“No!” He shouted, laughing as he handed the mirror back to Techno. “No, I like it, really.”

“Good.” He smiled again, ruffling his hair once more before pushing himself up to his feet, staggering forward before finding his footing to set the scissors, cloth, and tray on a nearby crate to be put away in the morning.

As he turned back to the cot he froze, nearly dropping the silver tray. He gripped it tightly, knowing the sound would destroy the quiet safety of the moment. Tommy was leaning over the side table, his elbow resting on its edge as he tilted the bowl of vegetable broth to his lips.

He should look away. As with before, no one liked being stared at. But at the same time he felt frozen to the spot, uncertain of how to continue his motion in any way that wouldn’t immediately give himself away. It only took a few seconds for him to down the entire bowl. It hadn’t been a lot, Techno hadn’t wanted to make him sick off an empty stomach, but now he was weighting the odds of asking him if he wanted seconds.

He set the bowl down on the table and sighed, wiping his sleeve across his face before looking back at Techno, a look in his eyes as though waiting for him to say something. Not angry, not even fearful, just— waiting.

“Want another?” He asked, hoping that using as few syllables as possible would make the offer less intimidating. Less meaningful that it clearly was to him.

Tommy nodded.

________________________________________

‘Oh, little prince!’ He exclaimed dramatically, waving his free hand forward as he read the words on the page. ‘Bit by bit I came to understand the secrets of your sad little life. For a long time you had found your only entertainment in the quiet pleasure of looking at the sunset. I learned that new detail on the morning of the fourth day, when you said to me: “I am very fond of sunsets. Come, let us go look at a sunset now.”

Tommy watched him, a peaceful look on his face in the low candlelight, the room doused thoroughly in colors of red and orange. He was tucked tightly into the wool cover, his hands laid loosely on the pillow in front of his face as he looked through his fingers at Techno.

“But we must wait.” I said.

“Wait? For what?”

“For the sunset. We must wait until it is time.” At first you seemed to be very much surprised. And then you laughed to yourself. You said to me: “I am always thinking that I am at home!”

Just so. Everybody knows that when it is noon in the United States the sun is setting over France. If you could fly to France in one minute, you could go straight into the sunset, right from noon. Unfortunately, France is too far away for that. But on your tiny planet, my little prince, all you need do is move your chair a few steps. You can see the day end and the twilight falling whenever you like.

“One day,” you said to me, “I saw the sunset forty-four times!” And a little later you added: “You know— one loves the sunset, when one is so sad.”

“Were you so sad, then?” I asked, “on the day of the forty-four sunsets?” But the little prince made no reply.

His arm fell to his knee, page still marked with his thumb as he looked at Tommy, eye still open a sliver. “You’ll sleep alright now?” He whispered.

He nodded against the pillow, shrugging his shoulders to push the edge of the blanket up, covering his eyes, and making Techno chuckle.

“Well then, I’ll put out the candles.”

Chapter Text

There were few events in life Techno couldn’t explain using sound reasoning. The city was dangerous, but it was one of the best— one of the only —place to find supplies. It was logical to take the risk of going in for the profit that laid in making it out unscathed. And perhaps there was some luck involved in making it out, but going in was the illogical thing. The necessary leap.

It was dangerous to return to the Bedford every winter, but fighting off ghouls was worth it for the shelter it provided from the cold and storms. Everything they did was based on repeated experience. They observe. Predict. Act, and profit.

But there were rare moments, where if he were of weaker will, maybe he’d turn to ideas like fate. Karma. God. Moments where reason and logic flew out the window, leaving room for the unimaginable. The unexplainable.

The miracles.

“Good. Very good.” He muttered, a hand on Tommy’s thin bicep as the boy returned the touch with an iron grip. He trembled before him, standing if only barely thanks to Techno's support. His knees knocked furiously together as he took a step, feet dragging over the floorboards one ofter the other.

The boy's pace was nonexistent, but even so Techno smiled, the corners of his mustache curling. “At this pace you’ll reach the door by summer.”

“Shut up.” Tommy muttered, glaring at him through his bangs.

It was hardly a sharp expression, and it wasn’t meant to be if his dismissive tone was any indicator. But even then the fact he had the energy to throw aggressions and theatrical glares in any direction, to feel that lighthearted was a good sign.

“Take a seat here.” He directed toward a nearby crate, moving Tommy into position as he sank into it, his legs finally giving way to exhaustion. His chest rose and fell like a marathon runner despite the short distance. Techno looked back at his cot a few feet away. ‘Babysteps’, he thought.

If Wilbur and Phil didn’t return by noon, they’d arrive by tomorrow morning at the latest. Since Tommy’s first real meal yesterday his energy had, predictably, spiked. He’d gone from barely standing to ‘walking’ halfway to the door, and if Techno were being honest with himself, he’d begun a personal goal of getting him up to greet his friends by his side when they finally returned. Though at this point he was still unsure if the kid could withstand the weight of a winter coat on his shoulders, even for only a few minutes.

He leaned down, resting a heavy hand on Tommy’s shoulder to get his attention. “Hungry?” He asked.

“A bit.”

He smiled, ruffling his hair before pulling on his gloves. “I’ll bring in lunch.”

Before Techno fully registered the sound he’d heard his body had already frozen in place, hand hovering in the air between himself and the kid. As Tommy stood it hit his senses again— a murmur. Indistinct but clearly coming from somewhere. He turned to him, whispering his name in warning, but Tommy wouldn’t look at him. Like an animal, he stood tensed to run.

Just like that the tentative peace in the station shattered like a sheet of frost. Tommy pushed off the crate with uneven steps, launching himself toward the opposite side of the station with as much strength as he could muster, putting his feet in front of one another like cinder blocks.

Techno followed after incase he ran himself into a wall, but they both found their way to Tubbo’s bedside unscathed. Tommy fell to his knees in a heap at his friend’s bedside, heart hammering and eyes wide, scrambling to hold Tubbo’s hand with uncoordinated fingers. “Tubbo, Tubbo—”

Despite every instinct in him telling him to stay, to take control of the situation, Techno forced himself backwards, one step, and two, letting them have their space. If this was it, didn’t want to frighten Tubbo the same way Tommy had been afraid of him the first few days he’d been awake. He knelt down, shedding his winter coat to thin his appearance.

“Tubbo.” Tommy whispered, leaning over the side of the cot and down, pressing his forehead to Tubbo’s temple, eyes squeezed shut. “Tubbo, it’s me.”

“Dad?”

He took in a sharp breath and leaned back, watching his friend’s face as his own tensed expression eased, his eyes opening a fraction of the way.

Tommy shook his head numbly, confused as Tubbo’s question washed over him. He leaned in, a hand on his chest. “It’s me, it’s Tom. Tommy. You’re gonna be okay Tubs.”

Tubbo’s head lolled against his pillow, sunken eyes raised to meet Tommy’s, sweat-soaked bangs parted over his forehead and clung to his cheeks. He found a point near Tommy’s face and fixed his gaze on it. “Where’s my dad? And mom?”

Again he shook his head, squeezing their hands tightly together. “They’re not here, remember? All the walking we did for weeks, the vault, you remember that?”

It might have been involuntary, but a shiver ran down Tubbo’s spine at the mention of the place, the curled ends of his hair quivering as he made an effort to raise his head to address Tommy more fully: “We, we’re done though, right? We didn’t make it.” He licked his chapped lips, coughing harshly against his chest. “I’m tired, where’s my mom?”

Suddenly there was no air anymore. Tommy choked, his chest seizing, his brain refusing to process Tubbo’s questions. “We’re…” still alive. he wanted to say, but there was strangely no joy in the phrase. It sat like lead on his tongue, sour and heavy. He is skin was tingling, like he’d touched an electrical socket. He had to say something. “…They’re not here.”

“Where are they?” Tubbo asked, his chest rising as he took a deep breath. “I wanna see them.”

He leaned down suddenly, breath hot against Tubbo’s ear as he whispered, “we haven’t lost yet,”Even so Techno tensed, the boys’ words still loud enough for him to catch, sloe as he was.

There was a startling thread of disappointment and devastation in Tubbo’s eyes as Tommy leaned back to look at him once more, and he wondered if those same feelings were reflected back at him from his own eyes. They were alive. They were still here. But there was no joy in this. Not anymore.

“We’re gonna be okay now.”

’Our bodies will be taken care of’ Seemed a more clearer statement, he thought. It conveyed the core idea he knew they were sharing in that moment. Neither of them weren’t here anymore, but they were still alive, tethered to the world like prisoners ankle-cuffed to an iron weight.

Tubbo looked past Tommy, finding Techno’s looming figure among the shadows behind him. He breathed in sharply and flinched backward, eyes squeezed shut as a cry ripped through his chest.

“Tubbo, Tubbo!” He took him by his shoulders, his paper-thin skin and musculature jerking from his touch as he fought to get away. “It’s okay! You’re okay!”

“No, nonono, no, NO!! No— nono—” His voice ripped through the air, breathy and weak as he was. The sound of it resonated in his chest, slicing through his skin, stabbing like glass shards in his ears.

As he watched Techno couldn’t help but be reminded of the wild creatures he’d so often seen caught in snares and traps across the wasteland, in and out of the city. They’d thrash wildly, using every drop of strength in their bodies to fight against whatever held them: metal, rope, or plastic ties, it didn’t matter. The twine would wrap around their neck or legs, holding them in place as they either fought or starved to death.

Tommy pushed himself up onto the cot, wrestling to get behind Tubbo and hold him, arms across his middle, to his chest. He threaded his fingers together and pressed his forehead against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as Tubbo sobbed. What little energy he’d had left him completely once he felt he was outmatched.

“He’s safe.” He plead, squeezing tighter. “I promise. I promise, I promise, I promise.”

He shuddered again and fixed his gaze, too afraid to look in the direction he’d last seen Techno’s looming figure. “Where… Where?” He tilted his head back, leaning into Tommy’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of him.

“Bedford Station.” Techno’s voice resonated in the air between them, low as he could make it. Even still Tubbo leaned away from the noise, squeezing his eyes closed with tightly clenched teeth. He knelt down, trying as best he could to appear small. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “I want to help.”

Tommy’s face was hidden from him thanks to his position under Tubbo’s shoulder, but he could see the look in the other’s eye as he opened them, staring with overflowing scrutiny and suspicion as Techno inched toward him.

“Don’t. Don’t come any closer.”

Techno froze, stepping backwards before slowly standing. “My name’s Techno. My friend Wilbur found you and your friend during a snowstorm at the Starlight Drive In Theater. He and my friend Phil left three days ago, they’ll be back… soon. Real soon, today or tomorrow.”

“It’s okay.” He could hear Tommy’s voice, soft as a whisper from over Tubbo’s shoulder. “He’s safe.”

As he observed the two he noticed the was Tubbo leaned into Tommy, either out of a protective nature or wanting protection from him. Whatever the case, he wasn’t even half as trusting as Tommy had been when he first woke. Even with his endorsement though, Tubbo was clearly unconvinced.

“Who’re you?” He asked.

“I’m Techno.” He repeated. The boy scoffed and rolled his eyes, and for a moment Techno nearly laughed at how insulted he felt.

“Why—” a deep and racking cough erupted from Tubbo’s mouth, forcing Tommy to let go of him lest he spasm and sent them both crashing to the floor. He let go, and Tubbo curled inward onto his side, forehead pressed against the cot as his tiny frame shook with the weigh of each strangled breath. Once it passed Tubbo was left reeling, eyes wide and mouth open, scream-like as he tensed for another spasm to come. When none did though his whole boy suddenly relaxed, though not from reassurance. A bone-deep exhaustion took him over, yet even so he stared through slitted eyes at Techno, warning him not to approach.

“I’m a part of a group of scavengers.” He explained quietly now that he could listen. “There are three of us. Myself, and my friends Wilbur and Phil who’ve been gone for about a week, and they’ll be returning soon. Very soon, as soon as tonight or tomorrow morning.”

“Why’d… they leave… you here?” He panted, voice croaky and dry, yet demanding. He was weak in every sense. Small, sick, young, and yet he had an aura about him like a feral animal.

“I offered to stay. None of us wanted to leave you two here alone. You were both very sick, unconscious for several days, we weren’t sure… when you’d wake up.” Tubbo made no indication that he caught Techno’s meaning, and neither did Tommy.

“What’s this place?”

“An old train station a couple miles from where Wilbur found you, and about fifteen miles from the city’s edge.”

“How did he find us?”

“His dog led him to you. Big furry thing named Dogmeat.”

“…A police dog?”

That made him take a mental step back, blinking in confusion as he processed the question, giving Tubbo an odd look all the while. “…Yes.” He answered, somewhat unsure as he thought back on ruined posters and peeling billboards decorated with fading blue ink. “He’s a— Yeah, a police dog.”

“So that was real…” He breathed the words out.

“When Wilbur found you, you were in bad shape. That’s why he brought you here, he knew Phil and I would made sure you made it through alright, and we— Phil has been taking care of you ever since. That’s the truth.”

Tommy squeezed Tubbo’s shoulder, giving him a microscopic nod as they exchanged a set of charged glances. He turned to Techno, and if he weren’t sicker than a dog maybe the look in his eyes would’ve had real bite to it; but his face, with his pale ashen skin and sunken red-rimmed eyes, the apprehension and skepticism plainly there was less intimidating and more pitiful.

But then he looked at Tommy, and Tommy looked back at him with the most open and believing and serious look on his face. His shoulders sagged. “…Okay.” He whispered, finally looking away from Techno to stare at his fists in his lap. “Okay, fine.”

Techno sighed softly through his nose, a tense muscle in his chest finally relaxing as Tubbo sat back against the crate behind his cot. Tommy deflated too.

From that point on he kept a close eye on both of them from a distance for the rest of the evening. The two spoke quietly with one another, and Techno tried hard not to listen too closely. He knew the feeling of being listened to well, and it wasn’t a comfortable one. Even so he caught little words here and there, especially when his name was whispered. It was impossible to sit and now wonder about them. What they were saying, and how exactly they’d come to be in the station with him. Even Tommy hadn’t admitted that. He and Tubbo had been friends long before they’d found themselves in the wasteland, and there was a clear insiders-versus-outsiders mentality between them already.

As the evening progressed into night Tubbo continued to act like a cornered animal whenever Techno so much as looked in his direction. It was insane to him that Tommy, a shy, mild-mannered nervous wreck was best friends with this… personification of a knife.

The word ‘jealous’ invaded his mind momentarily, jarring him from his train of thought. No, he wasn’t jealous.

“Techno, do I look… bad? My hairs too long, and my face—”

“You look like a little boy,” he interrupted as he knelt down at his side, “you look like a little kid, just like any other little kid.”

That had been a good conversation. Or, ’good’ wasn’t the right word. It had been an… effective conversation? Cathartic? Maybe that was it. Wilbur had used that word a few times. It described a process of emotional relief. Tommy had felt better after that conversation, and Techno had enjoyed being a part of that for him. Did it need more justification than that?

He wrung his rough hands together, shaking off the tense numbness and prickly feeling that had invaded his fingertips before pushing himself to his feet, attracting the attention of the two boys from across the room, whose voices suddenly stopped. He looked across the way to them, unsure of what to say more than that he needed to be somewhere else for a few minutes.

“I’ll be back.” He muttered after a long silence, turning to the door and quickly making his exit without a reply from either of them. The door shook against it’s frame behind him before setting as he let out a sigh, and then a cough immediately after as the cold wind sucked the breath out of him.

Their closeness was expected, it was right. It would be concerning if they weren’t communicating, weren’t happy and relieved that one another were alive and well. Phil’s worst fears, that they’d been enemies and would lash out, had long since been debunked for him, but he still looked forward to the relief he’d see in his friend’s eyes when he realized the reality of the boys’ friendship.

It wasn’t hard to see the similarities between Tommy and Tubbo’s friendship and his own with Phil and Wilbur. Phil had said as much about them when they’d first joined forces. So many nights he’d sit and wonder at them, remarking that they were so alike, they might as well be twins. Then of course he and Wilbur would go at one another on a tirade of how insufferable the other was, and Phil would laugh.

He knelt in the snow and grabbed the ladle, which had fallen from the kettle’s hook sometime ago while they’d been inside. He flicked it quickly, ridding it of most of the snow, only a few flecks clinging to its smooth surface.

Maybe that’s what the feeling was. Not jealously, but familiarity. Tommy was the spitting image of Wilbur from those days, back when they hadn’t known anything about one another. How shy and timid he’d seemed in those first weeks before his spark ignited. From then on Wilbur had been a warm presence, at his side always. Annoying? Perhaps, at times. But so, so welcome.

________________________________________

“Does this hurt?”

Tubbo sat on his cot, covers neatly spread over the mattress, his ankles crossed with one wrapped tightly in his hand, thin skin pulled tight over boney knuckles. Despite his clear unease he kept calm, likely due to Tommy sleeping soundly in his own cot not far away.

It was late, and Techno knew the kid needed his sleep, but just like Tommy there was a frantic desire in him to keep a firm grasp on consciousness. Afraid that falling asleep would lead to another coma— or worse. He shook his head as Techno prodded softly at the scar tissue over the left side of his face with a rubber-gloved hand.

“It’s numb.” He said simply.

Techno retracted his hand. “It’s no longer active. And if you’re not in pain there’s nothing I can do for it with the tools we have here. Phil’ll want to have a look at it when he gets back.” He turned to the med kit open on the floor beside the cot, setting the rubber gloves aside to be washed and sterilized before being put away again. Tubbo was watching him, he knew. He felt his impatient gaze burning the right side of his face, his left foot tapping anxiously against the edge of the mattress.

“Who is Phil?”

Techno hushed him, glancing over his shoulder at Tommy sleeping a few feet from them. He’d eaten two bowls of soup, rather quickly too. Techno’d been worried he’d get himself sick, but now he was passed out, a look of contented neutrality on his face, his head leaning against the edge of the cot, threatening to fall off. “He’s a friend, like I said. Trained in medicine. He’s good with things like this.”

“‘Things like this’, what’s that mean?”

“Health stuff, I don’t know. You can ask him when he gets here.” He pulled a thermometer out from his medicine bag. Tubbo took the thermometer from him, placing the end of it under his tongue, as he knew to do. “He’s been a friend of mine for a long time, same with Wilbur. We’ve known Phil for maybe three years, but Wil and I’ve known one another since we were teenagers.”

“How old’re you now?” He asked around the thermometer.

“I’m…” He trailed off, remembering the exact number taking more effort than he’d anticipated. “I’m… twenty. Ish. Twenty-two?” He mumbled under his breath, looking down as he thought about it further. After a while he just shook his head to clear it, ignoring his residual questions. “What about you? How old are you and Tommy?”

“I’m eleven, he’s ten.”

Techno nodded, holding his hand out for the thermometer, which Tubbo handed back to him as he checked the gauge. “Eleven’s pretty old, huh? Two more years and you’ll be a teenager.”

“Being thirteen’s not that old.” He muttered, rolling his eyes. “You don’t get to do anything cool at thirteen. When you’re sixteen you get to drive a car, and then at twenty one you get to drink alcohol. Being thirteen’s dumb. It’s just a bigger number.”

Techno scoffed, shaking his head as he laughed. A driver’s-license, that’s what Tubbo was waiting for. “Alright, well your fever hasn’t gone down by much since I last checked. How’re you feelin’?”

“Fine.” He whispered. “Don’t feel hot.”

“If you’ve got a fever you’ll feel cold.” He tossed the thermometer back into the medic bag, swiping his book from the floor as he stood. “D’you feel cold?”

He thought about it for a second as Techno shuffled his things together. “I don’t think so, I mean, It’s cold outside so that doesn’t mean much.”

“Maybe, but it’s pretty warm in here.” He reached up from his knelt position, resting the back of his palm to Tubbo’s forehead. “If you can bare to sleep it would do you good. If not, well—” He grabbed a book off one of the shelves, holding it out for him to take. “We’ve got a ton of these to keep you occupied.”

“What’s the one you’ve got there?” He pointed at the book in Techno’s hand.

He stopped, looking at the book himself as though it had materialized out of thin air, falling into his hand. “…It’s, uh… I don’t know, it’s just a book.”

“What’s it about?”

“Why, do you want me to read it to you?”

Tubbo’s expression smoothed for a moment as he thought, eventually landing on a tentative scowl, as Techno had expected. “I can read it myself.” He muttered.

“Sure, knock yourself out.” He replied, tossing the book lightly onto the quilt beside him.

As he walked away Tubbo scowled at his back, picking the book up as he pushed his legs under the covers, and opening to a random chapter header:

On the fifth day— again, as always, it was thanks to the sheep— the secret of the little prince's life was revealed to me. Abruptly, without anything to lead up to it, and as if the question had been born of long and silent meditation on his problem, he demanded: “A sheep— if it eats little bushes, does it eat flowers too?”

“A sheep,” I answered, “eats anything it finds in its reach.”

“Even flowers that have thorns?”

“Yes, even flowers that have thorns.”

“Then the thorns— what use are they?”

I did not know. At that moment I was very busy trying to unscrew a bolt that had got stuck in my engine. I was very much worried, for it was becoming clear to me that the breakdown of my plane was extremely serious. And I had so little drinking-water left that I had to fear for the worst.

“The thorns— what use are they?” The little prince never let go of a question once he had asked it.

As for me, I was upset over that bolt. And I answered with the first thing that came into my head: “The thorns are of no use at all. Flowers have thorns just for spite!”

“Oh!” There was a moment of complete silence. Then the little prince flashed back at me, with a kind of resentfulness: “I don't believe you! Flowers are weak creatures. They are naïve. They reassure themselves as best they can. They believe that their thorns are terrible weapons.”

I did not answer. At that instant I was saying to myself: “If this bolt still won't turn, I am going to knock it out with the hammer.

Again the little prince disturbed my thoughts: “And you actually believe that the flowers—”

“Oh, no!” I cried. “No, no, no! I don't believe anything. I answered you with the first thing that came into my head. Don't you see— I am very busy with matters of consequence!”

He stared at me, thunderstruck. “Matters of consequence!” He looked at me there, with my hammer in my hand, my fingers black with engine-grease, bending down over an object which seemed to him extremely ugly. “You talk just like the grown-ups!”

That made me a little ashamed, but he went on relentlessly: “You mix everything up together. You confuse everything.” He was very angry. He tossed his golden curls in the breeze. “I know a planet where there is a red-faced gentleman who has never smelled a flower, has never looked at a star, has never loved any one. He has never done anything in his life but add up figures. And all day he says over and over, just like you: 'I am busy with matters of consequence!' And that makes him swell up with pride. But he is not a man— he is a mushroom!”

“A what?”

“A mushroom!”

The little prince was white with rage. "The flowers have been growing thorns for millions of years. For millions of years the sheep have been eating them, and is it not a matter of consequence to try to understand why the flowers go to so much trouble to grow thorns which are never of any use to them? Is the warfare between the sheep and the flowers not important? Is this not of more consequence than a fat red-faced gentleman's sums? And if I know— I, myself —one flower which is unique in the world, which grows nowhere but on my planet, but which one little sheep can destroy in a single bite some morning, without even noticing what he is doing— Oh! You think that is not important!”

His face turned from white to red as he continued: “If some one loves a flower, of which just one single blossom grows in all the millions and millions of stars, it is enough to make him happy just to look at the stars. He can say to himself, ‘Somewhere, my flower is there.’ But if the sheep eats the flower, in one moment all his stars will be darkened. And you think that is not important!”

He could not say anything more. His words were choked by sobbing. The night had fallen. I had let my tools drop from my hands. Of what moment now was my hammer, my bolt, or thirst, or death? On one star, one planet, my planet, the Earth, there was a little prince to be comforted. I took him in my arms, and rocked him. I said to him: “The flower that you love is not in danger. I will draw you a muzzle for your sheep. I will draw you a railing to put around your flower. I will—”

I did not know what to say to him. I felt awkward and blundering. I did not know how I could reach him, where I could overtake him and go on hand in hand with him once more. It is such a secret place, the land of tears.