Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Some weeks, a little less than a month, maybe? Feels like forever after she moved into her new family– not that it feels much different –Mom informed them of their old orphanage burned down. Chilly didn’t know what to think of that. 

She tries really hard to fit in. Well, fit in not so much, she just really wants to feel apart of the family. It’s not like going back to the orphanage was a choice… Not anymore, anyway. 

Besides, the older kids are always on about rumors, how they were actually raised to be harvested for their organs, or, that naughty children get offered as sacrifices in rituals, and some say that they were actually going to be food for demons. Chilly didn’t really understand the most of it, outside of that the world is dangerous and everyone wants to hurt them. The Boogeyman would snatch you away if you misbehaved. Monsters under your bed will eat you if you were loud and kept other people up. If you didn’t do the dishes, the dirty stuff built up will form a monster and drag you into the drain. 

Starbucks is fine, though. No one will try to kill you in Starbucks. Even Santa Clause won't know if you’ve misbehaved in a Starbucks. 

Starbucks did make Mom forget her though. 

And then there were bad guys that wanted to kill her. They took her, and she was so scared...? She thinks so anyway, because she really couldn’t remember it very well. She was tied up and crying for the most of it. The only thing she could remember very clearly was the strange look in Ivan’s eyes when he used the magic bag to make the bad guys go to sleep. 

It was a weird look. 

She couldn’t understand it. 

She thinks she might be scared of it. 

He did save her, though, so she shouldn’t be scared. He also said that he didn’t mean to save her, so it’s more like that she owes him one. So, Chilly decided that she should be nicer to him to thank him. 

She thinks maybe Mom scares her more. 

She magically 'poof'ed out of the darkness of the basement and disappear back into it, and then she was just gone. And, what did she mean by… what she said anyway? Ivan clearly understands more, he was so surprised! He was shocked , even! He wouldn’t tell her though. He said he would put her to sleep with the magic bag and not wake her up if she kept bugging him. 

That was the only thing that makes her feel like she was a part of the family. Mom never mentioned the thing again, and neither did Ivan. So, she also kept it to herself. It was like a little secret that they have. Or a weird dream. But, she knows it’s not a dream, because Ivan still gets that weird look sometimes, and you can’t share dreams. 

Chilly knows a lot of things. 

She knows how to hold a knife without it slipping. She rarely have accidents with it anymore. She can stab it half an inch into the wooden block now. 

She knows how to read, better than some of her siblings. Much better than some of her siblings. 

She can run really fast. 

She also knows not to say anything when she smells blood when Mom walks by and gives her a smile. She doesn’t know if she was supposed to feel happy about it, though. She vaguely understood that smelling blood on Mom wasn’t a good thing. But her smile was really warm and it makes Chilly feel like she was doing something good even though she wasn’t really doing anything at all to earn it. 

She also doesn’t know how to be good. She wants to be helpful, but she doesn’t think she is. No one really seems to want her help either. No one seems to want her around all that much. 

To ‘compensate’ for forgetting them, Mom said they can go to Disneyland without their siblings, so that it would be fair. 

But, since the break is over by then, she'll have Uncle Curt take them instead. 

Ivan seemed more happy about it. He said he’s glad he gets to skip school and laughed really annoyingly when Chilly told him she didn’t really understand his reasoning. 

Uncle Curt was a really cool person though. Chilly feel like he doesn't really like the whole trip thing, but Mom said it was because he hadn’t had the chance to meet them before this and so he feels uncomfortable. He also said kids are a lot of responsibilities, and when it was time for them to leave he was sighing a lot and looked like Ivan did when his finals were coming up (like he was staring Death in the eye).

Still, Chilly has a good feeling about this trip, because they got Starbucks before they left. 

Chapter Text

Disneyland is a lot different when there’s children you have to take care of. 

Thanks, Den, for letting him experience what it’s like to be a parent. Really, thanks. 

For some reason, they are the priority. For some reason, they decide where to go and what to play. What little enjoyment you can get from the rides is relinquished with the stress of keeping them in control, getting them to not fight each other, and trying not to lose any of them, sometimes intentionally. 

At least they’re reasonable. 

Some of the time. 

How the hell does Den do it with what, eight? That woman is crazy. …well, in more ways than one, considering…

Anyway. 

“Tower of Terror!” 

“You’re not even tall enough!” 

“I am!” 

“That ride has like a two hour wait! We are not going to waste that much time on you, Chilly P. Cipher!” 

“You’re just scared to go on an actual cool roller coaster!” 

“ I’m scared to go through the wait time of an ‘actual cool roller coaster’!” Ivan mocked with quotation marks. 

“I like Tower of Terror, actually,” Curt interjected. 

“Yeeahh!!” Chilly pumped her fists, then hit Ivan victoriously, “Take that! Tower of terror!!” 

“Fuck you, Chilly,” Ivan rolled his eyes, holding where he’d been hit. Though, it was much for show than actual pain. Curt had seen how Chilly punch, it was… 

Barely a fraction into the line, and Ivan was complaining nonstop. Beneath his deep irritation, Curt was somewhat intrigued by how the two would, at times, act similarly. Though, Chilly was the one doing most of the complaining he’d been subjected to this trip, with Ivan throwing mostly witty jabs back. When Ivan was doing the complaining, it quickly turned into an argument. 

Curt muttered a low curse to himself when he caught the fifth weird look sent his way. God, what would it take for someone to, maybe, mistake that the two came on their own and he was not associated with these two at all. At all. He doesn’t know them. He just some random guy. This is embarrassing. 

“Curt!” Ivan gestured at Chilly, who blew a raspberry. She had likely insulted him or something, while Curt had been distracted. He didn’t really cared to know. Ivan seemed to figure as much when the man simply stared blankly back at him with his “fuck you want me to do” expression, “This is why I said: ‘don’t go to the tower of terror, the line’s too long’.” 

“I don’t care!” She shook her head, “I-” 

“Shut up, you two,” Curt smacked the back of their heads, lightly, but it delivered its purpose. “Holy fuck.” 

“Sorry, Curt,” The two synchronized. 

Curt scoffed softly, hiding his amusement by looking away.

The peace didn’t last long. They’ve only moved forwards about… twenty spaces or so, when Chilly shrieked again. At least this time, it was someone else’s fault. The man with the beanie directly in front of them swayed and fell, unconscious. 

Ivan reacted fast, gripping the loop on Chilly’s little panda backpack and taking her a wide step backwards, giving the unconscious man spacious liberty to fall onto the ground and hit his head. Curt winced for him. It would have hurted like hell, if he hadn’t lost consciousness before he even hit the floor, which was.. strange in itself. It wouldn’t make sense to be something like a heat stroke. While Florida can get hot as shit, it’s still January. Maybe it’s the beanie. 

It could be some other type of medical condition… but wouldn’t they be able to get the disability pass, or, even, why would they be going on a roller coaster in the first place? Curt looked back. The employees are all back towards the front of the line, or back. He tried to catch one’s attention, but failed. 

He looked back to see Ivan dragging Chilly, by the hand now, ahead in line, stepping over the unconscious man. He opened his mouth, wanting to make a comment, but found himself at a loss for words. 

“Come over, Curt!” Ivan rushed him, voice hushed lower than his usual volume. Of course, people can still hear it. It’s not like everyone was trying to see what’s going on with the literal passed out guy on the floor. Well, not everyone. Not the people that actually needs to see this, like a fucking guard? Employee? 

“I don’t know you,” He decided. 

“Curt, come on!” Ivan urged, “He’s not gonna ride it anymore?!”

“Yeah, we gotta secure the spot!” Chilly still held on to Ivan’s hand. Her face was slightly pale, and her light expression felt forced. Curt wondered if that meant she was a little frightened. It makes sense for a whole entire guy passing out in front of you to be at least a little scary, to a kid, especially. She took a hesitant step forward and crouched. Using the hand that wasn’t holding Ivan’s, she poked at the guy. First under his nose for a few seconds, then she checked on his neck. “He’s alive,” She announced. 

“ You know how to check a pulse? And breathing?” Curt questioned. Doing the same but adding on a little bit of checking underneath eyelids and tongue. “What the hell is Den teaching you?”  

His eyes were a little bit clouded… but that might have been the sun. Speaking of which, his pupils were oddly blown. A concussion…? Is it even possible for human pupils to expand this much? He patted the guy, adding a little strength to it, not really depending on it to wake him up. He reached lower and he hesitated slightly, barely noticeable, as he stared at the shape of a wallet. 

He blinked and the brief moment of hesitation was over. With a light twist of his hand and underneath the disguise of his jacket, he slipped the wallet away. He reached back up to check at the guy’s mouth, and frowned as he saw foaming and drooling. He was careful not to let his hand touch the liquid. Making a conclusion, he snapped his hand back and stood quickly, shoving the two kids a little bit further back, away from the man. “He might have rabies. Watch out.” 

“Oh…” Ivan stuck his tongue out. “Ew,” he cringed, looked at Chilly, and the two of them repeated together, “Ew.” 

The disgust in their voices made Curt immediately want to push them in front of the potential rabies victim, but that’s not important. The man’s head twitched and he tensed immediately, shifting his stance. 

The beanie man opened his drooling mouth and groaned lowly before stumbling up, and only then did his eyes crack open. Gray, unfocused eyes glazed over the crowd gasping at him, scanning left to right slowly before he teetered forward, towards the three, mouth opening wider and Curt watched with, unknowingly, matching disgust as Ivan and Chilly as more drool dribbled down his chin. 

Another step, and his foot twisted on the ground before he lunged, Curt reacted fast and delivered a kick to his chest, knocking him back. 

It didn’t seem to matter to him though, as he smoothly stumbled and grabbed onto the person behind him in the line instead. Who, was screaming in fear, of which also didn’t seem to matter to him. He simply leaned some of his weight onto the tourist and bit down through fabric and skin, turning the scream of fear into one of pain. 

“I wanna go home,” Chilly’s voice was shaky. It was somewhere near a whine and it sounded like she was about to cry. Curt spared her a concerned look away from the probably-rabid-or-a-zombie man. 

“Oh, what happened to the Tower of Terror?” Ivan mocked, though his voice was tense. Their hand, too, were still connected, which would be inconvenient if they were to try to run. 

“Let’s go,” Curt waved his hand. His height offered him a slight advantage in being able to look  above the crowd for a clear route out. They were a mess, scrambling and running, trying to get out themselves. It was a sort of a good thing, because at least they realize the danger and he wouldn't have to squeeze two kids through the mess, but they could also easily separated the three or get them bitten by the maybe-zombies mixing with the chaos. 

He unhooked a belt barrier, letting it retract in a snap as he hurried out, motioning for the kids to follow, glancing back occasionally just to see someone, not the initial beanie guy but someone that looked just to have just about the same amount of intelligence and control over their actions, lunge at Ivan. 

“Ivan!” Chilly cried, frozen still. 

“Ack- FUCK!” Ivan yelled, having blocked the attack with his arm shielded over his face. The result is the probably-zombie longing its teeth into his forearm, gnawing a bit at him while its hands clawed– with pale, long, inhumanly sharp and extended unless it was some sort of manicure the guy had before he turned into this, but stained with blood regardless –towards his neck. Before it could reach, Ivan had pulled a knife and stabbed it quickly through the temple, pulling his left out of the zombie’s mouth, shoving the zombie back, pulling his knife out and escaping back in one smooth motion. “Fucking shit,” he panted. 

In two large strides, Curt was by him, grabbing both Chilly and Ivan by the wrists as he tugged them towards where the fewest zombies and potential zombies (people) are, “Let’s go!” He repeated, more aggressively this time, not sure what he expected it to do other than add to the stress. Which, might be a good thing, considering how Ivan wasn’t exactly in the correct mindscape to be screaming in pain about being bit and that’s probably the best he could ask for at this point. 

As they ran, the scene replayed in his mind. Curt glanced back, and Ivan’s knife was still dripping a gooey, darker than humans blood, splashing little droplets on his shirt because he was swinging it as he ran. “How’d you get a knife into Disney?” 

“Metal detectors don’t always work,” Ivan gritted, looking at least a little proud of himself but more wary of the zombies closing in on them at the moment.  

“U- uh, oh-h,” Chilly stuttered, looking at something while she panted through being dragged into as much of a run as a stumble as she was managing. 

“What,” Curt hissed. 

“There were- were ki -ids back the -ere.” 

“Those kids are zombies-" he huffed, "-now,” Ivan dragged his corner of his mouth up in a forced, mock smile. 

She didn’t say anything except breath heavily as they ran. 

Curt let go of them when they neared their car as he fumbled for the key. The parking lot was more moving cars than people, or zombies. Clearly, the owners of the still-parked ones were likely zombies, or are in the process of becoming zombies. Something came to him while he unlocked the car and pulled open the car door. “Ivan, you gotta cut your arm off.” 

“WHAT?!” 

“You heard me,” As soon as Chilly scrambled on following Ivan and they shut the door, Curt drove straight out of the parking lot (the car parked in front of them had left moments earlier), “Cut your arm off, or we’re leaving you.” 

“Dude, you’ve seen how fast they turn into zombies,” Curt looked back at his forearm. It was bleeding like hell, but his skin was still a healthy, fleshy color as opposed to the greenish greyish, deteriorating skin color zombies have. “What if I’m immune?” 

“You? No way,” Curt brushed him off immediately, “What are the chances?” 

“Fuck you,” Ivan bit back, “Why can’t I be? I’m literally not zombie-ing or killing you or biting you right now, I’m definitely immune.” 

Curt tilted his head slightly, staring dead at the road as he sped along it, trying to find a gas station. It’d be nice to rob those of their gasoline before others get to it. A bit of their food too, and weapons if they have any. 

“No, I’m not taking the risk,” He told him over a glance, “Fuck do I look like to you? Cut your arm off or I’m kicking you off.”

“Curt!” 

“Cut your fucking arm off.” Curt glanced in the back mirror, but quickly back to the road. He didn't want to be distracted and die to horrible driving as opposed to literal zombies, the significantly more reasonable and justified death. But... was Chilly crying? 

“...can you do it?”

“Hell no,” Curt barked a laugh. Short and jarring. He scared himself a little with it. “I’m not doing that.” 

“I,” He gasped for breath, “..fuck, now ?”

“You’re bleeding all over my car anyway.” 

“I.. f-fuck you, Curt.” Ivan’s breathing was loud and fast, out of rhythm, his knife was raised, shaky in the mirror and his voice was pitched weirdly towards the end. 

“Five,” He stared at the road, “Four-” 

“FUCK YOU,” He screamed. Chilly screamed too. He could only guess he cut down, amidst the noise. 

“STOP,” Chilly cried, begging. “STOP IT!” 

“AHGHh,” He breathed, the ends of his raspy screams pitching up in a twist. “FUCK! FUCK YOU, CURT!” 

“Sto- op..!” Chilly wasn’t even saying words by the end of it, only incomprehensible noises that couldn't be described as anything other than just simply: crying noises. It kind of hurted Curt's head. 

Curt looked towards the side window, trying to find some sort of calamity in the mess this day had become, only to see the car a distance behind him swerve off control, looking oddly like if their driver were attacked by a zombie. 

If this was a fucking sign… 

He rolled his eyes and lowered the car window, letting the stinging scent of blood air out and hoping the guilt would leave too. If that was a fucking sign, then the divine are cruel. 

“Ah-ag,” Ivan coarsed, “Fucking shit,” 

“Ivann, wuhhh..” Chilly sobbed, “What do I, ahh.. do? You’re bleeding, hnn, so much, wuuh..” 

“Shut up,” Ivan spoke harshly. Then, it sounded like he slammed his head back into the seat. “Fuck. Can you get the first aid kit?” 

A pressure disappears from the back of Curt’s seat, where they had kept the box. 

“H-here, uwaahhhnnn…! Ivan…!” 

“Chilly, shut up!” Ivan reprimanded again, with a little short, panicked, rasp laugh in his voice, “I’m the one that had to cut my fucking arm off, hello?” 

“Sorr, sorry -yy.” 

“Ah- sssss. Goddammit,” Ivan breathes shakily, voice a low hiss. Curt can assume by the ungodly, disgusted, and terrified noise Chilly made that he was probably patching himself up. That’s better than sitting around and bleeding out, he would say. “Fuck you, Curt. I hate this.” 

“Oh yeah,” Curt turned towards the gas station. He was lucky, it either had been raided already, or they just happened to be the first one to get there. “Are you gonna keep your arm?” 

“Why the fuck would I keep it? A zombie bit it,” He laughed, it was spiteful but weak. He looked pale and sweaty, a little bit of blood loss will do that. 

“It might be a cool memoir?” Curt asked, jumping out and pulling open the car doors. “Now come on, we gotta do this as fast as possible.” 

Chapter Text

The sun was low in the sky when they had gotten back at the place they were staying at. It paints most of the sky a painfully bloody orange that echoes of the blood, gore, and death the three had driven past and tried their best to ignore. Still, as far as Curt could tell, the sun is still the same, an ironic piece of normalcy most all the streets have been heavily tainted with blood.. 

Only one zombie was close enough to them as they pulled into the driveway to pose a real threat, who, while fast, wasn’t fast enough to catch up to a screaming Chilly pulling Ivan into the house. Curt chased after them and slammed the door in her face. 

She still looked quite human, bloody gnaw marks on her face and neck — still-flowing blood, in fact — depicting her death but she looked human nonetheless. Muddy (bloody?) smudges litter her clothes and her flesh was desaturated like it was drained of blood. Her… it’s nails were sharpened and they dug into the door, but thankfully not enough to dig through it. The scratching on wood continues for a bit longer, before it ceases. He looks out from the peephole and sees it standing vacantly, not quite leaving but not too violent at the moment. 

“How’s your arm?” He asked Ivan. 

“What do you think?” The teen hissed back harshly. “Gone.” 

“The bandaging,” He specified, taking a careful step back. The house wasn’t old and their floorboards didn't creak. His shoes make a light shuffling sound on the wood as he turns to usher the kid along. “Come on, to the bathroom.” 

Ivan made a grumbling complaint, not loud enough for Curt to hear, or care about. It’s really not like he felt guilty about making the kid chop his hand off or anything, it was for the greater good. Better one hand than dead. 

He searched through the bathroom, having to shine his phone’s flashlight into the dark of the cabinet to locate what supplies that’d count as medical and that laying them out along the sides of the bathtub. He doesn’t try to strike a conversation, something heavy in his throat prevents him from speaking. He was sure it wouldn’t be well-received anyway and it’d turn into something that’d end up pissing him, Ivan, and or Chilly off. Probably all three, and he wants to avoid tantrums if possible. He can feel the kids’ silent, slightly eerie presence behind him by the doorway. He found what he’s looking for so he turned around, motioning for Ivan to come closer. 

Ivan held out his hand wordlessly, staring at him. Curt couldn’t tell if it was distrust or something else in his eyes but as long as he would cooperate, they’re stuck together. He undid the bandaging as carefully as he could, but not without eliciting a light hiss from the teen, then a muttered “motherfucker”. 

The bandaging was solid though, he’d give them that. He left the gauze they fashioned into a tourniquet where it was. The flesh was sickening to look at, around the bone were clearly more jagged and torn up flesh, oozing liquid slowly and glistening. Thankfully, the red blood that oozes from the vaguely scabbing injury still looked and smelled human. The blood did soak through the old gauze, so it had to be changed. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” 

He glanced at Ivan when he spoke. He found the boy staring at his free hand, which hovered above the rubbing alcohol (he wasn’t even reaching for that, he wanted the gauze). He then smiled, tensely and not really bothering to hide his irritation, “You would rather get an infection?” 

Ivan was wordless for a moment, lips pressed firmly as he seemed to be fighting an internal battle. Curt spent a blink of time amusing himself with the thought of just opening the bottle of alcohol and splashing it onto the wound while Ivan was distracted, but seeing as the wound had mostly stopped bleeding and looked plenty clean, he didn’t want to risk bringing the blood back. 

“It should be fine,” he decided then, but pocketed the bottle, since they might need it later. He unfurled some gauze and plastered them onto the wound, gently at first where little spots of crimson begins to seep through and firmer and harsher later, when there was less risk of tearing the wound, Ivan swore whenever the bandage was wrapped a little too hard, his right hand gripped the sink tight enough to wobble the flimsy thing. 

The lights flickered off just as he finished it off. 

“There goes the power,” Curt stood. 

Ivan glanced at him. He looked like he wanted to say something, and so Curt halts a second to wait for him, but whatever it is never comes. He looked… vaguely like a kicked puppy and Curt decided he didn't want to linger on that anymore. He really didn’t need to feel guilty about anything. He did what was best for all of them.  

He pushed past the two, out of the dark bathroom and into the somewhat brighter living room, tinted orange with the setting sun and with his footsteps heavier than he would have liked. He can’t help the stress that coils in the back of his mind. To be in a zombie apocalypse was one thing and to keep kids safe during it was another thing. He’d at least make a decent effort though, he decided. If they end up dying before he could get them back to their parent, he could always just turn tails and run from her for the rest of his life which he’s sure won’t be hard, with the power cut and communications with it. (It sure is interesting to think about how Den would react if she found out he let her kids die…) (but then again, he was only one man, and he did NOT sign up for this.) 

“This fucking sucks,” Ivan followed him out of the bathroom. 

“You could say that again,” Curt headed for his bedroom. They shouldn’t stay here of all places for too long. Not a suitcase, surely, but he can pack a backpack of essentials. “You two should pack each a bag of what you need…” He turned and frowned upon seeing the boy, his severed limb jutted at an awkward angle as to not stimulate his fresh injury. He stared at him just as wordlessly as Chilly, who too, had at some point crept up and stood next to him. He could only assume their equally blank stares were receptive. “Also, you,” he pointed at Ivan, “you should change your clothes.” 

“You really should,” Chilly agreed. She had dollops of blood on her shirt, but Ivan was nearly drenched in blood, especially the left side of his pants and the lower hem of his shirt. 

“Fuck off,” he huffed, striding towards their room (they shared one on account of there only being two bedrooms in the Airbnb) while Chilly followed quickly behind him. The door to their room doesn’t shut and Curt could hear the two chit about as he packed his things. 

One set of clothes should be enough. As long as they stayed close to at least urban areas, he can always just ‘borrow’ some from the uninhabited houses they’d surely come across. He was wearing light clothing at the moment, so he should grab something warm. Long sleeves and durable jeans, tie a jacket around his waist. The clothes he shoved to the bottom of his bag, and on top of them he set some lasting food he found around the house, two bottles of water and the rest he threw atop the kitchen for the kids to grab if they forget to take some from their room. Which, he wouldn’t be surprised considering what they were arguing about…

“Don’t take the fucking panda, Chilly, are you stupid? That’s only gonna take up space!” 

“It’s emotional support, you just lost your arm!” 

“I lost my arm, why are you taking it?!” 

“How do you know it’s not for you– ?!” 

“I don’t like plushies!”

“–then don’t! I don’t care! What if I lose my arm?! I’ll need it then!” 

“You’re not gonna lose your arm-” A sound like something tumbled off somewhere high, “Oh, fuck- hey, watch if your fucking bear end up being the reason you lose your arm.” 

“No!! Don’t say that!” 

“Auh-mfmfsh!” A dampened smacking sound, like Chilly had shoved her beloved panda plushie into Ivan’s face to shut him up. “Ofh- fhum my arm, my arm! Chilly!!” 

“I’m bringing my panda!” 

“Whatever! Don’t blame me when you die!” 

“Fuck you!” 

“Hey- fuck off!” 

Curt let out a sigh. He wasn’t gonna help anymore if the wound had gotten torn in the two’s roughhousing. 

He slotted a flashlight in the cup holder, some batteries to go with into the front pocket. First aid kit too. Rope, duct tape, virtually anything that could be useful. He stopped in front of a shelf, the miscellaneous decorations atop it. There was an hourglass of pale sand, a Rubik's cube that has muted colors, a wooden mannequin that’s made of blocks, but his gaze lay firmly on an intricate compass, probably some sort of souvenir but functioned well enough when he checked it. He clicked his tongue as he realized they might be a bit more fucked than he’d thought. He only vaguely remembers the way they had come from, so actually getting their way back home or at least to Den will take a shit load of fumbling around with a compass and maps that he’s got no clue how he’ll find. 

His pistol he’ll keep hidden under his shirt but extra bullets he tucked in the front pocket. Soap, deodorant, gum, or should he bring a tube of toothpaste? He stares at the comb for a second and debates if they should cut Chilly’s hair off. It reaches her upper back, so really not exactly so long that it’d warrant trouble but her curls make her hair appear fluffy and messy, with the potential to catch on something or another, but still he settles with just taking the kitchen scissors along and asking her later. He laid out the kitchen knives along the table and tested their edge carefully with his thumb, one by one. None of them were too sharp, but the brand suggested good quality so it was of some worth. 

His hand stills as he looked up to approaching arguments from the two kids stumbling out of their rooms. 

“Why do you get to bring a sketchbook but I can’t bring my panda?” 

“I didn’t say you can’t -” 

“Yes you did!” 

“Yes you did,” Curt maintained. 

“Okay- well, you didn’t listen anyway,” Which was true, Chilly gripped her panda tight in her hands, clearly unwilling to give it away even now. Or, perhaps she was resigned to departure and is just enjoying the last moments with it. Ivan grinned at her, all self-satisfied, “So, I can bring my indulgence.” 

“Dinner’s gonna be cup noodles, everyone okay with that?” Seeing as the two have invited themselves to sit in front of the dining table like they usually did, Curt asked, grinning dryly because that was quite literally the only option they had. He’d managed to find some matches and a lighter to start the stove, and he filled a pot with the excess bottled water they wouldn’t be able to bring with into the pot, set to boil. 

There were some vegetables and eggs in the fridge. The milk was definitely going to rot, but maybe tomorrow it’d last till tomorrow morning if he shoved it in the freezer, before the cold temperature could dissipate. There was some bread they could toast on a pan tomorrow morning as well, so tonight and tomorrow would be the last decent meals they’d get. He doesn't imagine that meals will still go so smoothly after most fresh foods have spoiled. 

He pulled out two cans of soda and slid it towards the two, before prying out some ice from the dispenser and getting himself a beer. “Enjoy,” he remarked dully, “Spoil yourselves before the food does.” 

“Oh-” Chilly looked to Ivan, “Was that- ?” 

“Wow, that’s so funny, Curt,” Ivan snarked. 

“I’m stressed, okay?” He sighed, irritated. The water’s boiling, so he dumps four packs of noodles into the pot, the rest he shoved into his backpack. “Sue me for trying to lighten the mood.” 

“It was… kind of good, Uncle Curt?” 

“No it wasn’t,” Ivan grumbled, “Bad joke, bad attempt.” 

“If you’re gonna give me all this shit, I’d like to see you try,” Curt had his back turned to the two. He wasn’t really offended over something so mediocre. He was really stressed, it wasn’t an excuse. It’s just a sense of responsibility and he feels sorry… for their situation and it’s very very different from feeling guilty. 

“Oh, you want to hear a funny joke?” Ivan waits for him to answer, voice tilted high and demanding as if a taut bow. 

Curt doesn’t speak, but Chilly does. “I do.” 

“My fucking life,” The bitterness that was in Ivan’s voice when directed at him ebbs away when his audience transforms to his sister. All that remains was just a kind of exasperation, without most of the venom. 

“That wasn’t really funny either,” with child-like bluntness, Chilly told him while staring at him dead on. 

“Yeah,” Ivan sighed, “I know.” 

“Your life really is a joke.” 

“Chilly Panda Cypher!” Ivan slammed his palm down on the table, the chair screeching backwards as he stood. There was, however, a laugh in his voice, so Curt didn’t bother intervening. And honestly, if their bond couldn’t withstand a little bickering, he might be better off abandoning one of them. “How dare you!” 

“AhHHHHH! Uncle Curt, help-!” 

“Don’t get too close to the fire,” he warned, shielding the stove with his body slightly as he seasoned and stirred in the eggs while the two ran about. As he turned the stove off, he turned to watch the two play, Chilly giggling through out-of-breath-pants while Ivan struggled to chase after her, more sliding around with the help of his socks than actually running, his bandages thankfully clear of any reddened stains. 

He moved the pot onto the dinner table, while he set up their utensils. He sat and served himself a bowl. The kids will gather back with him when they’re about done with their arguments. He didn’t know how Den usually disciplined them, but it’s worked for him so far. 

“That’s not fair!” Ivan yelled, from somewhere in the foyer. “You can’t have a bat !” 

“You have a crowbar!” 

Curt’s eye twitched. Still, quite normal behavior, from what he’s come to find. 

“Because you picked up the bat first!” 

“Then if I drop the bat, you will drop the crowbar.” 

“Deal. Three, two, o-” 

“No! How do I know you’re going to drop it? What if you’re just tricking me?” 

“Oh- what if you’re tricking me ?!” 

“ You picked up the bat first, if anything you’re in the wrong!” 

“You’re eight years older than me! And you have a crowbar! It’s very clear who’s in the wrong!” 

“ You have a bat! I’m only defending myself.” 

“Against-”

Clearly, the very intelligent conversation wasn’t going anywhere, so Curt interrupted. “Come get dinner first, argue later.” It took a moment, but they reentered the kitchen, sitting down in their respective seats and serving themselves. Only the first few bites of food kept them quiet, before they were bickering and waving their weapons about again. Chilly had less control over her bat than Ivan, barely missing the lights with her bat and surely would have shattered or knocked the hanging light if not for her lack of height. Ivan, however, had a disadvantage as he was down to one hand. He gripped his crowbar by the center and slightly spun it as he blocked Chilly’s hits, but that left him unable to eat his food. 

“Do you like using bats and crowbars?” 

“What do you mean?” Chilly stopped trying to hit Ivan for a moment, the teen taking the opportunity to shovel some noodles into his mouth. 

“As opposed to… knives, which, apparently you both have,” but they are Den’s kids and he shouldn’t have expected anything more. “If you want to use something else, we should at least put that into consideration.” 

“I don’t know,” Chilly hummed, swinging her bat around in the air with a bit more control than before. Slowly, a giddy, kind of murderous and bloodthirsty grin begins to develop as she stares at it before it washes away as she leans down to eat another mouthful of noodles. “In kifmna cooml!” It’s kind of cool!

“Ew, table manners, Chilly,” Ivan reminded her, then looked down at the crowbar, set down by his bowl,. “I’m okay with a knife. Guess I’m lucky to have not gotten my right bitten.” 

“Probably,” Chilly nodded solemnly.  

“As opposed to a crowbar? Should we take these with us when we leave?” Curt asked. 

“How would I know? I’ve only ever stabbed someone and-” He suddenly paused, swallowed, and stared Curt dead in the eyes, and he almost seemed to flinch before he finished the thought, much quieter. “...suffocated someone.” 

“Plural.. I think.” 

“Shush, Chilly,” Ivan looked slightly distant and as a result only half-hearted in his retort, “What do you know, anyway.” 

“I was there!” 

“Five minutes without fighting,” Curt groaned, “That’s all I ask for.” 

“Sorr- uh-…” Ivan looked away, frowning at himself for cooperating with Curt. 

“Sorry, Uncle Curt.” 

“Have you two finished packing?” 

“I think so?” 

“There wasn’t much to begin with,” Ivan pointed out. “Our’s are in our room. Speaking of which, when are we leaving?” 

“Tomorrow morning.” 

“I wanna go home,” Chilly glanced down, and for a second Curt worried if she was going to start crying. 

“Aww, do you miss your mommy?” Ivan mocked. 

“Do you miss mom ?” She turned sharply towards him, “Or do you want to talk about my ‘ mother ’, when yours left you too?”” 

“God damn,” Ivan winced. 

It hadn’t been five minutes, but at least Curt’s finished his food. He drops them in the sink and doesn’t worry about washing them — since he can’t. He makes a round through the house, checking if there’s anything else he should take. He had turned off his phone and shoved it into his backpack a bit ago. Not to say that he doesn't trust (but he didn’t, not really) in the government but he’s got a feeling he wouldn’t be able to charge it anytime soon. But, since he wanted to keep the memories in his phone he’d have to bring it around. 

Maybe they should bring a pan. It could easily be used as both a weapon and to make food with. A bit heavy though, he’s not sure if they should travel light. Since they’re driving, it shouldn’t be too big of a problem, though… 

By the time he’d done a round around the house, there was an additional can opener, a bundle of tough rope, a tube of lotion, some nails and a hammer in his backpack. He returned to the living room to find Ivan reading a Berenstain Bears book by the evening light while Chilly watched him sleepily with her plush held close. The teen read the bedtime story monotonously, the only emotion in his tone is boredom, accompanied by the occasional pained hisses when he pulled his wound to turn a page. 

He sat down on the single-person couch across from theirs. Ivan only spared him a glance, not even pausing in his narration. It was… somewhat peaceful. Ignoring the occasional groans of zombies outside. 

Speaking of which, they were starting to turn aggressive, sounding more like someone trying to hack out lodged food in their throat than frustrated groans. 

“Uh oh,” Ivan muttered, turning to look outside, before he suddenly ducked, laying down flat on the couch. Chilly’s eyes were wide with fright and glanced between him and Curt worriedly. 

Curt stood warily and approached the window. “Someone… is being attacked by zombies. He’s got four after him for now.” 

“Lucky him,” Ivan noted. “Is that it?” 

“He has a gun, but he’s not using it,” Curt continued to inform. 

“Bro, why?” 

“He’s just kicking them around. Haven't gotten bit yet, so it seems like it’s effective.”

“Maybe the zombies are attracted by noise?” Chilly proposed. 

“Perhaps,” Curt murmured, a bit distracted with observing the man. 

“They’re always attracted by something. Smell, noise, sight,” Ivan listed. 

“Oh, fuck me. He’s running towards us .” Curt took a step back from the window. 

“Shit, what do we do?” Ivan scrambles to sit up. Chilly tightens her hold on her plush. 

“Don’t open the door, obviously,” he hisses, but before he can find a chair to prop the door shut, something heavy has collided into it and begins to scramble to open it. He felt his blood rush and his heart skip a beat when the handle shook, twisted, and the door opened. Fuck.  

The tousled man freezes for barely an instance upon meeting eyes with Curt, who stood taller than him and wore a stern (more like stunned) expression, but he quickly recovered and shut the door behind him, just before the zombies following him could land a claw or bite. 

Curt glared at the two while the intruder’s back was turned, jabbing a thumb at the door. Which one of you fuckers forgot to lock the goddamned door?! 

Chilly! Ivan pointed, the book he’d been clutching sliding off to the side as he let go, falling softly against the cough cushion. 

Ivan! Chilly pointed straight back. Upon seeing the finger pointed back at her, she widened her eyes and used both her hands to point, in addition to a swaying motion to illustrate her point. 

Doesn’t fucking matter, we’re all gonna die! Ivan glared and made a cut-throat gesture, then pointed back at her. All because of you, Chilly P. Cypher!

 “I’m so sorry, man,” the intruder pressed his back against the door now that he was safe. The gun he held while he was dealing with the zombies was no longer in his hands, which looked bruised and dirtied and shaky but not bloody. No signed of bites or scratches on him either. Curt, however, notices a sharp edged bulge in his pocket that his ruffled shirt couldn't cover. He thinks back to his own gun and trusts the jacket he tied around his waist would conceal it. “I just really need a place to hide for the night. Please.” 

“Hey, look,” Curt began softly, “I’m sorry, man-” 

“No, please!” He was cut off by the man, who was almost tearful, “I can trade! I have supplies, in exchange. Just one night, please let me stay.” 

Curt opened his mouth to say something, but he had gotten distracted by the two behind the intruder. Somehow, with the strategic placing of the couch and dim lighting, the kids hadn’t been noticed yet. Ivan had his single arm crossed fiercely over his chest, what’s supposed to be an “X” now just looked silly. And sad. Chilly, on the other hand, interlocked her fingers and brought them up to her chin like a prayer, or begging, no doubt wishing for him to kick the man out for self-preservation. He considered letting them get their way, pull his gun and threaten the intruder to leave. 

But in this case, Curt narrowed his eyes. Neither option seemed safe. If he forced this likely-dangerous individual to leave, chances are he’d do something irrational and put them all in danger. At the same time, letting him stay was a ticking bomb just waiting to go off. Better later than now, though, he figured. “Just one night.” 

WHAT!? Ivan gestured wildly, face utterly appalled and betrayed. 

NOOOOOO! Chilly had a huge pout on as she scrambled for the previously forgotten plushie, bringing it back up to bury her face in it. 

Curt felt his eye twitch again. If they’ll ever learn to be serious. 

A man with nothing to lose is dangerous. A man with nothing to lose and a gun, a hidden gun is even more dangerous. There was something incoherent to the speech and behaviorism he’s displayed so far that hinted at a plot, but he could only keep his guards up as opposed to anything offensive. “But, you have to sleep on the couch.” 

“No, yeah, no, that’s fine, thank you! Thank you so much!” 

Curt didn’t say anything, only letting out a heavy breath as he stepped to the side, beckoning the intruder inside, to make himself comfortable, considering they’d possibly have to spend at least a night with the guy. The man nodded, so fervently that it looked like a bow as he pushed past him, leading towards the back kitchen.  

Why would you let him stay?! Chilly gestured wildly, mouthing the words aggressively at him when he turned towards her. We’re all gonna die!  

Ivan, instead, pointed with a glare, lining up his finger at him with one eye, similar to aiming a gun. He mouthed, I’m blaming you if we die.  

Curt rolled his eyes, exasperated. He points at him, then makes a mock speaking motion that mimics the opening and closing of a bird’s beak, before jabbing a thumb back at the kitchen, mouthing, Why don’t you fucking say something then? 

Watch me! He bared his teeth, I fucking will next time . 

If there is one, he held up a finger to remind him. 

If there is one! Ivan repeats, pointing a hand to really drive home his threat. Your fucking fault!

Let’s calm down, guys. Chilly swooped her hands downwards, then around in a circular motion and held up a finger. It’s everyone’s first time.

A click of the safety being going off has them freezing up. Curt turned around to see a second one, in addition to the previous intruder standing in the doorway of the kitchen, holding pistols that were pointed directly at him. “ Well, fuck ,” he breathed, softly, barely audible. 

But the kids did hear it. 

“Don’t try anyth-” 

“Curt I fucking hate your bitchass-!” A pillow is thrown onto the back of his head. He just managed to not stumble from the force. 

“Oh, my, Godddddd, why did we let them innnnn!?” Chilly whined, “We’re all gonna dieeeeeee!” 

“This is the last time we trust Curt to make a consecutive decision, I swear to God!” 

“Can y'all just-” he makes a vague gesture towards his temple as he stared at the intruders. “Shoot me now?” 

“What, no!?” Chilly cried. “What about us?!” 

“Yeah, think of the children, Curt!” Ivan chimed mockingly. “What about us?” 

“'What about',” he muttered to himself. The first one, the one that they’d let in had an unreadable expression, brows furrowed in concentration. The other looked more relaxed as he looked the three of them slowly over. It could be feigned lightheartedness, or it could be sociopathy or psychopathy. “What do you want from us?” 

“Your house, your resources,” the second intruder listed, an easy grin at his lips. With a tilt of his pistol, he pointed at something outside. “Including the car.” 

He almost scoffed. Of course they’d be after that. “Alright, that’s fine.” He half expected the kids to shrill some sort of disagreement at his decision, but they stayed quiet (outside of Chilly’s exaggerated, continuous crying sounds). “But, you’ve gotta let us have something . It’s late as hell , we’ll die right off the bat.” 

“Why should we care?” The first one asked, his voice kept consistently low in a hushed tone. 

“You’d have three extra zombies running around,” He wagered carefully, “Just three backpacks, barely a fraction compared to this entire house and our car, we don’t need much. I’ll give you the keys.” 

The first one glanced at the second one, who cocked his head to the side with a purse of his lips. “We could also just shoot you, and get the keys that way. No extra zombies either.” 

“Is three backpacks that much?” Curt smiled instead. His temper was running thin. He liked to call himself patient on a normal day, but this was anything but that. The day had been too eventful, zombies and blood and screaming. Though to be fair, he thinks it might not have entirely been the whole zombie apocalypse's fault, just generally a day of Disney lines and annoying children would also put him on edge of just pulling his gun out, shoot everyone and then himself. Or, just himself and leave the kids to deal with this bullshit, if they’re just going to bitch about his decisions. (he could, but he wouldn’t.) “Besides, don’t you think the gunshots would draw the attention of zombies?” He inhaled slowly, trying to school his expression from the I’m-about-to-end-it-all smile into something that looked more like he was sincere and vaguely pathetic, pity-inspiring. Mostly some sort of divorced dad look. “ Please . Just enough for us to get by.” 

He was betting a little on humanity. It was only the start of the chaos, and if people wanted to be cold blooded killers, they usually couldn’t transition their mindsets right away. And, especially if they want to be cold and calculated, they wouldn't try to risk drawing the zombies’ attention. He wondered if he should add a wager and threaten with his gun, or instead keep it as an element of surprise to retaliate should the two if they made any moves. 

“Give us the keys, and get on with it,” The first one hissed, “try anything funny and the kids get it.” 

His expression shifts more solemn as he hands the man his keys. False sincerity, he thinks to himself, careful not to let it show on his face. He could give less shits about the kids. (also false, he would at least try to keep them safe... out of obligation though, nothing more.) “They’re just in the bedrooms.” 

“Run along!” The first intruder demanded, slightly louder and more irritated. His brows were knotted even further, his companion gave his shoulder a firm pat. 

“I miss mom.” He heard Chilly say as he made his way down the hall, keeping his eyes out for anything they might need but found they were at least somewhat adequately prepared. 

“I bet she’s doing well,” was Ivan’s reply. 

He kind of missed Den too. He lifted both their backpacks with one hand and slings his backpack over his shoulder. Exiting the bedroom, there’s a split thought in his mind that he should shoot the two and just kill them while they were distracted by the kids, who were bargaining terribly with the intruders to let them keep their weapons. Ivan yelping loudly as Chilly hits him on the head 'accidentally' — which Ivan doesn't seem to believe  and the second intruder snickered. 

“We should let them keep it, eh? One hell of a hilarious sight.” He nudged his companion. 

But, he wasn’t going to be able to do it, kill two people. He wasn’t cold blooded enough. (Was he? He didn’t think he was.) 

“Thank you, so much,” he told them, as gravely as he can, despite the barrel of the gun trained on him as he walked back into their focus and his act was back on,. “Come on, you two,” he hissed sharply, “and thank them.” 

“Thank you,” Ivan bowed slightly, clutching his crowbar tight as he walked out. 

“Thank you guys,” Chilly sniffed, “for letting us live.” 

“Don’t try anything,” intruder one warned, standing in front of the doorway with the gun still trained on them. One of them, probably Curt if he had to guess. 

He nodded, and passed the respective backpacks to the kids as they hurriedly put them on, already attracting the attention of a few zombies.

“Shit, shit, Uncle Curt!” Chilly cried, squeezing towards him. 

Curt watched out of the corner of his eye as the man in the doorway seemed to wince and shut the door. He grinned and flicked open his switchblade quickly as he walked the kids down to the other side of the car, using its shape as a barrier against the zombies and hide them out of sight of the windows in the house. 

“Hang on,” he pushed Chilly slightly behind him, so she was between him and Ivan before he quickly dropped low and jabbed his blade into the gas tank, retracting as soon as the gasoline came pouring out all over his hands and the scent of gasoline ebbs out, streaming along the slope of the driveway. He stands back up just in time to jab the knife straight into a zombie’s brain, jabbing upwards from the eye. He frowned slightly when the knife comes back out with the eyeball still skewered on it, but he continued to stab the next one that approached anyway, the force squishing the eyeball and popping it against his already-gasoline-drenched hand. 

Chilly was whining and screaming incoherent words as she swung her bat wildly with impressive force, yet she was not quite tall enough to smash any brains. She does manage to knock zombies away and leave a few cracked, maybe broken bones in the wake of her swings. Ivan hovered close behind her and shoved the three along, muttering “hurry”s under his breath as he stabbed his crowbar through zombies. 

“Hurry the fuck up,” Ivan hissed, “I can hotwire if I can just get a minute.” 

“Can you do that one?” Curt motioned to the closest vehicle, a white van. 

“Oh, damn,” Ivan’s eyes lit up as he rushed towards it, “Fuck yeah, even less time then.” 

“Wait, it’s–” Chilly whacked away another zombie’s arm, snapping the bone at the wrist “–a white van!” 

“‘A white van-’?” Curt repeated, before he coughed a soft laugh, “Try this, if we’re driving the van, we’d be the one doing the kidnapping.” 

“Really?" She looked to Curt, who nodded with an amused smile, "...but if I don’t wanna do that...? WAH!” She yelped as a zombie gets too close to her and Ivan, whom Curt stabbed and kicked away. The group closest to them was thinning out, and though the sounds of their fighting had begun to draw in some zombies from afar, only three that could pose notable threat. 

“Yeah, here’s the trick,” Ivan scoffed, sounding slightly distant due to his focus on the wires, “We won’t.” 

A door opened and the pale white light of a flashlight nearly blinds them, whose visions had gotten used to the darkness. 

“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?!” 

“FUCK!” Ivan yelled, wincing as he struggled to keep working on his task at hand. 

“Careful,” Curt shifted to block the light, as he took out another zombie. 

“We’re sorry, lady!” Chilly yelled at her, the only one to make a response as she squinting through the flashlight. “They’re stealing your van!” 

“Who’s 'we'? 'M not fuckin' sorry,” Ivan muttered, tugging open the door and throwing his crowbar up into the van. 

“No- SHIT! You can’t do that-” She ran towards them. Ivan tugged the panicked Chilly up into the backseats of the van by the back of her shirt and shut the door while Curt got into the drivers seat. “NO, please, we don’t have another- we have to get to-” 

“Emmalyn!” Someone shouts at her and she looked back to the figure by the doorway holding a baby in their arms. In her moment of distraction, a zombie lunged for her. She screamed and hit it with the back of her flashlight handle. 

Curt doesn’t stick around to see if she makes it, she was a great distracted while (or if) she lasted. He starts backing up the van right away, keeping a hand on the wheel while he found box of matches in his pocket and he tossed it to Chilly as he turns to check the rearview, “Ivan, light a match.” 

“What?” The boy hissed, mistrust heavy in his voice but there was an undertone of excitement and interest. 

“What am I doing?!” Chilly fumbled with the box, as Curt expected, which is why he wanted Ivan to strike the match. 

"Hold the box still," Ivan instructed quickly as he fumbled the a match out of the box, struggling with only one hand left. 

“Open the door.” He ignored the warning beeps of the car as he backed the car while Ivan peeked out from the creaked opened door, his burning match held tightly in his fingers. Curt stopped approximately where he remembered the stream of gasoline to be, “Drop it in and shut the door.” 

“Goddamn,” Ivan murmured, a slight grin at his lips as he dropped the match. Before his hand even grip the door handle to shut it, and Curt would know because he was focused on the back mirror instead of the road, Curt took off as soon as he sees the fire catch on the ground, droving down the street as fast as circumstances would allow. 

“Seatbelts,” he reminded the kids as an explosion erupts in the near distance. 

“Why- why did we- oh no.... Oh nooo…!” Chilly shuddered, her grip tightening on the box of matches and they rattled as she shrunk in on herself and whimpered, “Oh no…” 

“Oh no what , Chilly?” Ivan shoved her roughly as he struggled to get her seatbelt on for her with only one arm. 

“They had, they had a child… I think… I think they got bit by zombies- ughwaaaa…” 

“Well, considering they had a van,” this was perhaps Ivan’s attempt at comforting her, “maybe they kidnapped the kid.” 

“Uhghhhhh… I miss mom…” 

Ivan exhaled sharply, “Well, buckle the fuck up because we’re quite far away.” 

“Wuhnnn… was that..?” 

“No- pun not intended.” 

For a long time, they were all quiet. Chilly’s crying slowly ceased so the van was only filled with the sound of heavy, snotty sniffing. 

Curt vaguely remembered where he was supposed to go, so the main problems were evading the zombies, which were getting easier as he practiced. But, as his focus slowly left the dangers on the road, he was increasingly unnerved by the quietness in the car. Back when the kids’d fall asleep when he was driving, he’d at least have music to distract him from the eerie lifelessness. But, he's already checked, most of the stations were pure static and the few that weren’t were almost scarily, horror-movie-esque laggy advertisements.  

Ivan occasionally hisses in pain, just as Chilly sniffs every now and then. He wished he could just say something to pretend like things were better than they are, but nothing feels appropriate. He wondered if they were even awake at all, maybe just light sleep or something. It's about their bedtime, anyway. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. For whatever reason, he didn’t feel tired at all. Maybe it was the stress keeping him awake, but he felt like tonight was going to be a long night.