Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Muttering was heard inside the room, followed by a series of a mouse clicking haphazardly, the man in the chair leaning over the desktop with squinted eyes, one hand running through his hair.

Cube sighs, drooping ridiculously low on his chair, before straightening back up when the sound of a door opening comes behind him.

“Hey, Cube.” The newcomer says, dropping their arm on the communicator's head with a bored voice.

“‘Sup 4C.” He echoes, bringing his legs up to sit crosslegged. The cursor on the screen moves to another app, his head turning to look at the tab on another monitor screen. 

“You good?” The weight on his head disappeared, feeling 4C shift onto his side instead.

“..Yeah.” Cube yawns, rubbing his eyes for a second before directing them back into the array of screens. 

The other sighs, crossing his arms before looking sternly at Cube.(Trust him, he knows, he knows the weight of that look anywhere.)

“...What..?” Eyes stare back at another pair, one filled with exhaustion, the other filled with frustration. 

“Cube.. you know you can't keep doing this.” 

Irritation flooded his senses, before being replaced with grudging agreement, because yes, he knows he can't keep doing this. That doesn't mean he won't put up a fight though.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Cube forces out of his throat with faux confusion, eyes still trained onto the others.

4C places his fingers on the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth before letting out a grumbled “You know exactly what we're talking about, Cube.”

Cube hums an affirmation, tilting his head slightly. “Do I?”

“Cube, I know you're our designated communicator— but you have to take a break! It's been hours, Cube!” With a loudness he's only heard once from the man, Cube accepts his defeat and slumps in his chair. 

“I know— I know. Just a few more minutes, 4C..” His voice trails off as one of the trackers on the screen suddenly starts moving at a rapid pace, his exhaustion disappearing in an instant as his hands rapidly click through the settings to reach out to the person.

Cube curses as the connection doesn't connect to… Rek?

Why's Rek running?

It is to be said that Rek doesn't curse a lot. Heck, he thinks he doesn't even curse. But, he thinks he might break that unspoken rule because holy mother of God, this situation actually calls for it. 

I'm gonna die. He thought, staring nervously at the tilted building on the verge of collapsing that had just creaked. The structure tilts some more, a deafening sound of metal scratching together echoing in the distance.

Safe to say, Rek started running. He runs through the mass of rubble and vehicles stuck in the middle of the road, with the thought of death plaguing in his mind. The speed he sprints in is one he never had before, reaching towards his fanny pack with fumbling fingers.

A blue bundle pops in the corner of his eye and is quickly pulled up, opening its contents as his fingers run through the small bottled up array of potions.

Rek pulls up a light blue potion—speed—, before popping off its lid with his thumb and drinking it in one go. He relaxes as the potions effects start running through his system, before he remembers that Holy frick, I am running away from a building why am I relaxed?!

A crackle in his ear brings him back to his senses quickly enough, before a voice starts talking through the earpiece. 

Re-k? 

Cube! His mind supplied before he quickly placed two fingers into the device, speaking through rapid and fast breaths. 

“Cube!” Rek barely lets out the word out of his throat before he's panting again, sucking in big gulps of oxygen in his lungs.

We've g-ot a signal! Rek what's happen-ing?! Why’r- you running like a ma-dman?!

“No time to explain!” 

What do you me-an?!

“No— like..” Ahh… how does he explain that a building is about to fall on him any second now? 

Rek?

“AbuildingmayormaynotbeabouttofallonmesoI’mrunninglikeanabsolutemadmanbecauseIamgonnadieCubeohmygod—”

SIDETRACK, SIDETRACK! Did you just say a building is about to fall on you?!?

WHAT?! A new voice suddenly exploded in his ear, causing him to hiss a bit at the loudness of its volume.

“4C?” He asks, biting his lip as he somehow can still hear the building continue to creak. Rek's pretty sure that the only thing holding it from falling are a few pieces of cable wire and pillars. 

Yes! Parker— did you just s-ay a building is about to fall on you?!

“Stop repeating what I just said!” Rek gasps out, stamina slowly starting to drain after running too fast and too far. 

We're calling the othe-rs in! Find shelter!

It looks like Cube finally got back the microp—

A deafening boom suddenly echoed behind him, and he makes the mistake of looking instead of running for his life, and as he sees the building he says—

“Why am I still so close to the building damn it—!”

—before being engulfed by darkness.

-am I still so close to the building damn i—-–

Cube can feel his entire face pale in horror as the channel connecting him to one of his friends fucking cancels and statics on him. 

His mind replays the sound of falling rubble before— before— 

No. I refuse. I refuse to believe. He isn't dead— he can't be—

Cube doesn't even realize he's been pulling his grown out dyed hair before 4C—oh my god 4C witnessed it too— gently tugs and pulls out his hands off his head with his own shaking fingers. 

“He’ll—he’ll be okay.” Cube politely doesn't react to the voice crack in the other's voice, nodding slightly before running his hand through his ruffled hair. He bites his bottom lip, hesitantly reaching towards his keyboard.

After a series of clicks, tabs opened, trackers all on on his computer screen— he places his hand on his earpiece, slowly saying words as a test.

“Testing. Tes..ting. This is Cube. Can everyone on the scouting mission respond?” 

He immediately gets a series of replies, ranging from copied, over, responded and other more reactions. The boy quietly sighed, fingers tightening in his mouse as he prepares for how to assess this situation to his groupmates.

Cube? He-llo? I know you won't conn-ect all channels together for no r-eason, what's happe-ned?

Clowns' voice had been the one to speak up after a few seconds of silence, indicating that Cube had stayed quiet for far too long. The fighter's voice was steady, full of composure, but of being grouped with Clown for so long— Cube knows that there was an underlying fear of what happened on the other.

“I..” He started, before exhaling out harshly, breath coming in rapidly— like he's run out of it in this godforsaken doomed world— 

“I— I..—” He could barely leave the words out of his throat, and even then, his voice cracked so bad—before he hastily grabs his earpiece and pushes it onto 4C. 

Cube grasps his chest, mind circling out on the exercise on how to help someone hyperventilating— gasps coming even more rapidly while he hears 4C nervously and hastily blurt out what happened to Rek— Oh my god Rek—

There's a distant sound muffled around the room— frantic speaking and instructions— that he can't hear because he feels like there's cotton inside his ears.

He's failed— He's failed again, again, again. Why does it always happen to him? He's tried his best after last time— he's tried, he swears, he's already failed once— why again? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhy Parrot had already died under his watch why does he have to take another—

“..for seven…out for eight.. c’mon Cube listen to me..” Throughout the haze he can lightly feel a comforting weight on his chest—his hand with the feeling of moving back and forth, a voice just outside his reach..

Cube tries to sharpen his hearing, the muffled noise lessening as he hears the comforting voice of his friend.

“..That's right Cube.. in for four, hold for seven.. out with eight..” The voice cuts through the cotton, his hearing suddenly filtered with hastened and exaggerated breaths, and crackling through the communicator. 

“Hey Cube.. you with me?” 

A shaky nod was his response.

“Okay, okay, what's five things you can see?”

“The paintings, the mon-monitors.. my chair, the communicator and.. you..” 

“You’re doing great, four things you can feel?” The other hums out, placing a hand over his chest, where Cube's had resided. (Why didn't he notice that? How long has that been there?)

“The.. carpet, your hand, my.. breathing, my hair.” With a voice less shaky than before, Cube gathers the guts to look up into the others eyes.

A smile was seen on the other's face, a gentleness reserved only for those who had needed it. (Did Cube deserve it though?)

“Three things you can hear?”

“The crackling of the communicator, the fan.. and your voice.”

“Two things you can smell?” 

Cube chuckles slightly, inhaling deeply before speaking. “The air.. and sweat. Lots of sweat.” 

The gentle smile was replaced with a beaming one, eyes crinkling in amusement as he stared at the other.

“Okay, okay, one thing you can taste?” 

“Uhh.. saliva?” Is what Cube had settled on, a tilt occurring on the end of his statement, making it sound like a question. 

“Yeah, yeah. You okay now, Cube?” 

“..peachy. But better.” He sighs out, slumping onto his friend as his hands scrunch up the fabric. 

“We probably have to tell the others more clearly about… what happened. You sounded pretty rushed there, not sure if they would've understood…” Voice mumbled due to his face being stuffed to a fabric, Cube says, a tiredness to his voice that had been heard only once before.

4C cringes his face at what the other said, before nodding defeatedly because he did do that, and they've got to tell them better before they start thinking of the worst.

Chapter Text

Clown would like to say he is a pretty calm guy. If 'calm' included simmering rage under his skin everytime he gets mildly irritated. Or holding himself back whenever something wrong happens or defying the thought of gripping his hair when his plans went wrong or— Okay. Clown might not be a pretty calm person, but he's level headed when the situation calls for it.

(He's been much more irritable these days, ever since the day he'd gone missi—)

Yes, Clown would say he's level headed. 

Right now though, he's balancing by a thin thread trying not to express his panic and sprint to his friend. Because when has ever life gone the way he wanted to?

First, this damn apocalypse appeared out of god knows where, second, they've just lost Parrot a couple weeks back— and then, they lost his precio— lost another lifestealer, and now he might lose Rek.

Rek, who is most easily one of the purest, nicest group member they have—one of the best and most approachable, and they're- he's gonna lose him.

Clown doesn't think he'd be able to do anything anymore if they lost him.

So yes, as nails are digging itself in his gloves, his fist clenched so hard he can feel it through the fabric, fingers frantically tapping the device in his ear, murmured voices heard faintly in the area, Clown would like an answer right now.

“Fuck. Fuck. Cube, 4C come on...”

Feverish mutters leaving his throat, he bites back a sigh as the person on the other side of the call doesn't answer. 

Clo-wn..! C–Clown—

A voice, a different one this time, echoed in his ear, making him realize all his paced and muttered words were heard. 

“..Minute?”

Yeah. You goo-d? 

“What do you think, huh.?” With an empty chuckle, Clown tries to falter the subtle shaking of his hands. Yes, there’s no one that would see him, but he’d rather keep the fragility of peace.

Sorry, stupi-d quest-ion.

“Nah, ‘s not your fault.” He hums softly, thinking that the weapons on his back would be useful if he ever needs to let out some of his wrath. On the mobs, of course. Because they took.. Rek…

And all of the sudden, all of the anger and grief— No. He’s not grieving yet. They don’t even know if Rek’s actually dead—, he’d tried to keep in came back, and with twice the vengeance of a broken man.

“Minute..” 

Clown?

“Rek’s…” His voice falters near the end, because.. 

I know. I kn-ow, Clown. 

“Fuck. Fuck, Minute, what are we even doing?” 

I, I don’t know, Clown, but we’re go-nna be fine, d’alright? 

“...Alright.” 

 We’ll be.. fin-e.. SB, you there?

A hum of agreement could be heard on Clown’s earpiece. 

Yeah, just- taking it all in..

“Uh-huh, that’s fine. We should.. meet back up on the pick-up spot.”

M’kay, I’m bringi-ng back what I gathered. 

Same. 

“Okay, I’ll be headi—” 

A piercing frequency of sound hit his hearing suddenly, and Clown hissed slightly at the loud and sudden noise. 

The hell..

He-llo? Am i audible?

“4C?” 

Yes, it’-s me. Sorry we coudn’t rep-ly immediately, something cam-e up. 

We’re glad you gu-ys are okay, wh-at happened?

Ah. Abou-t that, you guys might’ve jump-ed to conclusions ab-out Rek, he didn’t get atta-cked by a mob, he just— 

Just..?

We call-ed in on him and.. he was running fro-m a falling buildi-ng—

Later, when asked, Clown would vehemently fight against it, but if pestered enough, he would admit that the hope that those words had given him would be strong enough to make you think he’d just met God. 

Because even though a building did fall on one of his closest friends, there’s a chance he’s alive. And that is what all Clown would hope for. 

But for now, with those words hovering in the air, Clown would hope, hope and pray that another wouldn’t be lost to this damned hell of a world.

“Come on man.. did you really have to go all that just for a hotel?”

“Obviously? How else were we supposed to eat the peppers?”

“Rek...”

“Okay fine— I didn't have to do all that— Parrot.. stop laughing at me..”

“Sorry— sorry— pfft—”

“Parrot-!”

Rek opens his eyes and is greeted by the cold dust hovering his surroundings. He groans quietly, holding back a whine from the absolute pain and aching his body is in right now. 

Crap. What happened..?

As Rek shuffles his brain, his face contorts into a much more horrified one each time the memories of the past few hours(minutes?)come back. 

His body stands up in alarm and he lets out a choked scream as pain shoots through his leg, biting his lip to muffle the pained noises. 

Eyes opening hesitantly, Rek’s vision settles on a leg covered in debris and dirt, and oh, his leg must be infected by now.. 

With blood actively oozing from his jostling, he reached out to remove the small chunks of concrete in his leg. He grits his teeth as he pulls out a piece that was slightly lodged inside his leg, and he sighs in relief as he can at least freely move.

Well, not freely seeing as, you know, the injured leg, but semantics. 

When groans of the undead and rattling of bones reached his ears, Rek broke out of the short moment of victory and remembered about the others.

Oh, oh no. The others might think he’s dead..

Rek’s hand heads over to his head, where his ear piece is, and he clicks on it just to hear static. 

Ah shucks. Connection’s out.

He sighs pitifully, before deciding that sitting down and doing nothing would be counterproductive, so he clenches his fists, inhales deeply, and stands up.

Well, attempt to at least, as he almost stumbles back onto the floor, he sighs in resignation that this would be taking a while.

It took 20 minutes to haul his body out of there.

Actually, Rek thinks it was 20 minutes, since he had no way to tell time. And by there, he meant the broken mass of rubble and debris.

Sitting down on the floor of some abandoned convenience store, he reaches out for his backpack, which had seriously weighed him down a lot, he tells you, but it was worth it as his hands rummage through the supplies and pulls out a bandage.

He smiles in relief and switches his attention to his fanny pack, where all of his potions are stored.

Rek pulls out a vial full of magenta liquid this time— before popping the lid off with his thumb and sighing. He frowns and realizes he has to pour the regen pot and then the bandages, hastily, at that, or else the regen would start acting up in the air.

Mentally counting, he quickly pours the potion all over the ripped skin and cloth, before grabbing the bandages and wrapping them around the injury.

As the bandage turns into a light pink from the potion and blood, Rek’s body sags in exhaustion from the events and experiences that occurred.

“What the heck man… I just wanted resources.” He grumbled, letting his head fall onto the wall he was leaning on.

He sits still for a few more minutes, before his eyes catch on something moving, and his body jerks in alarm as a hoard of mobs are walking together in one direction.

Hm. He thinks it would be time to go now.

A couple of minutes after Rek leaves the convenience store, a man dressed in bizarre clothing for an apocalypse comes running in, gasping and shuffling for air, he leans his hand on the very wall the other was just on.

“Man.. oh man… This place sucks!”

He’d said, but Rek would never know, because he left a few minutes too early.

-

Jaron, despite not seeming like it, worries about his friends a lot. 

Yes, he goofs around a lot, yeah, he might be a little risky, but he needs fun every once in a while, and what he does is, well, considered suicidal by others, but that’s fine, it was just, using himself as bait on purpose, or going inside a mall filled with resources but also mobs.. or.. hmm. He can see why the others worry for him.

But that’s not the point. The point is, he worries about his friends, even if his worry isn’t evidently clearly shown, but there are and will be signs.

And when one of his friends is in danger, actively or not, he will fret, pace, and walk around, until he knows that they’re safe and sound.

Do you want to know what Jaron is doing right now?

He is currently walking around biting the nail of his thumbs, scared out of his mind, because someone just called an emergency meeting, and emergency meetings are not good, because the last time those happened, someone died and another went missing.

Running his unoccupied hand through his hair, he sighs heavily before fixing looking at his appearance in a mirror. 

Oh, yeah, he looks disheveled alright.

Ruffled hair and clothes, added with the dazed, crazy eyes and.. blood on his lips? 

Jaron blinks in surprise at the sight of red on his mostly monotone color palette of brown, caused by the biting of his thumb, probably. 

He wipes the blood off with his hand, only to find out that more blood would drip down his chin, staring from his lips. 

Now that he focused more, his lips do sting, and hurt. As he squints more closely, he sees that a patch of skin—his skin— looks like it had been ripped off. 

…Maybe that’s why the taste and smell of blood was more potent than it should’ve been. 

Jaron fights back punching the mirror and grips the counter instead, breathing in deeply before exhaling. 

Fine. Fine, he is fine. He’ll clean whatever mess this is up, and head over to the meeting room. And hope. Desperately fucking hope no one sees his self-harming tendencies.

He’ll start by grabbing a towel, and holding back frustration.

When Jaron reached the designated meeting room, the place was already buzzing with noise— low, tense and worried voices overlapping like static.

He hesitated at the door, letting his tongue swipe over the injury before walking in steadily. With the taste of copper still clinging into his tongue, he grimaces. Fantastic, oh so fantastic.

“Hey, Jaron.” Bacon greeted, as he continued to sleep inside.

Jaron raised his arm in a sort of lazy, half-wave, keeping it near his face as he moved to the far end of the room. Better to look exhausted than injured.

Keeping his pace, he walks to a thankfully unoccupied corner seat, hands settled on his coat’s pockets. He keeps his head down when he sits, hand pressed against his chin like he was thinking.

The sting he could feel every time he moved his mouth was distracting, but he kept his expression blank, eyes flicking to the others.

After a couple of minutes, after the last person had arrived, the meeting had started with Ash greeting and thanking everyone for attending the meeting, and that he apologizes for the sudden intrusion.

“It’s fine, Ash.” Zam had hummed, arms crossed with a relaxed stance, leaning towards the chair. But if you were close enough, you would’ve seen the stiffened back, and the impatiently tapping fingers.

“...Thank you, Zam. As I was saying—” 

Ash started talking, and he coaxed others into speaking of anything they think would be important to say, like complaints, faults and stuff. 

As the meeting went more and more prolonged to the topic they were actually called in— the people went more and more impatient.

And, as no one has infinite patience, someone was bound to snap under the tension, even if they wanted to or not. 

“Alright. I know you didn’t call us in here for complaints, Ash, we’re all thinking it already. Just.. just say it.” 

Surprisingly, it was Planet that had snapped, fingers clenched into fists so hard, you can see them shaking from a mile away. 

It would make sense, he was one of the people actually close to Parrot, and then the meeting happened and..

Ash went quiet before sighing tiredly, staring at the boy with a bandana, eyes filled with pain and hesitancy. He sighs again, before looking at the two people near him— 4C and Cube.

4C smiles blandly at Ash, “We knew it was going to happen sooner or later, Ash.”

The two nod at each other, before settling their eyes on the last person, Cube.

With a shaking figure you’d need to be blind to miss, Cube tensely walks up to the end of the table, placing both their hands on the desk before speaking loudly.

“We.. We have another person who went MIA, one of the teams sent out to scout today.”

The room, filled with so much tension you could practically taste it in the air, went silent. 

“..Who?” Someone had spoken up, but Jaron wouldn't remember who it was for a while, since the next few words would forever haunt his dreams.

“The person MIA, and.. potentially KIA.. it’s.. it’s Rek.”

And Jaron would feel the world shatter around him.

Chapter Text

A person, no matter what emotion they primarily emit, whether it be happiness, sadness, jealousy, or some sort of complexity that couldn’t be described with one word, they are bound to feel another emotion, whether they want to or not.

Well, unless you’re a mindless corpse walking corpse, then you wouldn’t feel emotion.

But that's not the point. Emotions run rampant inside you. End of story.

Here’s another thing, most people consider Jumper to have a ‘happy-go-lucky’ mentality. And well, they’re not completely wrong, but it is rude to assume something about a person you don't know.

Jumper is a relatively happy person, sure, she likes everyone not being in a negative mood and would rather cheer everyone up, yes, but just because she has one primary emotion she shows all the time, doesn’t mean she only knows that.

Like, right now. 

Her eyes wander across the room, inspecting carefully all the emotions that flutter around the air.

Cube is guilty about Rek. Mapicc is pissed off, though his fingers are shaking. Hannah, stunned. Redd is.. 

Jumper frowns at the mess of emotions in the air, trying not to get affected by the massive mess. Not to say she’s not sad about Rek, no, she is, it’s just they need to calm down for a second, and she needs to see who needs help.

Redd is stable, somewhat. Jaron—

Eyes widening at the brunet digging his nails into his arms, Jumper hastily yet quietly stood up from her seat, footsteps thumping yet unheard in the chaos.

As soon as she reached the other, she gently placed her hands on his and coaxed him to remove them.

“Jaron. Jaron, you’re fine. Can you hear me?—” 

She tried speaking to him, but he wasn’t listening. Jumper took note of his rapid breathing and cursed viciously. 

Lightly yet firmly grabbing Jaron’s arms, she practically drags the two of them outside the room, apologizing mentally for doing so.

I’m sorry, Jaron… but you need a quiet space..

Hoping Ash would settle down the chaos for a bit, she guides Jaron to a hallway.

“The person MIA, and.. potentially KIA.. it’s.. it’s Rek.”

Rek. Rek. Rek. Missing in action? Rek, killed? 

Jaron couldn’t help but mentally go down the rabbit hole, brain running a hundred miles a minute.

Rek.. is missing. No, surely not. He’s never gone home late. 

Rek, Rek? Alive, surely, alive. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.

He can feel his breathing quickening, hands itching to grasp something, his brain telling him to calm the fuck down. But how can he, when Rek— Rek— 

Grabbing the sleeves of his coat and digging his hands into them, he pushes himself not to think, and to just breathe.

There’s too much noise around him, and he can’t focus, there’s too much too much too much— what is happening? It’s so noisy why can’t they quiet down so loud loud loud—

Jaron can distantly feel the warmth of hands on his, and he notices the change of atmosphere, even if he’s panicking high off his mind.

“—ron… Jaron..? Listen t… my… breath..ing.” There’s something he can feel moving under his hand, and he dazedly wonders when they were moved.

“You’re.. doing great.. Follow my countings… in for four… one..”

Two.

Three.

Four.

“That’s right, Jaron, now hold for seven. One, two, three, four..”

Five.

Six.

Seven.

“Keep going, now out for eight. One, two..”

Jaron could feel his breathing slowly calming down, inhales no longer coming out as gasps or hitches. 

“Hey man, you back with me now?”

Nodding hesitantly, Jaron raises his head to look at his helper. Surprise litters across his face when he notices it was Jumper, the resident psychologist.

A smile bloomed on her face, gentle yet reassuring. 

“Welcome back Jaron, are you doing alright?”

“..Fine.” Jaron grimaces at the hoarse voice and rubs against his throat, trying to smooth out his vocal chords.

The brunette hums slightly, standing up from her crouching position and reaching out a hand to him.

“Come, Jaron, we’ll get those treated.” 

Frowning at her ominous sentence, he looks down to his hands and— oh. The wounds re-opened.

Sighing petulantly, Jaron reaches for her outstretched hand and hoists himself up.

Friiiiiiiiiccccckkkkk.. Rek stares wistfully at the spider blocking his way to one of the guaranteed paths to home, gaze alternating between his leg and the mob.

Like, he wishes to go home, please? Just that, and he’ll be happy enough.

Sighing at the mutant roaming near him, he pulls out the dagger from its sheath, rubbing his thumb across its handle.

Preparing to attack, Rek thins his lips before charging, legs pushing his body farther, he jumps on the thing before digging the dagger on its neck.

A painful screech could be heard echoing in the distance, and Rek winces at the painful shrieks reverberating in his ears, and he digs the dagger deeper into the spider’s neck. The spider moves rapidly, its body twitching and fumbling like it's having a seizure.

One of the spider’s limbs swipes across his face, and he barely dodges the sharp yet massive claws reaching for his face.

Ignoring the stinging, Rek pulls out the dagger and stabs the spider in the neck again, holding on to its back for dear life as it does its best to throw him off, he drags the dagger across the neck, almost decapitating it.

The spider falls, limbs grasping on the ground, attempting to pick itself back up.

Rek grimaces at the sight of it, and decides to quickly fumble his way out of here before any more mobs come after him.

This is one of the few things he’ll never get used to.

Adrenaline still pumping in his veins, Rek climbs the ladder of the building.

.

.

.

Change of plans, Rek is not going to jump off a building. His leg is already as messed up as he is, and the hit the spider got to his face would leave quite a scar, actually, with the ragged edges of the claw.

He sighs, dropping down to the floor of the roof, he settles to make it his spot for the night.

Well, it would’ve been, if he hadn’t been alerted by loud crashes and booms.

He stared blankly at the car that was somehow hitting almost every obstacle in its way, and as it turned, it drove to another street, before turning again, and ultimately crashing.

In summary, the car made a U-Turn.

Still not processing the series of events that just happened, Rek continues staring at the people who just got out of the car, and as they start arguing at each other, Rek finally clears his mind.

He sighs and gets ready to call them out, but before he does, a mother-freakin-creeper from behind them.

Trying not to curse, Rek scrambles for his bow.

He would never admit it, but Fein would rather have Silverr with him right now as his partner.

“Fruit, what the fuck?!” He screamed hysterically, gripping the edge of his seat with one hand, and his seatbelt in another.

Sweat gathering from the speed that might’ve landed them in jail back in time, Fein vehemently curses out his duo for scouting.

“I never learned how to drive!” The other yelled, words barely audible at the obstacles they keep hitting and the air.

“THEN GET OUT OF THE DRIVERS SEAT?!” 

“HOW DO YOU SLOW DOWN?!” Fruit asked desperately, the wheel practically rotating by how much he’s trying to swerve and move.

“Move your feet to the left— NO NOT THAT PEDAL—”

Their surroundings basically a blur by how fast they’re going, Fein throws all caution out the window and removes his seatbelt.

“Fein— Fein, what the sh—” His friend says, twisting the car so suddenly Fein almost flew out of his seat.

“Move!” He yelled, jumping from his seat beside the driver's seat, and folded his body down to the pedal part.

The car’s gear selector practically in his face, Fein pushes the fuck out of Fruit’s foot on the accelerate pedal and pushes his hand into the break pedal.

“Shit!—” was all he heard before the car slowed down marginally, and it crashed into a lamp post.

Breath getting kicked out of his lungs, Fein pushes his upper body from the awkward position, adrenaline evident in his veins.

“Fruit, I hope you know that I’m never going with you again.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault I don’t know how to drive.”

Pushing the car door to get out, Fein responds with unsuccessfully hidden exasperation.

“And you didn’t tell us this, why?”

The other quiets down for a second, before responding quite unconfidently, “Everyone had a partner who knew to drive.. and you definitely didn’t, so…”

His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, and his eyes close. Fein pushes out a sentence. “Okay. Okay. Not your fault, okay.”

“Still, Couri is gonna drag your ass around when he—” Eyes widening at the sight of a green mob approaching his friend, Fein yells out.

“Fruit, behind!”

Fruit barely was able to turn around when it started hissing and for a second he thought that Fruit was gonna die because he was—what, mad?

Fruit suddenly pushes him away, and he has half the mind to think Damn, isn’t this movie worthy? before snapping out of his stupor.

Shutting his eyes, he waits for the explosion.

It never comes.

Instead of opening his eyes into a bloody, gory mess of insides and blood, Fein opens his eyes to an equally confused Fruit. The creeper behind him had an arrow deep in its neck, effectively killing it off.

Blinking out of his daze, he pushes his body off the ground and wanders his gaze around.

“Hey!” He distantly hears, somewhere from above, and he realizes that the person who saved Fruit was.. on top of a building.

Fein tilts his head up to meet their savior, and then they see them.

Brown, with a golden tinted hair, a jacket or hoodie that had blue sleeves, the inners decorated with alternating colors of orange and yellow. A bow held within their left hand, while the other was waving at them.

Huh. Guess their savior was pretty nice, then.

Fein gathers the stuff up that was placed in the trunk of the (now destroyed) car, and he decides that if his friend was going to get himself killed, he’d rather team up with some stranger than let him get killed.

With that thought, he starts walking to the building. After shaking Fruit harshly, of course.

Rek had never anticipated meeting survivors from another group any time soon.

The two he saved—Fein, the one with cotton candy colored goggles, and Fruit, which had a bright green mask dangling off his waist—were apparently from a survivor group nicknamed HBG.

They specialized in being scattered around the country or continent, with an agreement to meet up every three months.

Their schedules were alternating, three months with another person, searching for supplies, survivors, things like that. And the next three months were spent in a base they found in their traveling, one they all agree on.

We’re sort of like Nomads. We’ll roam, find a good place to settle in, and repeat. Except we do this like, every three months. Fein had said, with a sharp glare to the every movement of his friend.

How do you keep track of time? Rek had asked, and Fruit perked up and pulled out a notebook.

We have makeshift calendars, he had said, showing the contents of the notebooks. It takes a while to make, but it’s worth it.

That was actually a pretty good idea, Rek pondered, looking at his own notebook.

He was snapped out of his musings by a loud bang, and he turned his head to see the two arguing. Not seriously, just an argument between friends.

“You put this— Fruit. Fruit, no.” Fein chastised, each word growing raspier and raspier.

“Fruit, Yes.” Replied the other, smiling devilishly at the defeated groan the other let out. 

“It’s fuckin— ohhh my god.” Dragging out the words, Fein raised his hands in the air.

Rek tried not to chuckle at the antics of the two, and the success varied. 

He realized that the two had stopped talking suddenly, and he saw that they were looking at their.. phones.

Wasn’t that just convenient in the middle of the apocalypse? Rek’s eyebrows had raised at the sight of them, but he ultimately decided not to be jealous, their work was theirs. 

“One week, Fruit… you’re cooked.” 

“Fuckity fuck.” 

He also decidedly ignored the wrath Fruit would get for his little ‘stunt’ —courtesy of Fein—he’d seen too much just from the way Fein had greatly berated him.

If he had smiled at the pitiful looks Fruit had given him as if he was some savior, no one would know.