Chapter Text
Ted hated change.
He hated a lot of things, but more than anything he hated change. In fact, he’d only ever made one drastic change in his life, and that was after Jenny left him to go to Clivesdale with Andy. So, after that he vowed to keep the short remainder of his life exactly the same. Did he want different? Did that matter? Nevertheless, he’d promised to never change.
So it came as a surprise to him when he began declaring that he’d be a better person and lead a better life. And it came as an even bigger surprise when he soon found that his pleading for salvation would actually work.
”It’s okay guys I’m here!” Holy shit, Paul! Paul was here! “We have to get out of here while they’re distracted!” Paul’s hands scrambled to undo the rope binding the barista’s wrists to her chair before he went over and freed Ted. He stood up, rubbing the red marks on his wrists left by the rope as he hurried after Paul and Erica.
Fuck, now he had to actually make the effort to be better. He’d promised, hadn’t he? And as much of an asshole as he was, he never broke a promise.
”Wait Paul, I gotta say something,” he stopped in his tracks and interrupted whatever Paul had been saying.
”Not now, Ted—“
”Yes, now!” He needed to do this. They could all die; hell, they probably were all going to die. If he didn’t do this now he’d never get another chance to. “Today has.. uh… Today has broken me. I’m ashamed of how I acted before, with Bill and-… shit I even wanted to abandon Erica back there!”
”Emma,” she corrected.
“Uh-huh.” Whatever, same thing. “But Paul…” He firmly planted a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “I wish I could be brave, like you—“
”Shut the fuck up dude, we have to go!”
”See I deserve any abuse you guys give me!” He let go of Paul and grabbed Erica by the shoulders, aggressively shaking her like that would get the words into her head easier. “I’ve been a grade A asshole, alright—? Come here—“ He beckoned them both over, slinging his arms over their shoulders. “I swear I’m going to be a better person, because…” He sighed, struggling to compose himself, “that song that Hidge sang back there… It taught me what is most important in life and it’s the people you care about!” He dropped his hand from Erica’s shoulders, pushing her away as he turned to face Paul, reaching up to hold the other man’s face in his hands.
”Hey, Paul? Y’know I…” He briefly hesitated. “I’ve always considered you to be my best friend…” A melodic voice rang out from behind Paul, the tone harmonising with Ted’s at the last two words. Oh, shit. In a state of panic, Ted grabbed the pistol from Paul’s grasp and booked it, leaving him to get infected by the musical zombie’s nasty blue shit.
”What the— fucking get back here you coward!” Erica called after him, torn between chasing down Ted or going to rescue Paul.
Fuck no. Fuck that. ”I said I’d be a better person, I’m still not a good person!” Ted paused for a moment to shout back, watching as she groaned and ran after Paul, before he took off running again. “Bye! Fuuuuuuuck that..” He hurtled blindly through the Witchwood; where was he going? No clue. Away. From here, from that.
He just ran and ran and ran, far, far away, zero plan in mind. Which did not work out great for him as he ran straight into a tree. ”OWW!” He groaned, his hand flying up to cradle his injured nose as he stumbled into some especially low hanging vines. “Agh— UGH, EW! It’s in my mouth ugh— that’s what she said— ew, ugh—“ He aimlessly staggered forward until he felt that he was in a clearing, before finally letting himself rest, deciding that for the time being there was enough distance between him and the zombies.
His knees buckled beneath him as he crashed to the ground, now on all fours, gagging. “Oh— eugh— ugh ew I think I swallowed it— that’s what she said…” He coughed and gagged until he managed to spit out the leaves and whatever the fuck else had gone in his mouth. “That’s what… that’s what she did… shit… ew…”
His complaints were cut short by the sound of footsteps. Multiple pairs of heavy boots, all in perfect unison. “Shit!” His grip on the gun tightened as he scrambled to his feet and practically dived to hide behind a tree. “Shit, shit, shit, I’m gonna fucking die, and then Paul’s gonna be all alone-… oh my GOD, Paul! I fucking le— Shit!” Oh my god he left Paul.
Ted whined quietly to himself, regretting his actions from just a few minutes ago as he hit his head repeatedly against the tree he was crouched behind as some sort of self discipline. The footsteps continued, and he finally peaked his head out from behind the tree to see who it even was; might as well see the cause behind his inevitable demise.
“Huh?” Several military soldiers clad in black uniforms and tactical vests, all armed with assault rifles, marched out into the clearing. He looked past them through the gap between the trees, and sure enough it was Oakly Park, and right there was the chopper.
”Yes!” He rushed out from behind the tree, making the military all halt. “The military! Over here! Over here!” He jumped up and down, waving his arms in the air to grab their attention. “Everyone else is dead, I’m the only one who survived!” He let his arms drop down to his sides again, releasing an exhausted, yet relieved sigh. “Oh man.. You guys are a sight for sore eyes! Y’know, I always support the troops, that’s number one. Number two, I bleed red, white, and—“
Blue.
A ringing noise, the taste of metal, and a dull pain in his neck. The acrid stench of smoke wafted somewhere nearby, making his eyes a little watery. Something warm and wet dripped down from where the intense burning on the left of his neck was, and that same substance filled his mouth before seeping through his lips and running down his chin.
What.
The.
Fuck.
Was that sound?
”I don’t know what you’ve been told, but Americans should fit a mold…”
Singing.
That guy was fucking singing.
He was about to allow his legs to give out — allow himself to give up — but one of the soldiers (the one singing) approached him, grabbing the back of his collar to support him as if grabbing a dog by the scruff of its neck. The soldier lifted his other hand, a bright, blinding, blue glow emanating from the palm of his hand.
No.
No.
It can’t end like this. With him being a coward in his last moments, leaving Paul and that barista behind.
The soldier lifted his hand up to Ted’s face, the glaring light burning his retinas, making his vision go white before everything went blue.
The pain had numbed, in fact everything went numb. His limbs were jerky as he tried to take control of them, but they seemed to have a mind of their own. His vision was tinted blue and fuzzy, his surroundings blurring into an array of different shades of the colour. Before he could even attempt to stop his own body, his legs and arms began involuntarily moving, marching in synchronisation with the soldiers. Then, against his own will, he opened his mouth and sang. His brain didn’t even register the words coming out of his mouth; everything he was doing was happening against his volition.
”Sir, it’s Paul!” He said robotically, harmonically— wait, Paul was here?
”…G…neral… M…cnam…ra..!” The voice was quiet, muffled, like he was underwater; in fact, anything other than the singing was difficult to hear. “…He w… a good m…” The receding voice most definitely belonged to Paul, and from what he could vaguely make out, he had that crabby barista with him. “R..n… E…ma r…un!” His voice intermittently cut in and out, as if there was poor signal, but he could somewhat tell that he’d told her to run.
Which, yeah. That was probably the best thing to do in the current situation.
Where were they, even? Ted couldn’t really look around; he could only move his eyes, everything else was at the mercy of the virus. All he was focusing on was keeping an eye out for white— or, well, light blue; the military all wore black, while Paul and the barista both had white shirts on. That was the only way he could differentiate them with the blurry, jumbled mess his vision had become.
His hand reached out, grabbing who he assumed was the barista as his other hand held the gun up; finger on the trigger, ready.
Fuck.
His arm was crossed over her torso, restraining her, and in the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Paul. One of the soldiers — the bastard who shot and infected him — curled his fingers around Paul’s throat, lifting him off the ground and into the air.
No, no, no.
Fuck no.
Please, body, just move. Just this once can I do something good?
With immense effort, his pinky twitched away from her, then the rest of his fingers, and then his arm moved away just enough for her to be able to slip out of his grasp.
Yes!
With his other hand, he forced his grip to loose, his fist to open, so that she’d be able to grab the gun.
Bang!
Ha! Fucking take THAT, bitch!
The soldier stumbled back, not stopped but slowed down. Paul grabbed the barista’s hand — what was her name again? Erica? Eva? Something like that… Ted watched as the two took off in the direction of the chopper before his legs began to move again. Thankfully, they were marching extremely slowly, since that was part of the unestablished choreography.
His body slowly began feeling more numb, more not his, as the blue continued to bleed into his vision.
Blue, blue, blue. All of it.
Then everything went black.
And then white. Harsh, blinding white. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the light as he forced himself upright on the mattress. He was… in his bedroom? There was zero singing, save for the birds outside, but they usually did that anyway. He turned his head to the direction of the light; the window. Right, obviously.
That was all just some… really fucking weird dream…
For a long while he just sat there, staring down at his hands in his lap as he listened to the silence of his own quiet breathing. He slowly, hesitantly lifted a hand, his fingers grazing the side of his neck; no blood, no bullet hole, no blue stuff. Obviously not.
Deciding that that was more than enough weakness to start his day, he shoved the blanket aside and forced himself to his feet with a disgruntled groan. Still half asleep, half baffled, he trudged over to his bathroom, shutting the door behind him; usually he wouldn’t bother closing the door considering he lived alone (well, except for the times Pete stayed over when their parents got too overbearing) but right now, he still felt…
Ted flicked on the fluorescent light and padded over to the sink. His hand reached out to grab his toothbrush, but he withdrew it again when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked… tired.
His hands found the edge of the sink, gripping it tightly, the physical contact acting as support and grounding him to the present world; the one that supposedly wasn’t a shitty musical. Actually, that was a lie; most of those songs were great. But still, he didn’t want to be a part of that.
His eyes traced over his face — his skin was paler, his eyebags darker, but there wasn’t any blue in sight. He raised a hand up to the side of his neck again, his fingers brushing against the unmarred skin, save for a few hickies from Charlotte last night. No blood, no blue, just…
…
He harshly dragged his hand down his face, releasing a heavy sigh, before he let his hand fall down to hold the edge of the sink again. Clearly, it was nothing; why was he even stressing! He took a little step back from the sink, gaze dropping down to the cold, tile floor beneath his feet, then lifting back up to meet his eyes in the mirror again.
He stared long and hard at his reflection, anxiously biting his lip as if expecting something to change. But nothing did, not even after several seconds, or minutes, or however long he’d been standing there, watching himself. Still the same mess.
He ran a hand through his hair, breathing out something between a scoff and a laugh. It’s nothing… It’s nothing! There’s literally zero reason to be thinking about this so much, it was literally just a dream.
He shook his head in disbelief as he began to strip his clothes — a corny t-shirt that read ‘choking hazard’ with an arrow pointing down at his dick (aha, funny) and some old, worn out pair of dark blue shorts. As he stepped into the shower, he reached out to turn on the faucet. For a moment or two, he let the comfort of the warm water envelop him, before soon deciding that the heat was too suffocating and switching the water to the coldest setting.
A strangled gasp escaped him at the sudden contrast in temperature, but he quickly relaxed into it. Or, more accurately, he quickly grew used to it — he couldn’t relax fully. Not after whatever the fuck that was. Sure, it was a dream — and a really weird one at that — but god it felt so real.
Maybe half an hour had passed until he got out of the shower, and majority of that time was spent standing there and soaking up the uncomfortably cold water as he washed his feelings — and money, his bills were high enough already — down the drain. He shuddered slightly before grabbing his towel from the towel rack, burying his face into the coarse, scratchy fabric, the unpleasant texture helping to ground him. Everything still felt surreal. But he didn’t have time for any of this, he still had to get to work.
Right?
What day was it, anyway? What time, even? He couldn’t afford to be late again— actually? Eh. Ted was Mr Davidson’s favourite since he constantly sucked up to him and would listen to his rants about his wife, so he’d probably be fine with him being a little late. But still.
He lazily dried himself off with the towel and wrapped it around his waist before going over to his bedroom. With a tired breath out, he slumped down onto the edge of his bed, resting his left elbow on his knee while his right hand went up to run through his hair again — he’d never realised it, but he constantly messed with his hair whenever he was anxious. His fingers tangled into the strands, grasping at them, before letting go. He leaned over and grabbed his phone off the nightstand before switching it on.
8:48AM — shit — October 11th 2018.
Cool, he was absolutely going to be late, but whatever.