Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As Techno exhales slowly, a small cloud of fog pillows around his face. The chill of the snow dampened air is making a valiant attempt to freeze him blind from the outside-in. The fact that he has been sitting completely still for the past several hours is certainly giving the cold the leg up on him. Him being perched inside a bushel of leaves, and curled inwards to stay tucked hidden in the foliage, can only help so much.

Still, Techno does not move. He blinks to clear the minuscule water crystals from his eye lashes, and brings his eyes through another slow, methodical sweep of the terrain. All the while keeping his body still.

That stillness even persists when the quiet, near tranquil piece of forest is broken by a gunshot splitting the air.

The tiniest of twitches does go through Techno’s tendons, the sound startlingly close. But he makes it only affect his fingers. They tighten around the trigger of his crossbow pulling upwards the smallest bit. At the same time, he squints and turns his head ever so slightly towards where the echoing gunshot rang from.

It's still for a moment, only the reverberation in the air. But then the familiar crunch and snap of brush under careless running feet through the woods breaks through. As he sees the peripheral of the clearing begin to shake, he exhales once more, ever slower so that the fog has time to trickle away to the skies before it ever really forms around his face.

Then there's a burst; the bushes and winter eaten leaves parting. Techno smoothly moves his crossbow to the side and pulls the trigger.

For a few more seconds, the deer continues to run. Its hooves muse up the snow and little twigs get dragged along, littering the ground in a train behind it. But then it trips, knee hitting the ground. Not a bad fall. Yet it tries to stand once, twice, with the forward momentum of running. That gives the blood pouring from the arrow wound time to hit the ground. The speckles of it fly with how the deer is jerking now, struggling.

But after a couple more feet, it finally stills to only twitching. Then nothing.

The arrow was a clean shot through the lungs, despite the sudden and frenzied appearance of the animal. Techno had been waiting for hours for one to stroll by the often traveled clearing. The high intensity just made it all the quicker, he supposes.

Though a scowl pulls on his face as he shifts his attention back to the tree line.

Who the hell is shooting guns out here?

A multi-part question. First—well, actually, secondly—the matter of the gun being shot. Techno has his own guns, one of which his hand is drifting towards now that his crossbow is unloaded. But to actually shoot it? And at a deer near certainly? Any straggling undead in a five mile radius will be drawn closer, let alone any living people kicking around. Reckless, dangerous, and stupid.

Which leads in perfectly to the firstly: Who.

A person. A human person. Unless the coyotes or undead have suddenly learned to take up arms, a reckless, dangerous, stupid human. 

AKA, all of them.

There shouldn't be any of those here, though. The only reason that Techno decided to stay in this area for the long term is because it had the one redeeming feature that he cares about: no people. If it can even be called a proper area. A few falling apart houses that were in disrepair even before their owners all died, spread haphazardly around the woods. The sort of place that only people without even a cent to their name would have gone. Or, post-apocalypse, without a pack member to their name, if they have good sense about keeping them well cared for.

That also means that the place is absolutely trash for scavenging food or supplies of any kind. Unless one really likes pine cones. Techno is lukewarm on tree seeds, they grow old after eating so many.

Using a tree branch as leverage, he strings a new bolt into the bow. A few minutes draw out, silent and heavy. It's to the point that Techno keeps his eyes roving again. By now, the person could have looped around the treeline to anywhere. Or there could be multiple, all ringed around. Wolves circling their kill.

Techno shakes his head a little, not letting the instinct of fear overcome his mind. If there was any number of people, they would have moved in to take his kill, assured that their numbers could buffet a lone hunter or two.

There’s one, maybe two, people perched up in waiting. And they're probably thinking the same thing about Techno.

He does currently have the advantage, since the territory encroacher probably has no way to deduce that Techno is tucked up in a tree. Even if the person is experienced enough at hunting to know about blinds—unlikely—Techno is set up in a less than formal one. In that, he's literally just sitting on a tree branch a dozen feet up or so.

Nothing to give him away, unless the breeze blows at the right time to push away the pine needles. And the person would have to be looking in his direction straight on, too. No one will be looking up when they expect danger right before them.

Still, Techno considers the situation more the longer that it pulls out. If he stays up in this tree, eventually the person will probably cave and take the deer. Then Techno can let them go off with it, or follow them for recon, or shoot them dead without them seeing, if he really wants to. But he hasn't made a hobby of murder yet, and this person almost certainly has a pack depending on their return to not die. Probably with a deer.

But also, Techno had been out all day waiting for a deer to cross the path he tracked. The gunshot will have scared any deer off for miles. No meat for a few days until the animals stop being spooked. That's assuming this person doesn't go around shooting again. Techno isn't stupid enough to not have a little food stored up, but it's not enough if the main source he was relying on is out of the picture.

Plus, this is his land. Sure, he doesn't have the deed or anything, but the law was basically abolished when the whole world ended years ago. Now it's firmly finders keepers. He has found, and he plans to keep.

Techno usually abhors his instincts, but they're well on board with him right now. Strangers got to go.

Carefully, he drops off of the tree branch, landing on one leg and bending to soften the blow. His crossbow is already up as he stands, scanning. Slowly, he walks over to the deer, keeping it to his side as he goes. Then when he gets to it, he turns his back to the animal completely. It died close enough to the treeline that he’ll hear anyone sneak up that way.

The silence and stillness continues for a little while longer, but it feels all the different. Like a held breath.

Taking in his own deep breath and stuffing it on top of his quick heart so that it will slow, or ideally stop, Techno gestures shortly with the crossbow.

“Better come out, before the blood draws coyotes or undead,” Techno says. “Especially with you shooting that dinner bell off.”

The holding continues, and then to his side: the crunch of snow, the rustle of some leaves. Stealthy, but not enough. Techno has his crossbow on the man before he’s even stepped into view.

Fitting, considering that the man has his rifle right on Techno.

The man is around average height, maybe brushing at tall. His build is similar, though perhaps a little bulky beneath the layers. Wide shoulders like he probably would be. Roughly chopped blond hair falls around his face, the slightly prominent cheekbones that speak of winter.

His eyes are sharp, though they flicker to the deer in a way that gives him away.

“I’m going to be needing that deer,” The man says.

“I shot it,” Techno says.

“While I was hunting it,” The man says.

He puts a bit of a growl into his words. It makes Techno want to dip his chin, curve his shoulders inwards and step away. Deftly, he crushes those impulses below his boots and pulls his lips back a little instead, showing off the tips of his teeth.

“Been hunting them all day, before someone shot their gun and scared all the animals away. It crossed my trail path,” Techno says.

The man shrugs. “Got an itchy finger. Sorry about that.”

Techno squints. The threat does to his logic what the display does to his instincts. Run, hide, submit. A freezing breeze cuts through all of them and the terrible woods.

His woods.

“My land too. Couldn’t help but notice you’re not where you’re meant to be on top of it,” Techno says.

“Don’t think anyone owns land anymore,” The man says.

“Really?” Techno asks.

Two weapons, barely swaying where they’re pointed at each other. The rifle will be quicker, but Techno will at least get his shot off before he’s hit. Plus, he’s confident that he’s more accurate. And the perfect kill behind him makes that obvious.

It’s a stalemate. The question is, who will cave first?

Not Techno. He refuses to let it be himself. Refuses to give an inch away. Not anymore. Never again.

This time, he’s rewarded for his unwavering posture and bared teeth. The other man cracks.

“Look. I need the deer. I’m bringing it back with me,” The man says, taking in a breath. Looking like a man about to take an arrow to the eye for a scrawny deer. “We can work something out to get there.”

Work something out?

Techno shifts on his feet. It predictably sends pain up his entire left leg, feeling like he’s taken his own arrow to it. He hasn’t, but the distinction hardly matters.

“A trade?” Techno asks.

“Sure.” 

“... You got any medical supplies?” Techno asks.

The man raises his eyebrows slightly, arms dropping a fraction of an inch. But Techno sees it, eyes and mind catching on it. “What kind?”

“Antibiotics,” Techno says.

The man breathes out, a near sigh. But then he shrugs a single shoulder, nodding.

“Some.”

“A full course?” Techno asks.

“A full prescription bottle,” The man says.

The pain digs in with the subtle movement of his own knee. It’s stretching upwards, alongside the reddening of skin. It means nothing good. And no amount of tree sap or food will fix that. Nor stubbornness.

Still, a bit of stubbornness will help. With him staying alive and in control, at least.

“And I need a pound of the meat.”

The main huffs, head tipping forwards a tad. Then he nods.

“Sure, mate. That works.”

Neither of them move for a second. Techno doesn’t want to be the first one to move. It’s too close to giving in any of the inches that he still has within his reach. But if he wants this to work out, to get anything further, then he has to show his willingness too.

Leading, not giving in, he tells himself. Though half of him doesn’t believe it.

Techno lowers the crossbow to wrap the stringing cable back into its place. He keeps his eyes up and focused. But the man takes it for what it is and lowers his own rifle to be pointed mostly at the ground.

With a nod, Techno turns a little to the deer.

“I’ll help you carry it.”

“That’s not necessary,” The man says.

Finally, the man walks close enough for the crisp breeze to not carry the smell of him away. Even the faintness of it makes Techno dig his fingernails into the handle of his crossbow, half wanting to raise it again.

The man is an alpha, of course.

That’s nothing good. It’s nothing good, but Techno knew that, he tells himself. Tries to wrap his nails around his instincts and shove them down. Logic knows that it means dangerous and reckless. But manageable. He’s managing.

Techno steps back and does not let himself twinge, even a little at the pain it brings.

“No? Non-starving men fan their guns at anything that moves all the time,” Techno says sarcastically.

“I did not fan my gun,” The man says, bristling a little.

Very strategic of Techno. Poke the alpha who was just pointing a gun at him till he actually explodes.

Well, it’s a little strategic. Better here than when he’s with his pack.

Is it big? How many of them? And how many alphas are stuffed in it, ready to murder a rando to get their aggression out in some way?

“Not back-talking the starvation point,” Techno continues.

“Everyone’s starving. You don’t look so great yourself,” The man says.

Neither of them bend towards the deer now between them. He sees the man trying to smell him, subtly. That, at least, makes Techno finally feel a grasp better. There is utterly nothing to smell on him, scent so dull it’s as close to nonexistent as a person’s can get.

Techno knows more about the man than he can know about Techno. And knowledge is power. Just like a bled out, twisted deer corpse.

“I can hunt.” Techno lifts his crossbow an inch in gesture.

A bit offensive, a twisting of a blade. Bend or break, what will the alpha do? How much self control does he have in his weak grasp? Techno calculates as he talks.

“Plus I know the land. Where all the properties and people are…” Techno says.

“Fine,” The man huffs.

Giving. Good.

Techno will keep it this way. He has power and control over the thing that the man desperately needs. Antibiotics could mean that Techno has a dying mom back home he’ll give anything to save, or he’s just someone slightly interested in stocking their supplies. It’s nothing. But being willing to die over a deer in a forest? Desperate. Obvious.

Nodding, Techno clips his crossbow to his side and leans down to pick up his end of the deer. The man follows his lead, shrugging his rifle onto his shoulder, grabbing the front legs.

They lift it together. It’s not too heavy, especially split between them. But Techno would have to take a couple breaks dragging it back to his place by himself. The man seems even less burdened by it, but the weakness of starvation will make him wilt eventually. And who knows how close he’s staying.

Well, Techno soon. Hopefully.

They’re silent through the woods. Techno makes the man walk more backwards than he himself is. But he’s not dumb enough to not keep his eyes on a swivel, and flickering back to the alpha often. Techno is just as watched right back.

Frowning at the internal attribution his hindbrain has placed upon the man, Techno readjusts his gripe before speaking.

“What’s your name?”

“Why?” The man asks.

“Trying to be polite. In case you turn out not to be rolling with a group of murderous psychos,” Techno says gruffly.

That seems to surprise the man. He outright turns to Techno, as though examining whether or not he’s serious. Dead as a deer serious, Techno doesn’t give anything away.

“I am not with any psychos,” The man says.

“Just murderous then,” Techno shoots back.

“Not murderers either,” The man huffs. Then he tilts his head slightly. “Phil.”

“Techno,” He replies reluctantly.

“I notice that you didn’t mention whether your pack is murderous psychos,” Phil says.

“An accurate statement,” Techno says. When Phil levels him with a look, jaw tightened like he’s an inch away from showing off his teeth, Techno huffs and rolls his eyes. Deftly ignores the rise of anxiety in his spine, trying to get him to bend. “Not murderous psychos. We stay on our land with our business.”

“Fair enough. We’re just moving through,” Phil says.

Hopefully that’s true. Only one way to find out.

Ignoring the burning in his body and muscles, Techno keeps his pace matched with Phil. Luckily, the other man gets tired as they go, obviously weighed down by hunger. Helps keep them even, so that Techno can have half of his focus on their surroundings. He spots the old house in a fenced in clearing just as Phil slows nearly to a stop.

“This is far enough,” Phil says, lowering his end of the deer to the ground.

“Your deer,” Techno says, shrugging and leaning back against a tree. “Well, minus 2%.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll get your cut. And the meds. Let me go talk to my people,” Phil says.

Casually, Techno flaps his hand. Gesturing for him to go on. There’s likely nothing that Techno can do to go along, and he doesn’t even know if he wants to. Easier to run out here. But who knows what they’re getting up to in there. How many there are. Their designations.

Techno watches him turn and walk off. He pulls out his crossbow and holds it, looking around. It’s quiet, aside from the softest of noises closer to the building.

They think that he’s a beta. That’s what he tells himself. There’s no reason for them to have any other business with him. Could just decide to kill him dead, but it would at least be quick. And he doesn’t think that there is much logic to them doing that, if they are just moving through. But even if not, they could use his information. 

Regardless of any logic, his innards aren’t so certain of it. He’s too exposed and alone. His hindbrain yells at him to go hide behind his pack, which only makes him sour further. Oh, to tear the urges out with his bare hands.

By the time that the door to the house opens once more, he’s so tense that a large twitch goes through him and he almost squeezes the trigger on his crossbow. Physically, he wrests it down to be pointed at the ground, while watching the two approaching figures closely. It’s someone even bigger than Phil. Definitely another alpha, if Techno were to guess. And he’s incapable of not.

He doesn’t dare breathe so that he can hear around himself better. His back itches despite staying stuck to the tree.

“Hello there,” The new woman says.

Techno lifts his chin at her once. She shares a look with Phil, before stepping closer.

“Kristin needs to know what we’re working with, for the antibiotics,” Phil says.

“The deal’s done,” Techno says firmly, showing off his teeth. He makes sure that he’s closer to the deer than they are, crossbow right at their feet.

Kristin holds her hands up, but barely shrugs under the look.

“That’s fine. But different antibiotics do different things, we need to know what will even help at all.”

It’s logical and true. But the best ruses are based in truth.

“An infected wound,” Techno grits out. His leg pounds, but it’s lost below the swirl of adrenaline and cowardly instincts.

“What kind of wound?” Kristin asks.

“A cut,” Techno says.

“From what?” Kristin asks.

“Can you just give me the antibiotics so we can be done with this? Keep your damn deer,” Techno says.

It’s not the right thing to say, not the way that he was trying to play this. He’s giving in some of the higher ground that he managed to grasp. And from the short glance that Phil and Kristin share, Techno swears that they know it.

Something within Kristin sets and Techno has to fight to keep his eyes from going wide.

“Let me see it.”

“The heck are you talking about?” Techno asks.

Unwittingly, he takes a step back when Kristin takes one forward. But it’s well close enough for him to be able to smell her now. To confirm within the worst parts of him that she is in fact an alpha. Two strange alphas against Techno’s single stupid omega leg. Grand freaking tastic.

“The cut,” Kristin says, holding out a hand.

“Er, no. Thanks. I've got that situation covered," Techno says gruffly. "Let's all keep out cuts and infected wounds to ourselves and go about our lovely days from there."

"Fine enough. But you're only getting the antibiotics if I get a look at it," Kristin says.

“Seriously?” Techno asks, getting frustrated now. And with how his heart is pattering, like he’s getting more and more cornered. He growls almost silently, just at that part of himself.

"I don't see what the big deal is. You want our medical care, don't you?" Phil says.

“Cause I don’t want to get murdered by some randos that took up residence in my backyard!" Techno says, frustrated and heart racing. But he keeps his voice level enough.

“I said we’re not murderous,” Phil says.

“Oh, well now I totally believe you,” Techno says sarcastically.

For some reason, that makes Kristin giggle. Techno eyes her furtively, but she only shrugs, unapologetic. And then shows off both of her palms, drooping her shoulders down in a more harmless posture.

“Look. Come in and let me look at your injury, I have some medical experience. I’ll clean and dress it for free. Phil will cook dinner, and you can eat with us while we discuss some friendly relations,” Kristin says.

It’s a horrid breaking of their deal and almost certainly a trap of some sort. Techno finds his fists shaking at it, near shivering at his sides. The glare on his face literally hurts at its intensity. Though the tiniest flicker of his eyes to the sides, looking for the best escape route, can't quite be held back.

“We have pups inside, we’re not exactly going to open up a shooting range at you," Phil says, huffing in what seems like annoyance.

That’s not really any sort of insurance, plenty of alphas don’t give a shit about that. They’re the first to go around scruffing and swatting at useless pups. But considering that the pair think that Techno is a beta, it’s probably not trying to play on any of his presumed instincts.

Maybe the outside world at large has gotten deadly enough where pups actually have worth to all pack members. Seems unlikely, but not impossible, he guesses.

His leg feels like it’s splitting apart.

Slowly, Techno sighs and lowers his crossbow.

“Fine. But just so you know, I do have multiple guns on me. So some of ya’ll are going down with me if you try anything,” Techno says.

“Noted,” Kristin says. Her voice is neutral, but somehow it still makes Techno want to shiver and drop his literally unable to move ears.

“You have guns but use a crossbow?” Phil asks.

“One: it doesn’t scare off all the food,” Techno says pointedly. Phil seems unimpressed. “Or give away my position to anyone in a five mile radius.”

“Was there a two?” Kristin asks.

“Yes. Two: looks cooler,” Techno says simply.

With a guffaw, Phil leans over and slowly pulls the deer up over his shoulders. He shoots Kristin a look, which she responds to with a thin smile. Hopefully some sort of weird power dynamic assertion or checking that she’s okay. And not him communicating that they’re going to kill Techno. Silently, Techno sets his jaw, leans over towards Phil, and yanks his arrow free from the deer. The look that Techno parts Phil with is purposefully flat.

“This way,” Kristin says.

The tip of the arrow gets sloppily cleaned in the snow as they walk over to the house. As subtly as she can, Kristin eyes him. But she doesn’t say anything. Phil walks over to what must be the remnants of a fire pit, watching them as long as he can.

If they’re this on edge, they must think Techno’s not some totally helpless and useless omega. Right? He tries to take it as a good thing.

He lets Kristin step into the house before him. Then he locks his jaw to keep his shoulders wide and eyes on a swivel. That’s how he manages to take in that the house is in a better state than some in the area, but not great—obviously having had leaks and thus mold through a couple broken windows, which have since had furniture pushed in front of them. It’s also how he sees a couple of people watching him from what must have used to be the living room. It’s currently filled with bedding. A nest?

Techno shoves those thoughts to the side to focus on the literal people there. Because they are not the tiny pups that Techno was imagining. But instead gangly teens, probably around his age.

Quickly, Kristin shuffles him past them towards a back room with a broken door.

“Pups?” Techno asks sarcastically.

“We’re old. They are to us,” Kristin says.

Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not. He doesn’t see anyone else, but there’s a swell of smells in the used rooms. Especially the one with the nest. It makes it hard to determine if there are more threats around or not.

Also, if they think Techno’s an older adult, they probably think that he’s a beta female. Not ideal, but he’ll take what he can get.

Kristin closes the door as much as it can be behind them, and Techno’s near thankful for it. There’s two windows in the room, one cracked but not broken, so he doesn’t feel too cornered. He could totally throw himself out of one of those. What will he do, hurt a leg?

“Where’s these mythical meds then?” Techno asks.

Seemingly not too amused by his hilarious joke, Kristin shoos him towards the couch in the corner. It smells of mildew, but is dry. His leg screams in relief to put it up.

Carefully, Kristin pulls out a prescription bottle, and hands it to him. A glance shows that it does seem to be something that ends in -cilin, and it’s an appropriate amount full. He shoves it into his pocket quickly.

“Let’s see that mythical cut, then,” Kristin says, kneeling before him.

Techno rolls his eyes, but breathes out. Showing his injury won’t do much at this point. They know he has skills of some sort, and if they’re planning to kill him, they will. The faint voices out in the rest of the house don’t make him feel that way, but he forces himself nonchalant. 

Foot up onto the couch cushion, pant leg yanked up, bandages unwound. Cut revealed.

Though… cut was a bit of a misleading description. Kristin outright gasps, cringing back and covering her mouth. Techno doesn’t let himself react at all, not even at the flare of pain. He’s become kind of used to it. And the new rush of adrenaline is helping.

The bone sticking halfway out of the deep and gnarly cut on his shin isn’t pretty at all. The skin is swollen and a brilliant red.

“That is not a cut!” Kristin says.

When she grabs his ankle firmly, Techno can’t help yanking it back. Hands looped around his limbs are a solid no. Luckily, with a horrified noise at the jerking of the broken leg, she lets go and pulls her hand away.

“Technically a cut,” Techno says. He breathes out shakily. “Told you there’s nothing to do with it.”

“There most certainly is, though I’m guessing it needed done fucking weeks ago,” Kristin says, growling a bit around the edges.

Techno hugs his leg closer to his chest. It makes his mobility worse, makes him in a worse position if he has to run or fight. But right now he is really only thinking about getting the deep aching pain away from the growling alpha.

Aside from furrowing his brow a bit, he doesn’t let his face change. Not right now.

“I did what I could. Are we done?” Techno asks curtly.

Kristin snaps her mouth open, showing off those overly sharpened canines, before closing it. She’s squinting, too much. But then she slowly opens her mouth once more. Having rethought whatever she was going to say.

Where she had leaned closer to him at the sight of the injury, she scoots back again. Good.

“No. I need to reset that broken leg for you. It won’t heal otherwise, no matter what antibiotics you have.”

“It can. Not well, but it can,” Techno says.

“There’s a chance, but not a good one. Do you really want to take that chance?”

It’s a little too close to being talked down to. Which just makes him want to spit out a yes. That he will take his badly broken leg home and keep stomping around on it no matter how much agony it is. Because he tried to shove the bone back into place on his own before and passed right out. And that was a good damn try!

Techno’s not stupid or useless or small. The smell of the alpha now clouding too close because of the room is spurning him on further, making all of his hackles raise.

But when he drops his foot back to the floor with the intent to jump up and march out, violent electricity shoots up his entire limb and hip. Very nearly, he yelps, only bit back on his tongue. But the excruciating pain stays tearing through him long after.

If he’s assuming that this pack isn’t going to kill him, then one that could come through next might. And Techno will probably do better without a chunk of bone sticking out of his leg.

He breathes out thickly. “Do you even know how?”

“I’ve set two broken bones since this thing has started,” Kristin says, nose wrinkled. “I’ll need to rebreak this one probably. And I can’t say that’s real experience. But it will probably turn out better than what you did.”

“Rude…” Techno mutters.

Walking back to his base after this will be hard. Maybe he can make a brace with some sticks? He tried before, but it didn’t work out well.

For her part, Kristin seems to be thinking hard again. Her face is turned towards a small bag of supplies, maybe trying to determine how to do this. Or how to kill him. Who knows.

“Why don’t we do it after we eat? You probably won’t be hungry after, but the iron will do you good,” Kristin says.

Techno can only send her an odd look. But he shrugs slightly. There’s logic, but his hindbrain doesn’t like stretching this all out.

But that part of him doesn’t get to decide. He sloppily covers the cut with the dirty bandage, while Kristin watches with a pained look on her face. It’s actually painful for Techno, so that’s kind of offensive. But regardless, he finishes quickly and then crosses his arms with a flat look. Not friendly or inviting, but so what.

Clearing her throat, Kristin straightens up a little bit. Gauze, iodine, a suturing kit in a plastic case, the works. It’s not a bad set up. More numerous and diverse than Techno’s cut up sheets for bandages and neosporin. If the worst comes the worst, he has a sewing needle. Doesn’t seem as pleasant as one made for actual suturing.

“Where did you get all that stuff?” Techno asks.

“Are we doing questions now?” Kristin asks.

She’s got a point unfortunately, which makes Techno level her with a flat look. But she knows she’s won, so she smiles.

“I’ll answer some,” Techno says.

“Then at an abandoned settlement. I don’t know if it used to be military or was just a sort of pop-up situation, but no one was there when we got there,” Kristin says. “We stayed a bit. Stole their supplies when we left.”

Techno hums. It makes sense that some groups that go the way of chaos and death would end completely like that. Hopefully, it wasn’t too close to here. He doesn’t need stragglers.

“Your turn. How’d you break the leg?” Kristin asks. “And if you don’t answer, I will think that it was a very, very stupid way.”

“I fell out of a tree,” Techno lies, rolling his eyes.

“Hunting?” Kristin asks.

“Not sure if it would constitute that,” Techno mutters.

“You’ve got a lot of pride in your hunting?” Kristin asks.

“Do you?” Techno asks ironically.

“I think quite obviously no. We were city slickers,” Kristin says, smiling.

“I can tell,” Techno says. She chuckles. The airy mood makes him feel off kilter. “I’m proficient. Even before.”

Kristin hums in response to that. What she could be thinking about exactly, he doesn’t know. It doesn’t seem like he’s revealed anything detrimental, though his shoulders want to hitch in the same way that his mouth wants to button up. Seen but not heard.

That’s stupid. Not seen and not heard. Only takes seeing to fill him full of bullets.

“Let me check on Phil and the cooking,” Kristin says.

Although it’s really not much better off this way, Techno feels safer as he’s closed in the room alone. Sure, they could be talking about any sort of thing to do to him, but that’s a future Techno problem.

Instead of thinking about that, he massages his temples, and then his sinuses. The screaming of his instincts mixed with the sudden influx of pheromones is making him feel like he has a migraine. His own lack of scent from stress and deprivation means that he’s utterly unused to how the smells are just there. At the back of his tongue, poking at his brain with cues that he can’t even tell if they’re real or his own panic.

Man, he can’t wait for these people to break his leg already.

Never thought he’d think that, huh?

Silent and still on the couch, the faintest of noise from the rest of the building reaches him. In fact, when he notices it, it seems quite loud and obtrusive. Another thing that he’s become unused to in his years alone.

It must be the people that Phil and Kristin referred to as pups, even if they all seemed quite close to adulthood. That’s a good bet that they’re all not very threatening, if the pair of them see them that way. People easily corralled and controlled without risking their own positions.

Techno can’t tell which of the two of them are the top of the hierarchy. It’s a good front for strangers, but that puts Techno more on edge. Competence…

Regardless, the snippets of words that drift towards him seem purposefully hushed and tense. It's impossible to know if these people are actually put on edge by him, or if they are planning something that could get a little nasty. The fact that they probably assume that Techno has a pack of his own somewhere close by at least makes it a little bit more likely that it's the former. But he certainly shouldn't get too comfortable until these people are long gone. In another state, preferably.

“ —friendly?”

“And maybe you're just naive."

“ —than you. I'm just saying—”

“ —just trust—”

The most raised portion of what appears to be a mildly elevated conversation is discernible. Techno frowns at it all, fiddling with his crossbow. 

This is not worth a pound of meat. Maybe he should just grab the meds and go out the window. No one will see him until he's well gone—

The door swings open, earning all of Techno's attention. He stops himself from hopping up at it, grabbing at weapons all defensive like. But he also keeps his injured leg on the ground to show that that's not the reason for his inaction. 

Techno got out of what broke the leg alive, this is nothing. Or at least, his leg will be nothing that slows him down.

Kristin is carrying a plate of food. Just cooked meat, Techno can tell from a sniff. But food is food.

For a short moment he fears that maybe they put something into the food. But he will be taking medication they're giving him anyway, so there's no point going to all the effort. And a slab of meat is hard to hide drugs in anyway. 

Techno accepts the offered plate with a nod. Kristin sits on a chair this time. Phil joins them after a minute. 

“Entertainment must be in short supply to stare so closely at me eating,” Techno says. 

Both of them snort or huff in various levels of begrudged amusement. Maybe he is the entertainment after all. 

“Seems like a good time to chat,” Phil says.

“What about? Hunting? Leg breaking?” Techno asks.

He does not want to put the food into his mouth. His pulse is still too high up in his throat, just quick and heavy enough to make swallowing difficult. But that's probably how it will come across if he doesn't. Nervous, at least. 

Purposefully, he eats the food. Languid, but casual. And he doesn't make any faces. 

“Information about the area,” Phil says.

“You said your pack was only passing through,” Techno says.

“It's the middle of winter. It will be a little while until we can stand to travel,” Kristin says. All good sense and saying it like that's obvious, near sarcastic. 

“The last thing we need is any hissy groups coming at us. Especially after I shot that gun—yes, stupidly, I know,” Phil says, rolling his eyes. Techno refrains from saying anything. “It seemed like you were worried about something like that.”

Yeah, you guys.

Techno doesn't say that, because he's not stupid. But he thinks it really super duper hard.

That still leaves him having to come up with something actual to say. It's not like he can say that there's nobody around here, that's practically begging for them to set up camp here. And probably kill him to free up space first. But also outright lying seems unwise. This lie can actually be disproven. 

“Stick to this area and you'll be fine. For a little while,” Techno says vaguely. 

“That's not very specific, mate,” Phil says.

Although he doesn't growl at Techno or properly bare his teeth, enough of them end up on annoyed display that Techno still has to work to not choke on the food in his mouth. Very subtle and unaffected, body. Not helping. 

“Look, it's mostly people passing through that are the threat. I can't say it's safe, but there's no huge settlements around here. They're mostly in cities, I hear,” Techno says. 

He doesn't let himself think that he folded back on his answer too easily at the sign of the alpha’s resistance. It's just being tactful. And he practically said the same thing as before. 

But Phil and Kristin both seem slightly accepting of the answer, which probably means that it didn't come across like that. Damn.

Techno shoves a forkful of food into his mouth. Maybe the close watch is because the two of them are literally starving to death. Food might improve their tense mood and attention.

“Don’t let my leg wound keep you from eating,” Techno says. “It can wait another half an hour. It hasn’t fallen off yet.”

Despite the very good joke, he only gets a pair of raised eyebrows and one shortly upturned set of lips. They’re definitely starving to death to not laugh uproariously.

“Well, since you brought the leg wound up,” Kristin says, gesturing.

“Hm,” Techno says flatly.

“It’s probably going to be hard to walk back to your group with your leg reset. It might break again,” Kristin finishes.

“Sucks to be me, am I right?” Techno says. He takes another bite of food.

Phil huffs. “We’re trying to ask how we should mitigate that. We could help you to your place—”

“Nah,” Techno says.

“Or someone in your group could come here to get you. Help you back,” Phil plows on.

Squinting hard, Techno doesn’t spit out any of the words that bubble up in his mouth. They’re too defensive, he thinks. Reacting to this in any strong way will come across as defensive, and give him away. But from how Phil and Kristin keep sharing looks, they seem to think they already have something on him.

The only way that he can think of how not to give anything away is to say nothing at all. He flicks his eyes down silently, onto the plate. Though they flicker back up too quickly, not wanting to be away from the threats in the room.

“Is there anyone in your group who could do that?” Kristin asks slower.

“It’s not really your business. Worry about your own group,” Techno says. Almost snaps.

Phil’s lips smooth out. Forcing down a baring of teeth? Maybe. Techno makes his own squint sharper, chin raised stubbornly.

“We’re trying to help you, you know,” Phil says.

“Gee, thanks,” Techno says. “I’m good. Keep yourself that way.”

“Your bone has been sticking out of your leg for who knows how fucking long—!” Phil starts heatedly, before being cut off by Kristin.

“I will be frank with you, it seems unlikely that you have anyone else in your group.” Techno heart flips over alongside his hindbrain. His jaw grinds as everything seems to roll to stop. “And that’s your prerogative. But your leg isn’t going to heal unless you don’t walk on it. Which is going to be impossible if you’re by yourself.”

“It’s none of your concern,” Techno says, stiff as a bone unbroken. He won’t drop his head. His shoulders won’t come up.  He won’t hide his teeth. He won’t.

No matter how it feels like walking into death to not. Techno knows it’s the opposite.

“I tend to be concerned about most people with bones sticking out of them,” Kristin says, huffing.

Yeah right. He shoves the plate away from himself and leans forwards with a glare.

“We can make a deal out of it,” Phil says. Techno squints, suspicion high. “We fix your leg and let you rest with us for a few weeks until it’s on the mend.”

“Real generous,” Techno says skeptically.

“And in return, you help us with some hunting and food during that time,” Phil says tersely.

“ ...That’s all?” Techno asks.

“We need food,” Kristin says, shrugging.

“You’ve seen that,” Phil says. “And we’ve seen your leg that needs healing. Sounds perfectly fair.”

It does.

Techno doesn’t want to take the deal. He doesn’t want to be around these people, around a pack. Not again, it never goes well. And one with at least two alphas at that, it’s bound to end up with him being the furthest from the level end of the table. Even if they think he’s just a beta, he’s an outsider, a possible enemy, an easy target for the tensions that are certain to rise within them. It’s as natural as the instinct to duck for cover that is filling Techno.

But what happens when worse people come along? A bigger pack? More alphas, who have no purpose for him? Phil and Kristin seem competent, but lacking in an area which Techno has a large amount of knowledge and skill in. Leverage that brings him closer to equal.

If his leg is still broken and being eaten by infection when other people come along, or a big enough horde, then he’ll be screwed. He needs his leg fixed, properly and for good.

“Fine. Food for your pack in exchange for fixing my leg,” Techno forces out.

Phil and Kristin seem to relax a twinge. This is probably an easier deal for them to make. They’ve already agreed to giving up some medical supplies, one twiggy beta being locked in the back room is hardly a danger.

Well then Techno needs to make this not a danger for himself either. He’s not useless. Practically not even an omega at all, not in any practical way.

He has the skills to be useful and a threat. Techno just has to keep making that obvious, even one limb down.

Setting his jaw, Techno kicks his injured leg forward with a gesture. 

Let it begin.

Teeth embedded in his tongue, Techno manages to stay silent and stone-faced until he’s passed out from the pain of his bone re-cracking, shoved back into place by two rough hands.

Chapter Text

As Techno jolts awake, he nearly gasps from how hard his heart jams into his throat.

His body locks up tightly as his eyes flicker around the entire space. Taking in the walls, the shut door, the couch under him. Taking in the clunky and awkward brace wrapped around his leg so that it’s double the size that it should be.

Ah. Right.

Slowly, Techno sits up the rest of the way. His heart spasms in his chest, draining panic, as he folds over his uninjured knee. Curling smaller until he only takes up a fraction of the couch.

Every time that he’s slept in this house, he wakes up to a violent flood of adrenaline. Not exactly restful or healing, but he supposes that he prefers it to getting too comfortable. Though that seems impossible. All the smells, the sounds, just the knowledge that other people are around. Every part of Techno is in agreement that it is not safe. All those ideas of omegas needing a pack, needing alphas around to feel comfortable, it’s utter crap. And Techno is nearly happy to find that proved.

Still, a week of this and he is utterly drained. Like the protective layers around all of his nerves has been rubbed raw, exposed and sparking. Techno wants to run home. Even though he can’t.

Turning his attention to his splayed out leg before him, he pokes around the wrapped wound. It still weeps puss when the bandages are changed and the pain is just as bad as when it was first reset. The swelling is still worse than before. He sighs at the predictable, jaw setting, agony. No luck on magical healing.

How long will it take until he can be rid of these people? Far, far away again?

They’re supposed to be just passing through. Stuck by winter, lack of food. So presumably once Techno’s end of the food hunting deal is done, they’ll see about leaving to better scavenging pastures.

Good, then. Get it done.

He’s awake for a little while before the stirring in the rest of the building becomes more purposeful. Techno forces himself to uncurl, to sit as stabley as he can, with his bum-leg askew beside him. Then he crosses his arms and lifts his chin. Very casually and unbothered. Perhaps he is thinking about the weather, or the sociopolitical ramifications of the stock market. And not whether he is going to be ripped apart by pissed off alphas.

Because Techno is extremely casual like that.

A knock at the door jerks his shoulders up the smallest amount, before he smooths his posture out and calls for them to come in. By the time that Kristin pushes open the door completely, he’s slouched on the couch, eyes purposefully half lidded.

“Dishing up some food. Feel up for moving around a bit?” Kristin asks, politely tilting her head to the side an inch. “Not on your leg.”

“Aw, man, I was really looking forward to standing directly on my snapped bone,” Techno says.

Kristin snorts. “Considering how we found you, that’s hardly a joke. Come on.”

The terminology makes Techno squint a little, not liking how it implies he was lost or in need of being found. If anything, Techno was the one that found them.

But he doesn’t argue, instead grabbing the improvised crutch he has propped against the couch. It used to be a broom, the bristles cut off and covered up with a towel to rest somewhat comfortably under his arm. The handle was trimmed down to better fit his height, a small piece of cloth tied up on the end so there’s a bit of traction. It’s nowhere near ideal and he’s certain it wouldn’t work while running. But it helps him hobble around without putting weight on his broken leg. Even with the brace made of sturdy sticks, Kristin threatens that it won’t do ‘shit’ against walking.

Or maybe it just makes her more comfortable to watch him trying to hop around stupidly. Who knows.

Kristin walks slowly as she leads him out to the living room, despite the fact that he well knows where everything is at this point. Every second or so, she glances back. Does he really make her so nervous? Techno quite hopes so.

Maybe because all of her “pups” are sitting around the open living space. Though Techno was right in saying that the description is a generous one. Upon actually meeting them, he is pretty sure that none of them can be more than a couple years younger than him at most. And it has been a long, long time since he’s been a pup.

Still, Kristin and Phil are deathly protective of them. Probably because Techno is an outsider. Some sort of instincts about what they see as theirs’ being at risk of being taken by strangers. Even if they only see Techno as a lone beta, any strangers likely trigger alphas violent… everythings.

If they didn’t need Techno quite so desperately to keep them all fed, he’d surely be at risk. But they do need him.

As Techno sits on one of the couches shoved around the edge of the room, well away from any blankets or bedding, he earns a whole pack full of eyes. Lucky him.

Nonchalantly, he props the crutch up beside him and sets his elbow on the arm of the couch. The picture of disinterest, to both the suspicion and smiles thrown his way. The picture of totally not being almost equally overwhelmed by the developing smells of all the young adults coming into their dynamics and pheromones as he is the two alphas. 

Despite their awful ability to catch food, the alphas must have kept the group fed and protected enough for those things to develop well enough. The thought almost makes Techno’s nose wrinkle.

Speaking of which, Phil walks into the house with a blustering burst of winter air. Techno is the closest to the door, so he even catches a few flakes of snow to the face. Shivering, his eyes pinch shut as he sneezes.

Snorts and chuckles meet his sniffling, much to his unamused glare. No one seems afraid.

“Breakfast is, believe it or not, deer,” Phil says.

He’s carrying a large cut of meat, presumably cooked outside. The air is well cold enough to keep the meat fresh; the one good thing about winter. But it probably means that the meat will be lukewarm at best from the little trip in. Yummy.

While everyone seems equally unenthused by the prospect of unseasoned hunk of meat, nobody complains about it. Even people in packs don’t have that luxury. Or maybe because they are in a pack. Food is always as much a part of a hierarchy as people are.

Because of Techno’s presence or the perishable nature of the meat, Phil cuts about equal pieces of food onto the plates that Kristin puts forth. Techno watches with what he hopes is hidden intensity.

Notably, the pieces are pretty small. Hardly a meal.

“You think they ever made deer hamburgers?” Tommy asks as he takes a plate, eating the meat with his bare hands. Ew.

“Wouldn’t be a hamburger then,” Tubbo responds.

“Cow isn’t ham either…” Ranboo mutters, judgementally. Wrinkling his nose, but shoving a large piece of the meat into his mouth immediately. Unsurprising. Techno’s pretty sure he’s an omega, and they learn to eat quick.

“The real question would be: why would anyone?” Wilbur finishes off the peanut gallery. “Unless it’s the end of the world.”

Finally, Techno is given a plate. He takes it actually silently, setting in on cutting it up quickly. A near surgical precision and speed. Though his eyebrows raise incredulously at the conversation.

“An opinion on the debate?” Phil asks. He sits on the ground between Techno and the others. Like Techno leap over and attack them with his fork.

Techno barely suppresses an eye roll. And head tilt.

“Deer has always been cheap. Plentiful if you can bag one,” Techno says. “And before, it could replace beef in anything.”

“You chose to eat deer before the end of the world?” Wilbur asks, incredulous.

Techno almost says no, that he was a child. But that is giving away way too much, so he just shoves a bite into his mouth and chews languidly. He does not dip his chin down.

“Missed the cheap part? Food has always been food.” Techno shrugs.

“Seems useful now. I don’t even know how abouts to catch a deer,” Ranboo says. “I wish there were stray chickens…”

“Feral,” Techno corrects, almost amused. These people really are city. “There’s feral pigs.”

“Like, the bacon kind?” Tommy asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Techno snorts. “You’d be the thing made into bacon, though.”

“Hey!” Tommy shouts, incensed.

Techno glances at his food so he has the opportunity to look at Phil and Kristin’s faces. They don’t seem particularly affected. Maybe even amused.

“They’re vicious. They can gore a human, easy,” Techno says.

“A pig?” Wilbur asks, not believing.

“Feral pigs. They’re big, mean, and with tusks as big as your head,” Techno says, smiling with teeth.

“Seems like you like them, big man,” Tubbo says, twirling a fork in his hand.

“They’re admirable creatures,” Techno says. “Plus, cute.”

That earns quite the load of laughter. But he’s not offended by it this time, since it was mostly on purpose. He does find feral pigs cute, but that’s objectively good taste. They get all fluffy and curly in winter. And can kill zombies. Adorable things.

Conversation goes easier among the pack, Techno focusing on eating his food now. It really does only take a couple minutes, the food less than half of what Phil was giving him at the beginning of the week. He would presume that it’s because Techno’s an outsider and an assumed beta, but everyone got similar amounts. Which leaves a both more and less obvious option.

“Deer running out?” Techno asks, trying for casual. It comes out icy. Oh well.

“Somewhere near that,” Phil says, looking up from his plate. He’s eating slow. Someone that knows he has to preserve..

Techno clears his throat. “Well, there’s some food at my place. Figure I share the perishables before they rot and draw mice. Check the snares.”

“Are you up for that?” Phil asks, blinking and tilting his head to the side a bit.

“Been up for it every other day of my life,” Techno says.

“Oh yeah, and the broken leg is normal?” Phil asks, sarcastic.

Techno shrugs. “More normal than not. Hardly a heart attack.”

Tommy whistles, leaning closer to the conversation. Like, propping his chin up on his hands, elbow on the table and everything. Ridiculous.

“Cold,” Tommy says.

Phil does not look pleased. It’s funny.

“You know, broken bones can actually cause heart attacks. Fat embolisms from the bone marrow, it can travel through the blood. Stop up the heart. Stop up the arteries to your brain,” Kristin says.

As Techno’s nose wrinkles, the others in the room look somewhere around disgusted, worried, and thrilled. The imagery is not pleasant. Well, neither of the images.

“I’ll carry you on my back. You can lead me,” Phil says. He’s shaking his head like he’s clearing the images too.

“Seriously?” Techno asks, nose wrinkling way worse at that suggestion than the dying one. Eugh.

“Unless you want your leg to snap below you,” Phil says, showing off the points of his teeth.

“You just heard the heart attack thing, and you still want to walk?” Wilbur asks.

“ ‘least I won’t have to listen to that guy if a stroke kills off my brain cells,” Techno mutters.

Surprisingly, he does not get growled at or slapped for the comment. The others in the room laugh at the words. Well, except for Phil. But he really just looks begrudged, shoving his hair out of his face and staring into the middle distance.

It’s confusing, because Techno has been leaning towards Phil being the one at the top in the pack. 

The two alphas obviously in charge of the pack are a constant ping ponging focus within Techno’s mind. It’s a recipe for disaster, and he’s just waiting for the moment when some sort of power play is done. A fight, blood drawn, forceful bites. Or one of the younger members being caught in the cross fire when the losing alpha takes their anger out. When the winning one wants to stake their power.

That’s how it always goes. Even large packs that run somewhat decently with multiple alphas have some sort of tension that leaves a strong hierarchy in place. Shoe string, on the brink of always failing. The omegas at the very bottom trampled in the dust and violence.

Techno is not in this pack and he is practically not an omega. But he still watches the dynamics with a close eye, waiting.

Phil often deals with Techno. Often deals with the others and the petty fights and troubles that pop up. Often carries around his rifle, waiting for a reason to use it.

But then Kristin acts so freely around Phil. Teases him, makes jokes, does as she pleases, seemingly. Makes calls of her own too, without too much of Phil’s input—though always his agreement. And she’s never been punished for it, as far as Techno’s seen.

It’s all confusing and he doesn’t know what to make of it. That almost makes him feel less safe than if there was constant blood shed and strife.

Hopefully, he’s long gone back to his own territory, by himself, by the time that it all goes down.

“Lovely. So I’ll carry you all fanciful to your house then. Is that across the woods?” Phil asks.

“You’re getting food out of it, chillax,” Techno says, purposefully stretching with his eyes closed. Relaxed. Unbothered. On the outside. “Deer wasn’t going to last forever.”

“I wish it would. Even if deer meat tastes like boiled car tires by now, at least there was lots of it,” Ranboo says.

“Ew, what the fuck, Ranboo, that’s all I can think of now,” Tommy complains.

“Mmmm, tires,” Tubbo mumbles, face down on the table.

Everyone seems well pleased by those proceedings. Grand.

“How do you put up with only eating plain meat all day? Now that there’s no deerburgers,” Tommy asks him, looking judgmental.

“Good for gains,” Techno says flatly. “Also herbs and stuff. Foraging. It’s close to useless to only know how to hunt if you’re trying to sustain yourself. You’ll get scurvy.”

“Like, the pirate shit?” Tommy asks.

“No, it would make pirates not shit,” Tubbo says, raising a finger.

“Why are we talking about eating pirate shit?” Wilbur asks.

“To stop scurvy,” Ranboo says.

Techno looks down at his broken leg and considers whether he can make it on the giant gaping infected break. It might be worth trying… “This is literally more painful than my broken leg.”

“Classic scurvy,” Wilbur says.

“Can we go face the zombies and hike now?” Techno asks, turning to Phil.

The man looks far more amused than earlier. Grand.

“Sure,” Phil says, standing. “Let’s get ourselves together.”

Techno is well focused as he collects his gear. He double checks his crossbow—with a silent apology for keeping it loaded all this while, too dangerous to not have a bolt in it when he might need it—alongside his pistol and backpack. Five times, just to be sure. There’s a decent strap on the bag that he can slide his crutch into while being… carried.

In the silence of the spare room, Techno looks up at the wall. Carried. Seriously, carried.

He really doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want this random alpha to grab him and hoist him around like he’s nothing. Phil isn’t even that jacked for an alpha or anything, but he’s bigger than Techno. Malnutrition and genetics. The inability to freaking walk, let alone run if something happens. Not that it would matter if he’s trapped in the guy’s grasp, unable to break free—

The door swinging open makes Techno jump. His hands go to his crossbow and pistol. But it’s just Phil, dressed for the snow again and raising an eyebrow. With a huff, Techno straps his crossbow to his hip and jerks his chin up.

Phil follows the silent command, walking back into the hall.

“Where exactly is your place? We do need to tell Kristin, in case anything goes down,” Phil says.

None of his business. It’s Techno’s territory, no one else is allowed there. Ever.

Except that Techno is taking him there. For some god forsaken reason. And he’s been staying with these people who probably could have killed him all this time. He huffs again.

“North a couple miles. Close to the river,” Techno says.

“Any decent fishing in it?” Phil asks.

“Not this time of the year,” Techno says.

Phil simply hums.

What does that mean? They are leaving in a little while. Before winter is up, surely. Hopefully, before Techno’s leg is even healed. Which will be less than two months, or just about. Kristin said it might take longer with how it was walked on for quite a while, but he’s sure it will heal faster. And then they will all leave and everyone will be gone. No people will be around. Not Phil’s pack, or the others’—

As Phil steps away from Kristin and over to the door, Techno squints hard. Focus.

Very necessary, considering as they do step out Phil turns to him with a hand on his hip. Ah right. Being carried.

He'd rather get his leg broken for a third time, but alas. No such luck.

"You're certainly lighter than Tommy the last time he scammed me into giving him a piggyback ride. Let's get on with it," Phil says.

Techno rolls his eyes, but forces himself to be steadfast as the man crouches slightly. It's uncomfortable to have to reach out and touch his shoulders. To press his front to his back and practically hug his neck. Though it's way worse when Phil scoops his legs up, and then takes on all of his weight. With all of his teeth on display, Techno hisses and scrambles in swooping panic. His nails embed in Phil's neck a little.

"Ow, christ almighty, you're crushing me you know," Phil says, shaking his head to dislodge Techno's fingernails.

"Not in a very comforting way," Techno says.

"Should I purr?" Phil asks sarcastically.

Techno digs his nails in again until it seems like Phil will not say anything quite so stupid anymore.

"Head that way a while," Techno grumbles.

Without any further bad jokes, Phil tromps through the crunchy layer of snow. After a moment of deliberation, Techno decides to just bring them around to his usual snare route. While the meat is unlikely to spoil for a little while, other animals could snag it first. And likely destroy his snares alongside it. Better to just let Phil see where his normal stomping grounds are despite the small threat of it.

He's literally bringing Phil to his base, it's going to be a risk no matter what.

It's without comment that Phil adjusts Techno until both of his legs are looped through the man's bent arms. In his hands he holds his rifle, presumably to account for the small delay that would come from literally holding Techno. Though it will only take a moment to drop Techno to the ground and either fight or run. Techno does not keep his grasp on Phil quite so secure, only one arm around his shoulders while the other hand is by his side, resting on his crossbow. While it would be funny to scratch Phil up when he's thrown off, that will just hurt Techno more.

When Techno slowly points Phil onto the near invisible game path, they come across his first snare placement within a half hour of leaving.

Techno tugs on Phil's hair to prompt him to stop.

"I'm not a horse," Phil complains.

"No, horses would be faster," Techno says. "And more comfortable. Let me down."

He braces himself for the coming fall. But instead of an awkward tumble, Phil crouches and slowly loosens his arms, helping his legs down and everything. Techno is almost more tripped by that than what he was expecting.

Recovering quickly, Techno limps over to the brush where the snare is tucked away. Phil grumbles wordlessly, which is quite uncomfortable when the alpha is behind him. A bite through the tongue suppresses any jumping or jolting.

"No luck," Techno says quickly.

Carefully, he resets the snare. Might as well, he'll have Phil walk the route with him once or twice a week until their deal is over.

"Do you catch anything during winter?" Phil asks.

"Not too much, but some. Things desperate enough to slink out for food."

"Ha-ha."

"That one actually wasn't a joke at your expense, just animal behaviors." Techno stands. "But I guess if the shoe fits."

Phil scoffs. "Get over here."

This time, Techno keeps his nails to himself while climbing onto Phil's back. It's a real tough thing though.

The breeze and lack of closed in space helps, but the close proximity makes it impossible to not smell the alpha. Despite the fact that it isn't a scent in the same way that proper smells are, it cloys as much as a miasma of rotting blood. Worse a smell, almost. At least blood could be from anything. Anyone. Not a…

Techno shakes his head faintly, looking to the side firmly. His fingers fiddle with the crossbow.

They stop by a couple more snares. One has a groundhog which makes him raise an ironic eyebrow.

"Spring coming early."

Phil snorts in response.

That's all that they find on the way over, much to Techno's disappointment, though not surprise. This would be a fine enough catch for himself. But seven people? Maybe he should put up more snares…

His mind is wandering about the prospect when his back is suddenly pressed against the trunk of a tree. He's sandwiched between Phil and the unyielding wood to the point that his lungs feel smashed flat. Automatically, he grabs his crossbow tightly and tries to yank it up. But his arm can't extend enough to truly get it up in this position.

With a soft wheeze, Techno jabs his heel downwards into the top of Phil's kneecap while yanking a chunk of his chin length hair to the side.

A cut off growl answers him, but Phil doesn't move. Instead, slowly lifting his rifle and pointing it… towards a pair of shambling zombies.

Oh.

That shouldn't calm Techno's heart—and it really doesn't. But as half of his heart seems to pick up, the other half unclenches. It's an odd feeling. Perhaps quite like a chunk of bone marrow lodging up in the tubes and chambers. Presumably.

"Quiet," Techno mutters, raising his crossbow the few inches that he can.

It's obvious that Phil is listening to him, a small flick of his chin. Slowly, he steps forwards, not lowering his gun. Instead, gesturing with the tip towards the closer undead.

Techno raises his crossbow far more successfully without a tree jammed behind him. He lines it up over Phil's shoulder, squinting just a hair. Then he pulls the trigger.

It flies home smoothly, right through the curve of the skull. The zombie trips over, twitching and snarling all the way down.

Not getting up.

They can't say the same thing for the other zombie though. Following the chaos of the falling fellow, the zombie swings around with a warped growl. It hikes up Techno's hackles even worse than an alpha's. Or, well, differently. Comparison is the thief of joy and all.

Techno moves to notch another arrow into the crossbow, but there's no traction hanging from someone's back. The hiss that Techno lets out is all that it takes for Phil to raise the rifle again, considering sinking a bullet through its skull as well. Already, Techno braces for the explosion of noise that will surely scare off any food for another dang week. He tries to hook the curve of the crossbow on his toes for enough traction to prime the arrow regardless, hoping to somehow get it done first.

The crossbow is a deliberate choice for Techno in some ways. It looks cool. And quite intimidating in the way that only a shotgun can rival, though without the stupid noise. It speaks to his skill and prowess. Like a proper hunter. And survivor.

But here's the thing: crossbows are easier to use than a traditional bow. Maybe not mechanically, but strength wise, crossbows don't take as much to prime the arrows when using the right string tools—which anyone who isn't an arrogant alpha uses. Plus, once the arrow is primed, the crossbow holds it in place, no strength necessary while aiming and holding it ready.

A good choice for an omega whose stupid body refuses to make enough muscle. Possibly for starvation reasons, but definitely for general omega reasons too.

That doesn't mean that it's an optimal weapon for him to rely on when he's currently at the will of another person. When Phil drops the rifle, allowing it to hang freely from the strap around his neck, Techno realizes that anew. The zombie yowls, and runs right towards them.

Phil yanks a long knife off of his hip. Techno tenses to be dropped, unable to even brace himself or go for his pistol when his hand and leg is caught up on the crossbow.

A small, pathetic, weak noise chirps out of Techno's chest.

He drops to the ground. Except—Phil drops down with him. He still hasn't let go of Techno, even as the zombie swipes right where they were. Instead, he keeps one of his arms firmly around Techno's injured knee while kicking upwards into the zombie's leg with an angry growl.

The zombie falls down as Phil stabs up.

Then, he shoves to the side. The zombie hits the ground beside them, knife blade through its jaw. Still snapping, still gargling. Roughly, Phil jerks the knife once more. The jaw audibly cracks, like a twig snapping clean through. Brain finally sliced through, the zombie starts screeching with death, before it stills.

Heh?

For a couple seconds, they kind of just sit there. Then Techno twitches and Phil jolts, half crushing him on the ground instead of the tree this time. He slowly releases Techno's injured leg, before working his knife free.

"Fucking hell," Phil gripes. "Fighting with someone on your back is not fucking it. Are you fine?"

"One word for it," Techno mumbles gruffly.

Truly, he's far too worked up for two zombies. It's rare for zombies to get this far, but he can still deal with them in his sleep practically. Even if a lot of zombies are bigger than him, and thus hand-to-hand (or hand-to-knife, he's not crazy) isn't exactly easy, he can still manage well. Better than most, he would say. Humbly.

But trapped by the arms of an alpha? His hands shake the smallest amount, even as he scoots away unscathed.

It's not helped by the fact that Phil turns to him and scans him intently. His leg, his face, his hand on the crossbow. Techno silently primes the next arrow with the traction of the ground, finally making Phil look away from him. Back to their surroundings, like he should be looking at.

Still moving stiffly, Phil retrieves his knife and then Techno's bolt. How kind of him.

"Can't get rid of those things anywhere," Phil says.

"Yeah, well, wonder what drew them over," Techno says sarcastically.

"If it's only a few from a gunshot, I'll take it. The woods are supposed to be more safe, though."

The woods are safer. A few stragglers will always make their way out, and gunshots draw them to a general area. But it's nothing compared to the cities.

From the worried look on Phil's face, he doesn't seem to agree.

"What do you mean?" Techno asks.

"Just that we've been dodging small hordes for the better part of a year and it's getting old," Phil says. "There's no high ground around here to look for them either. Too much cover."

"Hordes? They couldn't get this far. Not enough dead people around here to start walking."

"Let's hope so. Stay on your toes. Er, well, you know what I mean," Phil says, offering a hand like he's going to scoop him back up.

"We're close. I'll walk the rest of the way," Techno says.

Phil's answering hum almost rumbles a little around the edges, but he doesn't actually object. So Techno pretends not to notice like the totally oblivious beta he totally is. He pulls the crutch out to use, other hand staying tight around the crossbow. Without a look back, he leads the way.

No more zombies pop up in the few minutes before they reach Techno's house. He speeds up as he sees it, the off gray-brown walls that almost blend in to the surrounding trees. The place has obviously been in disrepair for far longer than the world has been over, but that makes it all the better for Techno's purposes. Hiding.

Well, except for how Phil knows where it is now.

"Watch for zombies or something," Techno tells Phil as he steps onto the crooked stoop of a porch.

"Or I can help you carry things and not leave you alone and injured," Phil says.

"You're not good at following instructions," Techno says, as Phil follows him in. "Was that a big problem for you before the apocalypse?"

"I worked at a nonprofit charity," Phil says flatly.

Coming to a pause, Techno turns to him with a squint. Then he keeps on.

"That was not a no."

Luckily, it seems that Phil's scoffing distracts him from eyeing up his space. Already, Techno feels an edge to his teeth—even bigger than before. This random person just storming into his territory, pulling out his side bag like he's going to rob the place, alongside stinking it up. Literally.

With a hurried step, Techno steps into the small bedroom. He bites his tongue, then kicks the small bundle of blankets to the very corner of the mattress. It was a bit too awful to be considered a nest, but just in case.

When he hears footsteps behind him, he scoops up a large knife from beside his bed. Then swings around with it in his hand.

"Thought you could borrow my zombie killing knife," Techno blurts out.

Dang it. There goes his good knife.

"Are you serio—wow, that is a big knife," Phil says. Like the good knife stealer he is.

"Yeah, well, you need it," Techno says gruffly.

Then he throws the knife at Phil.

"Oh my god!"

Phil dodges out of the way.

"My knife!" Techno complains as it clatters to the ground. "Sheesh, no wonder you're useless in survival."

"That is not what I ever said. And also you just threw a knife at me, so I'm wondering about your survival skills now!"

"Well… the knife didn't go in my direction, so that's a point for me surviving."

"This is disgraceful."

Stooping over, Phil does pick the knife up. Though he looks incredibly puffed up and peeved. Techno only lets himself feel satisfied that he succeeded and not at all like he wants to cower in his destroyed nest.

There is enough time for him to shove basically all of his clothes and his favorite blanket into his bag though. Might as well be prepared for the next couple weeks.

"Where do you keep your food?" Phil calls from the main room.

"Hold your horses," Techno calls back, hobbling out. "No need to rob me, I'll get it."

When Techno goes to kneel before a half broken cabinet, Phil takes a swipe at his arm. Trying to grab it and support his weight or something. Techno clatters to the ground in his attempt to dodge.

"Shit, mate, be careful," Phil scolds.

As if. Techno yanks the cabinet open and shoves a plastic bag full of dried mushrooms at the man.

It distracts Phil from noticing Techno wincing at his leg pain.

"These are edible?" Phil asks.

"No, I keep my poison with my food so I can play roulette any time I get eepy and want a snack," Techno says.

Phil snorts, putting the mushrooms in his own bag. Techno's bag is mostly full, so fair enough.

Slowly, he pulls out a container of homemade jerky, some dried herbs, and half a jar of jammed berries. A prized possession in winter. Phil whistles like he's impressed. A stupid sort of pride simmers in Techno's chest.

"You have refreshed my ability to put up with your sarcastic little quips," Phil says.

"Whatever, vole face," Techno says flatly.

"And I'm maxed out again."

Almost smiling, Techno painstakingly stands. When Phil tries to help him, a glare from Techno fends him off. But it's a near thing. And Phil does not look please, jaw sticking out and shoulders all set. Pushy alpha tries not to push or something. Must be a first.

"Actually, let me hunt around here for a bit. Gets some food for a few days," Techno says.

"I thought you said I'm too loud for that."

"You are. You're not coming."

"Uh, Earth to broken leg." Phil gestures. "Do you want to break it a third time?"

"It would be funny," Techno says. Phil glares. Classic. "But I'll just sit in a blind and see what I can get. No moving."

"Well if there's no moving, then I can go with you," Phil says.

Techno rolls his eyes. "You have most of my food, I won't pinch you."

"That's not what I'm— There were just two zombies out there, and who knows what else that you might have to run from."

"Like the animals scurrying away from you."

"I will sit still and silent. I can fucking do that."

"Your gross alpha smell will alert the animals, so it's useless. Just wait here or something," Techno blusters.

Phil raises an eyebrow. "Animals can't smell us."

Ah, right. Techno isn't supposed to really be able to smell them either, what with being a beta. It's supposed to be much more muted for them. Shoot.

"… It's still a good excuse for you to not come," Techno spits out after a few seconds.

Phil rolls his eyes, face relaxing. "Fucking, fine! You win!"

"Oh boy, lucky me," Techno grits out with a fake grin. "I'm going like 300 feet that way. Come if you hear shooting. Then you know the world is ending."

While Phil is busy rolling his eyes more, Techno crutches his way out of the house. He does go the way that he told Phil, over to the short little blind he has set up. But he's probably moving a bit too quick and unsubtly. Urgh, these… people are messing up his skills. Even if he somehow gets out of the deal unscathed, he'll have so much rust to dust off. And probably a good amount of insanity to dust out too.

It doesn't feel good. He doesn't feel covered and alone when he hides himself in the brush. He doesn't feel safe.

Which is stupid, because he's never safe. There's always the chance of zombies being out here. Hell, there's always the chance of people getting out here. Look at his—

Regardless, it's not like Techno is ever relaxed. He's not stupid.

Yet he spends one week living with people and his head is spinning with it. He can still smell faint wisps of scents sticking to him. It feels cloying in the cold, outside air. He fiddles with the trigger of his crossbow incessantly.

The sooner they're gone, the better. That will fix him right back up.

And they don't know that Techno is an omega. They don't. They won't treat him the way that omegas get treated. He's useful, indispensable. And a random beta to them. Not a threat. Not someone to discard or hurt either. Just some guy, who they helped and he helped back. Fair. Equal.

That's all that it is. That's all that it will be. Techno will make certain of it.

Roughly, Techno squeezes the trigger of his cross bow. The bolt flies out, soaring through the slim body of a red fox, then down into the ground. It sinks in a couple inches, pinning it there. But even with the slight shake of his hand, it pierced the lungs. Dead with a single sound and second.

Breathing out hard, Techno stands from the brush covered area and limps over to the animal. The fox is decently large for this time of year, would feed him alone for a couple days.

But to a whole pack? Next to nothing.

A shadow shifts within the corner of Techno's eye. He swings around towards it, cross bow flying up and leading him. And he's squeezing the trigger quick, eyes widening.

But the trigger clicks emptily. There's no bolt loaded. Crap, crap, crap.

He drops it in in his effort to yank his pistol from his belt. It will draw the rest of them. Packs of people, they're all the same as zombies. Drawn to noise, slavering to destroy. Techno takes a step back while looking around, hand slipping over his holster once.

And, of course, his injured foot lands right on the fox behind him. His ankle rolls slightly, pain rolling with it, as he falls to the ground. He yelps as he hits it, far too loud and useless a sound, pathetic and damning.

Breath knocked out of him in a puff, Techno finally gets his pistol in front of his face as he looks around. The jitter in his eyes smears the scene slightly, but.

There's—

A none too gentle pair of feet crash into the small clearing, though a tad more stealthy than Techno would expect. At least when Phil is running as fast as he is, hair and smell making him recognizable immediately. That's exceedingly off putting. Almost as much as when Phil leans over smoothly and yanks him off the ground.

Another surprised noise leaves Techno, and if his trigger discipline wasn't perfect, he would have unleashed at least a bullet or two.

As is, Phil scoops him off of the ground, bares his teeth down into the brush where Techno has fallen like he's expecting something to be there, and then he turns around the clearing. Much like Techno just had. And likely finds the same thing.

Nothing. There is nothing. They're both chasing shadows with this one.

"What the heck man?" Techno mutters, still too shocked to really move.

"You screamed," Phil says.

"I exclaimed quietly in surprise. When I tripped," Techno says.

"Your gun was out," Phil accuses.

"Cause my crossbow was empty, it's called being careful. Can you put me down to put a bolt in it and not be held in your arms anymore," Techno says, slightly heated.

It almost looks like Phil is not going to comply, or maybe even argue. But he does slowly set him down, keeping a hand on his elbow for a few seconds like he might trip over a fox again. Or maybe to show how his stupid alpha arms can pick him up in half a second after probably weeks of starvation. Utterly stupid biology.

Without pause, Techno strings a new bolt and picks the fox up. Phil takes it from him, slipping it away with the other catch. Not an awful day, considering all his detriments. And he's not talking about the leg.

"Did you hurt your leg again?" Phil asks.

"No, Phil. Do you question everyone this much all the time? Because if so, I feel bad for Kristin," Techno says, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.

The man just snorts though, rolling his eyes.

"Only people who seem set on self destruction. So everyone except Kristin." Phil shrugs. "Let's head back for the day, we'll see what the day holds tomorrow."

Tilting his head in agreement, Techno reluctantly slides his crossbow away for another piggyback ride. It's getting horrifically old at this point. He might just start hopping.

But not today. He's cold and tired, they had better get back sooner than not. Might as well make Phil use up his strength up to make it happen.

Apparently he's got plenty just sitting around.

A strange amount of relief fills Techno at the sight of the house. Idiotic, considering that he will be just as on edge inside as out here, and the little room he's staying in offers zero protection. But he still feels it.

Luckily, Techno comes bearing Phil still alive and food. The pack seems plenty happy to see him. Grand.

"Wow. You know a lot about finding herbs and stuff?" Kristin asks, looking at the dried ones.

"Sure. It's just knowing where things grow and what's poisonous," Techno says.

"Oh, just that?" Kristin asks sarcastically. "Sit down, you're straining your leg too much."

Reluctantly, Techno sits on the couch. No getting away for now.

"Yup. Just that," Techno says,

Kristin chuckles at him, before smiling widely at the jar of jellied berries. The things aren't super sweet, since he had barely enough sugar to preserve them at all. But he supposes it is a treat if food is scarce. It's always a treat to Techno out here, refined sweets a distant and mourned memory of his. But, well. Good will and all that.

"I have a pack of crackers saved. We should have it with the jam, like a real dessert," Kristin says.

"Sounds lovely," Phil adds. "Where's everyone?"

"Chopping wood," Kristin says. "Though it's been silent for a few minutes, so probably slacking off."

Phil sighs before heading outside to deal with them. However that goes down.

"Want to help?" Kristin asks.

"Sure." Techno wrinkles his nose in disinterest, but moves forwards without argument. He does prefer to keep his hands busy, but he doesn't want to seem too eager to do those sorts of tasks.

She sits down beside him and spreads a couple plates across their laps. Then hands him a flat knife. It's short and repetitive, a smudge of jam across a probably partially stale cracker. It smells nice, sweet.

One cracker crumbles in half, turning to a mess of jam and crumbs.

"Oops. You can sample, it's your jam," Kristin says.

Wow, this show of good will must have really been good. Food. Universal need. And only difficult enough to find for himself let alone half a dozen others.

He'll make it happen. He takes the cracker as Kristin stands, sliding the plates away.

"I'll be right back," Kristin says.

Quickly he counts the plates, one for each of them. There's an equal amount of crackers on all of them too. Techno slides the one on is hand onto one of the plates, picking it up.

This is enough for a meal for him. Probably not for the people in this pack. Well, except—

Techno looks up at the click of footsteps. Taking off a hood covered in snow, Ranboo steps into the room, looking around with his weird mismatched eyes. He's the first person that Techno's seen with such a thing, one green and one brown. They're blinking at Techno, seemingly surprised that he's in the room.

At first, the boy's nervous nature made Techno suspicous. But then he realized that he's an omega and it made more sense.

Honestly, Ranboo barely looks like one. He's extremely tall, which is abnormal. And though he's very thin, his frame is boxy. But the way that he seems to constantly scan the room and people in it, fidgeting and nervous? Yeah, that's all omega. And a smart one too, if obvious.

"Ah, Tommy started throwing snow," Ranboo says, brushing a bit more snow off.

"Great fun with the lovely warm weather," Techno says sarcastically.

Ranboo snorts, covering his mouth before shrugging. Not guilty to poke fun at the other boy. Though it's well earned fun poking, because it's way too cold to go throwing frozen water at people. Waste of energy and calories.

Ranboo shivers slightly, looking like a proper wet weasel. At least by all the pathetic measures. Especially when he eyes the food.

Without looking, Techno shoves his plate into Ranboo's hands. Then turns his free hand down to his sleeve, acting like he's fixing it.

"Here," Techno says shortly.

"Oh, uh, thanks?" Ranboo says, seeming a bit confused.

Techno only grunts vaguely in response.

It's really not an act of kindness or anything. Techno can just acknowledge that as someone who is functionally a beta right now, the omega will need more food. Whenever this pack stops feeding everyone equally, either because they get comfortable with Techno being around or after he leaves. A few extra morsils won't do much, but it's better than nothing. Even if omegas, and even betas, need less food, well. No harm giving this one a little extra if he can spare.

And the truth is that really these portions have been bigger than he's sused to anyway. Way, way bigger than he would get when he was in a pack. And he's not even a friend of this pack, let alone anything more, but Techno can spare some food and make do.

Plus it's just a couple extra crackers, who cares. He picks up one of the emptier plates, before licking a smudge of jam on his thumb. It tastes like sour berries.

With as much effort as one would expect to fold down ridiculously long legs, Ranboo sits in the blankets on the ground. Pillowed around him, with the plate on his legs. Then he turns back to Techno, looking awkward.

"Are you… cold?" Ranboo asks.

Is he asking…? Techno cuts his eyes firmly away from the nest, skin itching.

"Nope. I haven't rolled around in snow, so I'm not freezing to death," Techno says, swinging around so that his legs are on the couch.

"'Freezing to death' is dramatic. Weren't you literally outside for hours?" Ranboo asks.

"Shows the benefit of not getting soaked in below freezing temperatures," Techno says.

"I want to argue, but that seems like a bad position to oppose," Ranboo says.

"Smart."

Techno turns as more people enter the house. Eyeing him over once, before walking past. And he eyes them all back, twice as sharp, none of the vague smiles.

This is going to be a long few weeks.

Chapter Text

The next couple weeks pass in a lulling sense of calm.

Techno goes out hunting and checking his snares with either Phil or Kristin every couple of days, successfully bagging an assortment of small animals and another deer. Which was a whole ordeal, considering that Kristin refused to allow Techno to walk all the way back to base unassisted, and thus carries the deer over one shoulder and Techno leaning towards the other one in the cramped piggyback ride. Utterly humiliating and ridiculous.

Still, nothing dramatic happens during that time. Surprisingly.

The redness in his leg retreats back around the wound, puss slowing and clearing. The pain begins to be more situational. Specifically, the situation of him putting any weight on it. A sign of healing, reluctant as Techno may be to agree that this pack allowing him to rest with them has been good.

Food has been flowing well enough to not be a keen issue, with only moderate complaining about hunger from Tommy. That might just be a Tommy thing though. The boy is loud and ravenous enough to be an alpha in the making, if lacking the stereotypical muscles for it. Still, they haven't started starving the pack's omega or Techno, so it's not dire.

In that regard, Techno doesn't doubt that they still see him as a beta. He has successfully stomped down on every stupid impulse his hindbrain has thrown at him, and his scent glands have continued to be fried to near nonfunctioning.

None of it is enough to be relieving, let alone secure feeling. But it is calm. Which is the best that he can hope for around others.

Which is how Techno should have known that things were about to go wrong.

He steps outside, bristling against the sharp chill in the air. The morning is colder than it's been in a bit. It's awful enough that he almost considers begging off from hunting today. But, it will be worse when he's cold and hungry.

Opening his eyes, the faint noise of a snarl lost to wind reaches him. Techno lifts his crossbow, aims, and fires.

The zombies collapses to the ground.

"The hell?" Phil asks, stepping out beside him.

Techno narrows his eyes, flickering them around while he lowers his crossbow down the ground. He plants the tip of his foot against it and uses the stringing tool to notch another arrow. Right as a second zombie stumbles out of the treeline.

That one drops even quicker to the next arrow.

Phil loosens the rifle on his shoulder, but actually takes up his nasty hunting knife. Because he has a singular grain of good sense sometimes. While he takes the steps down from the porch slowly to retrieve his arrows, Phil follows. Watching the area like a rubber band close to snapping. Tightly, that is.

But Techno only gets as far as pulling his first arrow free from the corpse before another bout of brush rustling and twigs snapping grabs his attention. And Phil's too, knife hiking up as he steps right in front of Techno. Which does not set him up well to point or shoot his crossbow anywhere, actually. So while Phil steps forwards, all wide shouldered and thick skulled, Techno quickly notches his bloody arrow into place. Not that there is time for Techno to lean around Phil to take the shot. The man has already slammed his knife into the neck of the monster.

The tip of his crossbow tracks the zombie as it goes down. Not lowering his weapon until Phil smashes another another blow of his knife through the skull of the thing. The impressive display is almost distracting enough to not notice when a footstep crunches behind him.

Techno's head twitches as he spins around, crossbow shifting up and down, to the side—He looses the arrow into another skull.

"Where are these things coming from?" Techno says, suspiciously glaring around.

"Let me get ahead of the gunshot allegations," Phil says, backing up right over to him.

"That's probably at least a contributing factor," Techno says flatly.

Phil huffs out a chuckle, shaking his hand out so that some of the undead blood splatters off of his blade. It really is a good knife. Techno's head whips to the side as he hears more ruckus noises, and then the other way.

"What the…?" Phil mutters, squinting hard until the tips of his teeth show. "Stay here."

Phil is across the yard and halfway up a tree before Techno thinks to not obey the command. He frowns and takes a step forwards, before he stops again. Not knowing what Phil is going to do, he probably shouldn't rush over. The alpha disappears into the leaves of the tree above.

Despite the logic, his puffs his cheeks out at the technical deference. It's his own choice. It is…

A yelp leaves Techno's lips as a hand closes around his ankle. It yanks so hard that he falls to the ground. Pain shoots up his hurt leg as he twists in the hold, over onto his backside. Half under the porch now, where the attack had crawled out to begin with, is a partially decayed corpse. Mouth ajar and growling.

A thud sounds from behind him, followed by running footsteps.

"Techno!" Phil calls.

Techno pulls an arrow off of his bow, jabbing it forwards down the path of his leg. The tip sinks deeply through the eyeball of the zombie. Like an unclogged drain, it spurts a surprisingly large amount of blood and murky fluid. That just means he hit the brain. That doesn't stop Techno from stirring the arrow around inside the skull, making extra sure that the twitching is truly death.

"I got it," Techno says, as Phil slides to his side and literally kicks the zombie away. His eyes widen at the sight of the limp body literally going flying. "Sheesh, man…"

"You okay?" Phil asks, hauling him up.

"Fine," Techno says, cringing slightly. "It was just… one."

It seems that the elevated voices have alerted the nearby zombies, which there are apparently still multiple of. Ants out of a crushed nest, they spill from the treeline on all sides. Though considering the threat they pose, they're more like wasps. Phil doesn't seem nearly as surprised by their numerous guests, face furrowed up instead.

As easily as hoisting a sack of potatoes onto his shoulder, Phil grabs Techno and hoists him up. Over his shoulder. Techno jerks, shocked and revolted by the restraining touch. But it doesn't much matter, because Phil is running over to the house, skipping the three step up in a single stride, and throwing the door open. Then he closes it behind them, barely not a slam.

Bending over, Phil slides Techno down so that he's practically a lump on the ground. Desperate for less vulnerability, Techno pushes up on his hands. It doesn't seem like Phil notices, since he takes a few steps away to where Kristin is running over.

"There's something close to a horde outside. They'll probably be upon us if our sound has drawn them this way," Phil says urgently.

Kristin curses, storming over to the door. She snaps all of the locks on it into place. Though it seems like Kristin is mostly looking out the little window on it. The sight must not be very good, as she bares her teeth.

The wall, his crutch, and a gallon of pure spite is what gets Techno upright. He forces the pain in his head out of his mind, focusing only on the present. It's made easy with how his pulse raises instantly, making the back of his tongue pinch and taste of iron. The grip on his crossbow is so tight that the joints ache, half shoved out of place.

Even though no one is being loud as they run over, every footstep bangs as loud as a gunshot in Techno's ears. Their deafening breaths, their balled up fists. their exposed teeth. He can't breathe, trapped in a house made of sticks and full of blaring bombs. If they weren't in front of the door, Techno would be clawing his way out.

"Phil, what—?" Tommy starts.

Firmly, Phil places a finger before his lips. Everyone's lips button shut at that, cowed under it.

When Phil quietly walks over to the couch and starts sliding it in front of the door, Wilbur hurries over and helps him. Meanwhile, Kristin looks around until she apparently decides that the arm chair is the best bet for the back door. Tommy helps her carry it there. Ranboo has a gun in his hand and Tubbo is picking up his own. That won't help in the middle of a horde. But Techno can't blame their actions, the two smallest people here in some measure.

Well, except Techno.

A bang rings out through the entire room, making everyone freeze. It comes from behind one of the shelves pushed up against the windows in the living room. Still far too close. Measily planks of wood.

Everyone holds their breath and doesn't dare move an inch, hoping that it will be enough for most of the undead to stumble past, unknowing.

But then another bang comes. And another. And a thud. And a groan.

Phil's face turns murderous. Somehow, Techno's heart manages to pound harder. Where his eyes were dancing everywhere before, now they can only stick the alpha. And every sharp, violent line of his frame.

The sound of cracking glass fills the house, back in one of the closed off rooms. But inside.

"Upstairs, now," Phil hisses, snapping into action.

Everyone follows his lead.

In the hallway, Phil leaps up effortlessly and grabs the string hanging there. He's slow to open the ladder down, in an effortful way. Stopping it from banging into the ground even louder.

The second that it is open, everyone shoves Ranboo forwards. The gangly boy climbs it inelegantly, but quick. Techno watches, confused, at the entrance to the hall. He turns and looks over his shoulder, the groans leeching into his ears like he can actually hear them. Maybe he can. Maybe they're that close.

A hand closes around his wrist. Techno gasps, flinching backwards. But he's easily overpowered, half picked up as Kristin drags him very quickly over to the ladder.

"Wilbur," Kristin hisses.

Where he's halfway up the ladder, Wilbur looks down. He double-times it up, then sticks his hands down when he gets to the top. Techno is confused, until Kristin boosts him up in what is almost a throw. But Wilbur grabs him around the arms and rib cage. Close enough to smell him, just different enough from Phil and Kristin to be noticeable and stabbing. He drags him up into the closed in maw of the attic.

It's a little clumsy. Techno hits the ground of the attic hard and with a creak, since Wilbur isn't quite as strong as the older alphas. Maybe normally Techno would feel better with less people being able to grab him and move him however they please. But he's too busy kicking and crawling backwards, breathing hard until his back hits a wall and knocks his air out.

Scantily, Wilbur glances after Techno. But then he focuses back on the ladder quickly.

Kristin comes up first. Then Phil. The man pulls the attic door shut with a muffled thud.

"We're safe as long as we're up here. Stay quiet, hopefully the zombies will pass by," Phil whispers. It fills the small attic easily.

"We should throw something out the window, to get them off the walls," Kristin whispers back, pointing at the one window up there.

Without a word, Phil pulls off his backpack and shifts around in it. The object of his search: something cylindrical wrapped in cloth. Techno eyes it closely, following the unwrapping with intense focus. He twitches as though poked by a needle when it is revealed. An overreaction, since it's just a glass jar full of what appears to be random objects.

There's no resistance as Kristin takes it from the man's hands. Yet Techno keeps watching Phil's face for a few sticky seconds. Waiting for, for—

At the window, Kristin weighs the jar in her hand. Then she reels back and chucks it through, fast enough the blur. The shatter is far away, barely audible at all.

With a shrug, she latches the window shut. They'll see if that was anything.

Afterwards, Kristin walks over to where the young adults are standing, all of them half at the ready with varying levels of nervousness. Techno wishes that he could stand. But it would just leave him more unprepared to move. And worse, possibly loud. He silences his breaths as much as humanly possible, even though he's still practically panting.

The good news is that he's good at panicking in utter quiet.

With a bit of gesturing, Kristin gets them all to sit down. And gets Phil to walk over to them too, sitting between their little group and the closed ladder. Though he's near enough to touch them.

Techno stays on the opposite side of the small attic, a dozen feet away or so. When Kristin glances at him, it's hard to not react. To not stop breathing completely and dip his head. Expose his neck and not make challenging eye contact.

But Techno just about manages to keep his teeth gritted and eyebrows set. The attention blessedly drifts off of him soon enough.

And likely, Techno is forgotten about completely when some more shattering comes from below them. It's followed up by the thuds and bangs and scuffing of clumsy footsteps. Some undead have breached the house. Everyone falls even more impossibly still and silent.

The seconds that tick by, slow and drawn out, are torturous. Techno's heart beats ten times over for each one. He can't blink.

All that he can do is hug his crossbow to his chest. His dad's crossbow. The metal of it digs in bracingly, feeling just like the alpha that raised him. Who is probably pissed that Techno ended up with the crossbow in the first place.

It's ironic, considering that his dad did teach him how to shoot it. Took him on hunting trips, camping, fishing, the whole shebang of living off the land. Perhaps a paranoia about the end of society, well earned, or just economical, considering that things were never easy for their family. Back then, his dad was committed to somehow overriding Techno's omega nature by simply raising him in a tough way. And maybe it did work, or would have.

But then the world ended. And things got worse. And his dad's opinions changed for the worse with it.

Maybe it's because Techno's mom died, protecting him and the other kids and omegas in their group. She was a beta. There was a low chance of Techno even being an omega. But that just proved to his father what about all other alphas seemed to have decided already.

That everyone else is intrinsically weak and should be treated as such.

Hardly matters to Techno. Except when he's stuck in the middle of a horde. With a pack. One of two omegas. And the outsider one.

His chin jerks up as he snaps back to the present keenly. Techno's attention keeps ping ponging between being as sharp and cutting as a knife to a heavy fuzziness that drags him down. A brain ringing kind of juxtaposition. The feeling is like a concussion.

Techno has been in this situation before. Not in an attic or with these people, but he has been in this situation a few times before. Threats surrounding him and a pack. Zombies or violent people.

He can't even run this time.

Can't keep up, can't run ahead, can't run away. Can't anything, but be at the will of a pack.

If he's lucky, they'll leave him to die. Kicked and trampled in the dust, a distraction while the others get ahead. If he's not lucky, then it will be something even something worse. More deliberate. Something to make him bleed, to make sure all the zombies are paying attention to him alone.

Because Techno is the definition of a weak link, of the most useless in the bunch. Which means that he will be the first to go. What does food matter in the face of immediate death?

Techno curdles around the crossbow further while the others sit in a near pile across the way. The paleness and sweat and worry on their faces is just more proof of what he already knows. It almost seems like Ranboo is going to cry. It's damning.

As the sounds downstairs continue, the fear within him grows. It's strange, because the logical part of Techno knows that he wouldn't be anywhere close to this afraid if he was dealing with this alone.

Almost nearly, his hindbrain has swallowed him up. The first time in a long time.

He hates it. But he's too scared to fight it.

Even worse, the small space of the attic begins to reek of all their smells. It's freezing, but apparently there's no draft to waft away the noxious, heavy pheromones. Techno shivers, and he can't tell if it's the cold, or the panic, or the smell of scared omega, or the smell of bracing alpha.

He tries to cover his nose, but it doesn't help. His scentless skin and glands just leave room for the others to overwhelm.

It's too much. Techno feels his brain almost waver under it, drifting in and out of darkness with his pulse. It's too much.

The smallest of whimpers leaves him.

By some stroke of luck, the first in his life, the noise is drowned out. Phil stands with a murmur, just enough noise to fill the air. That slaps Techno's mind back silent too. Tracing the alpha's path over to the window where he looks out of it for a while. Then Phil stands still and silent while watching the ladder door intently.

"They're thinning, likely not forever. I say we make a run for the car once dawn hits," Phil whispers.

Car...?

Run for it. Techno understands that part. The crossbow cuts into his skin.

"Are you sure?" Kristin questions him.

Techno flinches.

"There's enough gas in the car to get away from this worst of the group. All of the undead are walking in one way, away from the roads," Phil whispers.

"We came from there, though. There's no gas or food," Kristin argues.

"Not if we go east. It will take longer, but we didn't go through there," Phil says.

"All fields…" Kristin says.

"There will be zombies here for weeks. It's even more dangerous," Phil says.

Kristin is quiet for a moment, petting the pup who is leaning against her shoulder. Techno holds his breath, bracing for a break. For the noise that draws the undead closer. The blood that draws the death closer.

But then, somehow, the air softens instead. Kristin nods.

Techno blinks at the air like he's just watched pasta boil in an empty pot. He doesn't understand what's happened. Maybe someone has thrown something that's knocked into his head so hard that he's fallen unconscious. Or into another dimension. Both seem far more likely.

The decision seems to have been truly made in how Phil turns away and sets his attention back out the window, watching raptly once more.

Light from the window had already been going dim when Phil spoke up, but now it's fading to pure darkness. A faint light from the moon eats a couple feet into the attic, but the rest of the room is pure darkness. Something which Techno has gotten used to since the fall of electricity, but he shivers against it now. It feels even colder. It probably is colder. He can feel fog on his face with every exhale, breath freezing in the air.

It's the kind of cold that he's used to. Alone with bodies around him. He can hear them moving across the room, making him twitch with every little sound. Unable to see the movements anymore. Unable to see if they come closer, or strike out, or leave.

Techno doesn't know which is worse.

The scene shifts in smeary blinks. Harsh faces and noise, then the darkness. He's not sure what's real and what's a long blink.

But soon, or it feels like it, the window begins to lighten again. Phil is still perched by the glass, watching like the passing darkness is as riveting as the walking undead themselves. Maybe it is. For Techno, he can't help staring too, with a similar intensity as the monsters brings. At least the monsters are obvious and simple…

When Phil finally turns, Techno flinches back. Firmly, the alpha nods. Kristin's face is set as she meets the gesture. Not saying anything, she wakes Tommy and Tubbo where they had fallen asleep against each other. Then she helps Ranboo stand, notably not seeming to have slept a wink where he's curled over his soft stomach. She pets the young omega's neck with her wrist, short and reassuring. It draws up dread within Techno, the same as all the twitchy images that haunted him through the dark night.

"We'll get what we can while clearing a path through. Everyone know where to meet up if we get separated?" Phil mutters, helping the others up with far less gentleness.

His pups all nod at him. Loyal as dogs on leashes. It's only natural.

It contrasts poorly with the graveness on everyone's faces. An exhaustion of having done this plenty of times. Of disaster having struck, and knowing that there's more to come. But you have to look alive, or else it will get worse.

Will the alphas be able to protect their pack from that? Or will they be the ones sending them towards death and failure?

Like always.

Weapons and slapdash supplies gathered back into their hands, it seems that the downfall is prepared for. So of course, attention turns towards Techno.

"I'll carry you," Kristin says quietly, striding over to him.

Techno shies away. "What? No way."

His back hits the corner. It makes his eyes flicker around, even though there are obviously no freaking escapes in here. No parts of his brain like that.

"You can't exactly run. We need to move quickly," Kristin hisses.

"I'm not going with you," Techno says.

That brings Kristin to a pause. For a second. Then she continues right over to him.

"Are you crazy? You'll die out here alone. It will take ages for all the zombies to get out of the woods, you can't stay here."

It's a demand. Techno feels his insides fold and riot at the same time at them. His chin tucks to his neck as he can't blink. Can't bare his teeth or snarl and stand tall. Can't put up any of the abrasive signs that he should.

But he won't fold completely. Won't let himself be dragged back into the terror of packs and alphas.

"I'm staying here. Leave," Techno says, as firmly as he can.

"There's no time for this," Kristin growls.

"Kristin," Phil says softly.

Dismissively, Kristin just flaps a hand.

"I'm going to carry you out of here to safety, and you are going to stay with us until your leg is healed. Now we need to leave or die."

The words are said so low that they're barely audible. Not with ears, anyway. But Techno can feel the rumble in them all the way down to his bones. Maybe even deeper than that. It's pretty similar to snapping bones.

Really, the exact feeling he felt as he was running for his life and his leg snapped below him, growls in the wind behind him.

When he doesn't move or answer, Kristin reaches out and grabs him by the back of his collar, like a scruffed feral cat. That's kind of how he feels. Startlingly quick and effortless, she hoists him up into her arms. Equally so, she is careful when maneuvering his leg. That doesn't make him any more comfortable, draped in her arms and pressed to her front. She reeks of all the pack, with stressed alpha drenched on top. A smell that draws up the urge to puke, perhaps only beat out by aggressive alpha. And she really doesn't seem that far off from that either.

For a moment, she shifts all of his weight into one of her arms. The other slips down and pulls the knife off of her belt. She doesn't bother shifting back, leaving one forearm and hand out and armed.

It's probably better, but Techno's heart is absolutely racing. He feels trapped, even worse than just being shoved into the attic with a horde below them. Feels grabbed and pulled around, pushed down. He wants to run. He wants to hide.

Betraying him, his body freezes. Unable to disobey.

Recollected, Phil looks around at all of them before nodding and crouching at the ladder. He slowly pulls it open, grabbing the top rung so it can't fall down with a bang. There's still the squeal of old metal and wood though. Quick and smooth, but still quiet, Phil leans down to unfurl the stairs to the ground. Then he pulls out his big knife and climbs down the ladder in about two steps, swinging around instantly. The squelching of a fight is audible, even where Techno can't see.

One by one, the others follow. Scurrying down the ladder, wielding their knives and axes and bat. They follow Kristin's short gestures, immediately bolting over to Phil once they get down.

Techno is surprised that none of them run once they're on the ground floor. None of them panic or flee or try to fight what they really shouldn't in the rush of adrenaline. It's human nature to split off and run on life preserving instincts in such a dire situation. But they don't, sticking to any commands dished out to them by the alphas without second guessing.

Guess that helps a pack stick together. Or at least, keeps the alphas alive. But they always last the longest.

As Kristin finally steps up to climb down the ladder, last, Techno fumbles to pull out his own knife. His crossbow tucks close in his chest, the opposite of function. He can't reload it like this, so it will be basically useless. If he's dropped or something gets close enough for him to be shoved at it, he can only hope the knife is enough to give him an opening.

The arm that Kristin devotes solely to holding Techno's weight squishes so close to him that it nearly hurts. She's slower down the ladder, one handed.

When she drops to the ground, she swings around so quickly that Techno feels dizzy. Though he squints through it and keeps his arm up. Enough to watch Kristin stab a zombie right in the head, kicking it away the second the blade bottoms out.

She growls while backing up out of the hallway. Techno's breathing stops.

It's horrid. He needs to focus. He needs to keep his eyes moving. Keep his knife before him and be prepared to land on his knees into a fight. To at least be able to crawl away and struggle a little when he inevitably has to.

All of his forebrain is shivering, screaming at him to freeze. That if he doesn't move, the alpha can't see him.

Freeze, hide, fawn away to nothing.

The rest of Techno is desperately clawing within him. Wanting to fight so badly that it physically hurts, right down his middle.

Instead, he shakes, thoroughly ice. And he whimpers.

Kristin's arm around him squeezes harder, pressing him to her rumbling front. Closer to her bared teeth. Her long canines. Her large hands wrapping around his limbs and the knife, to do what alphas always do when they're mad, mad, mad—

There's a loud yelp as Kristin is halfway into the main room of the house. It's enough of a stab to the brain to let Techno turn his head, eyes searching for the sound. Purposefully loud and high to draw attention, or be annoying to make up for uselessness, depending who you ask.

Ranboo is dropping to the ground under the clawing hands of two zombies, one at his back and the other at his front. Quickly, much like some sort of weasel, the boy scurries forwards between lunging zombies and scattered legs. Everyone in the room seems to jump towards Ranboo, trying to clear the zombies around him. But there's just a few too many to manage.

Except where Kristin is, on the other side of the room. The side with less zombies, already cleared out when the others came through. And where Ranboo is obviously headed.

"I've got him!" Kristin says.

At the same time, she surges forwards, stabbing the zombie getting Ranboo's leg. It slides through the thing's spine with so much force that the head almost comes off when she yanks the knife free. Techno clings to his weapons, wide eyed and still stuttering. But he can at least nervously scan Ranboo.

Said Ranboo is grabbing on Kristin, pulling himself up shakily. He seems in one piece still.

The others across the room have stopped their desperate fighting to get to Ranboo. But not their desperate fighting in general. The slow trickle of zombies through the broken window suddenly picks up, seemingly replacing every downed zombie in the room. Pouring in right between them.

After shortly growling and looking around, Kristin sighs. Techno's stomach swoops in fear.

"Go! We'll meet up!" Kristin shouts.

Phil shouts something short back, though Techno can't really make out what. He's too busy being shifted.

And then thrown.

His whole body flinches hard, trying to catch himself and soften the blow and curl away so small that he somehow disappears all at the same time. It makes the landing on Kristin's shoulder horrifically awkwardly and none-too-gentle. She steadies him with a hand, before looping around Ranboo's arm with the same one.

"Sorry! We need to run a minute!" Kristin whisper-yells.

Before Techno can respond, she does indeed take off running. The position is more awkward than before. His stomach digging into her hard shoulder roughly. Every running step jolts him pretty bad, painfully. And his dangling leaves him far more at risk, right where the zombies are swiping at their backs.

Techno clutches his crossbow tightly, barely stopping himself from latching onto the woman. That won't help him when he has to fight.

Not that there's much chance to do that. Kristin sprints quickly out of the house, yanking Ranboo around to keep him close to her. They skid out of an open window before Techno has had a chance to take a real breath.

The jump down barely seems to jostle Kristin at all, though Techno's chin does hit her shoulder blade jarringly. Then, she practically pulls Ranboo right out of the window after her. Ranboo is nowhere near as graceful or coordinated at it, nearly ending up on his butt. But Kristin steadies him, gets a good grip on his arm anew, and takes off into a sprint.

Though the horde around the house might be a little better than it was the past few hours, there's still a dozen or two zombies just in the surrounding yard.

The sprint is zig-zagging. Fast, but it stops and starts frequently. To keep away from the zombies trying to claw towards them. Unwittingly, Techno can't quite keep his attention off of Ranboo. Ready for the boy to trip and fall, be left behind, or worse. Kristin doesn't make any moves towards it yet, attentively manhandling Ranboo to keep him stuck to her side constantly, only ever shoved in front of her if he needs to move out of the reach of the zombies.

Techno's brain doesn't know what to make of it. It's just screaming, screaming, screaming in him. He can't quite think or breathe.

Right as they make for the trees past the clearing, away from the worst of the converging undead, Techno's head yanks violently to the side. It knocks the chaos inside his head right out. Techno gasps a garbled sound while stabbing his knife upwards. The blade sinks into the forearm of the zombie whose fingers are in his hair, yanking the strands out with the force to get his head closer to the open, snarling mouth.

A growl leaves Kristin as she pulls Techno's legs down, making him fall quickly to her front. The zombie gets dragged along with him, mouth about 100% closer to her than it was before. He barely has time to extract his knife from the clawing limb before Kristin turns and swings her arm.

She slams the back her forearm into the zombie's head, right on the side. When it's grip on Techno's hair is lost, she finishes turning completely to face it. And then punches it square in the face.

Techno doesn't have much time to process whatever crazy stupid alpha thing just happened. Too busy slipping downwards, and thus scrambling to wrap his arms around Kristin's neck.

Effortlessly to the point of offense, Kristin throws Techno's legs back over her arm again. Held princess style once more.

"Hold onto my backpack strap," Kristin orders Ranboo.

Without arguing, Ranboo does so. Then they're running again.

Trees and the undead and flailing limbs all fly past. It goes blurry. White and black and rotten flesh gray.

There's nothing that Techno can do except for holding his crossbow and knife and staying still in Kristin's arms. The spots where his hair was ripped from his scalp burns. His chest simmers, frontal lobe trying to turn over. He watches Ranboo's hand, glued around the bag strap by his head.

The run through the woods eventually slows to a jog. Seemingly mostly for Ranboo's benefit, who is breathing hard.

While they still have to often dodge around zombies, thus taking a extremely jerky and winding path, it does calm the smallest amount. Kristin's eyes stay wide and shining. On the look out. Ranboo droops against her, trusting completely that she will lead him to safety. And Techno…

He forces himself back into his brain. With both hands, he grabs the fear that is controlling his instincts. Shoves it, crushed it, makes it as small as possible. Away from him.

Techno blinks hard. He touches his crossbow, his knife, his own backpack strap. Then he turns his attention forwards too.

"Where are we heading?" Techno whispers.

"The car," Kristin says back, lowly. "Phil will be there."

Some sort of pre-planned location. Smart. Okay.

And Techno is coming with, apparently.

He has half a mind to argue it again, now that he has control over himself enough to argue against an alpha. But the woods really are chocked full of the undead. A massive horde. Even where they are now, miles away to the point of being almost unfamiliar to Techno. There's still so many.

His injured leg sways over Kristin's arm. Just a little painful with every bounce. Reminding him that he can't run.

And he's subject to these people.

For some reason, they haven't dropped him yet. Phil, Kristin, they've protected him this far. It won't go before their own pack's safety, nor their own. But maybe they really are genuinely good people, who will help him if it's not too risky for them.

Logically, there must be some people like that out there. Was Techno lucky enough to find them?

When a zombie lunges out from behind a tree at Ranboo, Kristin pulls the young omega to her chest. Smashing him and Techno to her front, while she turns to the side. Putting them out of the way of fingers and mouths, even when it makes it harder for her to kick the thing's knee in.

Smoothly, Kristin breathes out while running out of reach in the moments where it's down.

Techno blinks, before squeezing his weapons. Keeping his eyes on their surroundings forcibly. A couple times, he flicks his knife towards a zombie among the brush. Kristin follows his gestures just as sharply, guiding them around.

The sun is beginning to dip from the highest point in the sky by the time that Kristin slows completely. Hidden among some trees is a station wagon. Dusted over with snow and leaves. But seemingly in one piece. About a dozen zombies are close enough to be a problem if they try to get in.

Physically, Kristin shifts on her feet. She glances behind them, then back again. Seemingly deliberating the next move.

"It'll be safer to wait inside…" Kristin whispers. "You two, wait here."

"Huh?" Ranboo mumbles.

But Kristin is quickly setting Techno onto his feet, steadying him until he's got his balance. His legs are so numb that it barely hurts. Then, she pushes him so that his back is pressed to Ranboo's front, both of them squished between trees. If being half held up by the willowy teen isn't embarrassing enough, it makes it exceedingly obvious that Ranboo is considerably taller than him. But also Ranboo is possibly the tallest omega in existence, almost as tall as Kristin already, so it doesn't matter. Except for Techno's shame.

Still, when Kristin steps away from them with a firm look, Techno's insides agree with the whimper that Ranboo lets out. He doesn't know if the fear is for Kristin, planning to knife fight a bunch of zombies alone, or the fact that the pair of them are being left alone.

Not important. Techno hefts up his crossbow, finger stiff on the trigger.

Just Kristin begins to creep into the clearing, knees bent and knife before her, there's a loud and long whistle.

Techno jumps, crouching towards the ground. He's caught around the middle by Ranboo's arms before he can drop, dragged back up against him. From the closeness, Techno can hear Ranboo gasp, and then sigh.

"Thank god," Ranboo murmurs.

The relief is confusing, until he sees a smear of gold and green knock into the zombie closest to Kristin. The woman glances at the person long enough to smile, before she jumps into the fight with a stab so hard that it's more of a punch.

Phil and Kristin fight in a violent whirlwind, practically back to back. It's simultaneously extremely awe inspiring and terrifying. A dance on tightropes. Soft creatures with sharp teeth and claws. Side by side, juxtaposing.

A groan sounds from behind them, making Ranboo yelp softly in a flinch. It's loud enough for both Kristin and Phil to stutter and turn towards them.

Roughly, Techno shoves his hand backwards, right over Ranboo's shoulder. He has to twist his upper body slightly in order to aim and carry momentum past the peak of the backwards arc. But the knife's blade sinks wetly into the undead's eye, all the way to the hilt.

At the same time, Techno lifts his other hand. He squints his eyes, steadies his shoulder, and pulls the trigger.

The arrow soars right past Kristin's ear, into the zombie taking advantage of her distraction.

Then it's back to it. Techno manages to free his knife with a bit of elbowing at the zombie from Ranboo. Though he can't restring his crossbow. His feet are a couple inches off of the ground, Ranboo having nervously dragged him upwards.

Techno kicks softly, trying to prompt the other omega to put him down.

It seems like Ranboo is going to, before he is promptly distracted. The other bumbling pups trying to somewhat sneakily break through the woods over to them. Not successfully on the stealth part. Techno kicks a bit more pointed at Ranboo's ankles.

"Oh, ah—"

"Ranboo!" The two youngests' hiss, smothering their hands against the subject.

Which means that half of their hands get on Techno, considering the close proximity. Squirming more violently, Ranboo makes another noise, before carefully setting Techno on the ground and releasing him. In his effort to get away, Techno trips over his heel, soaring towards the dirt.

Two hands catch him. A look up shows that it's the other tall, lanky string bean. The one that smells way more intimidating than Ranboo.

All of them look extremely exhausted and breathless, like one would expect from a several hour long run through the woods. Worse off than Techno. And yet, Tommy and Tubbo are nosing over Ranboo like he's the best thing they've ever seen.

And Wilbur caught Techno with his shaking, tired arms.

With the help, Techno claws himself back upright. Then he takes measured, proper steps away. Just in time to breathe and see about restringing his crossbow, while Phil and Kristin take out the last of the undead.

Techno is together. He is.

After a minute, Wilbur turns his attention onto Ranboo too. Techno's shoulders droop.

"Is everyone okay?" Phil asks, stepping over corpses to get to them. His eyes are bright and his breath is worryingly quick. If adrenaline and instinct wasn't filling him, he'd have fainted.

Techno too, though.

It's odd, then. The small pause that follows. Methodologically, Phil runs the inside of his wrist over Ranboo, head to hip. Twice. Then he does the same to Tommy, Tubbo, and Wilbur. Eyes roving over them and cupping the backs of their necks shortly.

While that happens, Kristin walks over to Techno. He jolts a little, as the woman presses his loosed arrow into his hand.

Then she leaves him and joins the fray. Checking and scenting her pack, in case anything happened in the short time apart.

Techno watches for as long as he can stomach, before he walks on his aching leg to the car.