Chapter Text
Two months after the initial outbreak:
Sweat hung in the air, intensified now with a mix of preteen anxiety and the sour scent of fear. The school gym had taken on a new level of chaos and discomfort the last couple of weeks. Kids distraught over their missing parents, older teens sneaking off with one another, the teachers holding their own private meetings. It did not take great intelligence to figure out what was going on. This was their lives now, and that only made things harder. The showers within the nearby locker rooms were more than a necessity—they were a refuge.
Quackity, a wiry young man, was meticulously combing his fingers through the small yellow wings on his back. Water beat against him, but his thoughts were outside the soothing water. He needed to make sure Tubbo and Tommy were properly dressed after this. They could then grab breakfast, and see what worksheets were laid out to choose from.
He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the simple act of washing. His peace would be gone soon enough, and when that happened he needed to be clean.
It was a bleat, high-pitched, cut through the shushing waters of the shower. There was an angry chattering sound and then two familiar little voices. Quackity sighed and hurriedly rinsed off the last of the suds. Shutting off the water with a sharp twist, he grabbed his towel. At least this time he was able to finish rinsing off.
Stepping out, he wasn't overly surprised. There was rarely a day he wasn't dealing with a scene like this. Tubbo, a small, brown-haired sheep hybrid, was wrestling for a shirt with an equally determined Tommy, a blonde raccoon hybrid. Their tiny hands clutched at the fabric, faces scrunched up in concentration. Quackity’s face flushed from the embarrassment of the situation as he realized they were being watched by others.
With long strides, he closed the distance between them, his expression hardening into the stern look he had quickly mastered over the past weeks. He plucked the shirt from their grasp effortlessly and held it out of reach, ignoring their squeaks of protest. Instead of scolding them he turned to an older bear hybrid. The bear, a former teacher now turned reluctant guardian, took the shirt with a nod of understanding, his expression as unamused as ever.
Quackity shot a glance back at the children. Both boys looked up at him with a mixture of defiance and awe. Their wide eyes and furrowed brows tugged at his heart, a pang of guilt settling in his chest. It wasn’t their fault they were all here, caught in this mess. They were just kids, thrust into a world that had lost its balance.
"That's not fair!" Tommy started up right away as the bear hybrid walked off. His voice was sharp and edged with the frustration of a child denied. “All the other shirts are too small.” Quackity didn’t have to look at the hanging laundry to know that wasn’t the case. The clothes on offer would be worn and faded, hung in uneven rows, but there would be some that fit the boys.
“Nu uh,” Tubbo started. His little face scrunched up in determination. His small foot then stomped down, making a dull splat on the tile floor. “There’s lots of clothes, you just wanted the one I had first.” His wooly ears twitched with irritation.
“I did not!” Tommy’s retort was instant, his cheeks flushed with indignation, his long tail spiking where it would usually fluff up.
Quackity tightened the towel around his waist and turned to the hanging laundry. Reasoning with them now would be futile; their stubbornness was a force of nature. They all needed to be dressed, and he was just grateful they had managed clean underwear on their own this time.
Ah, the little blessings.
The argument between the boys continued, becoming a background hum. The smell of detergent and faint mildew filled Quackity's nostrils. He grabbed a red long sleeve shirt for Tommy, its color faded but still vibrant enough to suit the boy’s fiery spirit. For Tubbo, he chose a dark green crumpled button-down, the fabric soft and worn.
He tossed the shirts at the boys, who caught them mid-argument, their voices momentarily silenced by the act of dressing. He handed each eleven-year-old a pair of jeans, the denim heavy and practical. As they fumbled with buttons and zippers, their grumbling resumed, though slightly muted by the task at hand.
Quackity dressed himself last, shivering as the cool air of the gym bit at his damp skin. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered occasionally, casting a cold, sterile glow over the room. He pulled on his clothes with practiced efficiency, the routine a thin thread of normalcy in the chaos. The feel of the fabric, rough and familiar against his skin, grounded him.
Weeks ago, he would have laughed at the idea that the world was ending. The notion seemed absurd, a plot ripped from a dystopian movie. Now, he missed his mother’s voice, her daily chiding not to just throw on one of his beanies without brushing his hair. The memory of her nagging now felt precious.
He grabbed a spare beanie, a pang making him nearly stumble. He blinked, feeling a tear trace a path down his cheek, warm against the chill of the gym. He was quick to brush it away. "Macho, Macho," Quackity muttered under his breath. This wasn't the time or place to break down. He had later that evening to mourn, in the privacy of his makeshift bed. In front of the boys was not the time to cry. If he was distressed, the boys would become distressed too.
Once dressed, Quackity gently directed the two boys out of the dressing area. The gym, with its echoing walls and scuffed floors, had become their sanctuary and prison all at once. Rows of cots lined the walls, Quackity could spot his and the boys’ cots from the showers. He hadn't always had Tommy and Tubbo's cots close though.
Older students, those fifteen or older, were put in charge of at least one younger child after the first week. The decision had come quickly, a desperate measure to manage the chaos. This helped the teachers better track and care for the large number of students that still lingered after the initial lockdown.
The ratio had been fairly even to start; some older students, like Quackity, didn’t even have a child those first few days. But as more students were collected, runaways left, or others became too sick, their unattended children were passed to the next available caretaker.
Once you were given a younger child to tend to, you received a list of responsibilities. Basic things: bathing, feeding, and entertaining. Tasks that seemed so mundane before but now felt monumental. Teachers or adults were responsible for everything else—clothes, getting food, maintaining building security. It made sense, and was how Quackity got Tommy and Tubbo in his care.
Currently, Quackity was guiding the boys towards the cafeteria area. The scent of oatmeal and canned fruit wafted through the air. It was a small comfort amidst the overwhelming odor of sweat that permeated the gym. The boys continued to bicker, their voices a familiar backdrop to the new rhythm of his life. Tommy’s sharp tones and Tubbo’s bleating retorts were the soundtrack of his days now. Quackity wondered if his mother felt the same with him and his own sibling, a slight smile curled his lips.
He glanced around at the other older students, noting the dark circles under their eyes, the set lines of their mouths. Determination mingled with exhaustion, etched deeply into their faces. He had seen his mother look that way too, she usually held a rosary on those days.
"Can we play Candyland now?" Tubbo’s question pulled Quackity from his thoughts. He looked down to see the sheep hybrid’s earnest brown eyes staring up at him. Tommy, ever the opportunist, immediately jumped in.
"Please!" The pair of eyes, one brown and one blue, bored into him, pleading for a moment of simple joy in their chaotic world. Quackity sighed softly, how did his mother handle this?
"You both need breakfast. After that, we can try to find the Candyland set," he said, his voice steady but gentle. The boys’ faces lit up, and they rushed across the gym to the dwindling line for breakfast, their argument forgotten. Quackity followed after them but was brought up short when he collided with someone.
Elizabeth, a hummingbird hybrid, was frantically trying to settle her own charges, a pair of lion cub siblings. The younger girl, barely five, was coughing hard, her small frame wracked with each hack, while the older boy, about ten, fussed over his sister with a mixture of concern and frustration. Quackity’s initial instinct to step in faltered when he noticed the red tint staining the girl’s shirt. His eyes widened, heart pounding as his gaze met Elizabeth’s.
Hopeless. That was the first feeling he got staring into her cold, angry eyes. There was a fierce protectiveness there, but also a deep, simmering rage at their helplessness. He turned away, his gut twisting with anxiety, and hurried off. Elizabeth had mentioned she was worried about the girl in passing conversation, but she hadn't said she was coughing blood. This was serious. Someone needed to be told before—
"Is Loni okay?" Tommy’s voice cut through his thoughts, freezing him in place. Glancing down, he saw the worry etched into both boys' faces. They were too perceptive for their own good. Quackity’s mind raced, searching for a way to reassure them without lying outright.
He looked away, scanning the gym for any of the older students or teachers who might step in. Ms. Stella, the former school nurse, was off by one of the exit doors to the rest of the school. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days, her wooly hair matted and eyes shadowed with exhaustion. Despite her weariness, she was the closest thing they had to a medical professional, and this situation was urgent.
"Big Q!" Tubbo’s small hand tugged at Quackity’s arm, his grip surprisingly strong for a child. Quackity turned with a huff, the interruption jarring his thoughts. Tubbo's face was pinched with worry, his eyes wide and imploring. "Is Loni okay?" The question was a repeat of Tommy's, but now it was laced with a new urgency.
"She's really little," Tommy added, his voice trembling with fear. "Like Keith was." Quackity flinched at the mention of the little mouse kit. Keith had been their playmate, but not cared for by Quackity personally. "Are they going to take Loni too?" Tommy’s eyes were wide, his fear palpable.
Quackity took a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. "They didn't give Keith back," Tubbo nearly shouted, his voice cracking. Quackity flinched again, glancing around nervously to see if anyone had heard. "They said when he was better he would come back, but he—"
"Loni fell down," Tommy interrupted, pointing towards the locker room doors where Loni had been coughing earlier. Quackity’s heart sank at the sight.
"She's going to—" Tubbo started to say when Tommy hissed a shh at him. Quackity chewed the inside of his cheek, anxiety gnawing at him.
"Both of you knock it off. If she's sick, then she goes to the quarantine room, like Keith did." Quackity’s voice was firm, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet their eyes. The boys fell silent, their fears momentarily quelled by trays of food being offered to them. Warm food had a way of quieting even the most persistent worries, but it didn’t stop Quackity’s thoughts from racing.
He watched distantly as Elizabeth guided the older cub to a table, then took the younger cub by the hand and led her to Ms Stella. An uncomfortable sensation twisted in his stomach as he observed the scene. Stella frowned, but nodded, kneeling down to speak softly to the girl before scooping her up in her arms. More words were exchanged with Elizabeth, who nodded solemnly.
Quackity could almost hear the conversation in his mind: Burn the old nesting, bathe the remaining kit again, and ask for extra fruit from the meal line for a few days. He had heard it all before, seen it play out too many times. He looked back down at his own meal, his appetite gone.
"They’re taking Loni away," Tommy said quietly, his tone distant and resigned. "Eric will be sad." Eric was the older cub, her brother, now sitting on his own with shaking shoulders.
Quackity pushed the trays towards the boys, hoping to distract them. "Eat up," he urged, his voice strained. The boys didn’t need to be told twice; they dug into the food with the ravenous hunger of growing children. For a few moments, the silence was filled with the sounds of eating and the scrape of plastic utensils against trays.
He sighed. "You two want this?" Quackity asked them, forcing a smile as he pushed his own food forward."I'm stuffed." Tommy already grabbed for the buttered toast, but Tubbo was looking at Quackity.
There was an accusation behind those brown eyes, but Quackity looked away. "The faster you finish the sooner we can play games." Quackity tried. Tubbo grabbed a fork full of the reconstituted eggs, but his face remained contorted in frustration.
They weren't stupid. Quackity figured that out fast. Tubbo stayed up late, listening to people whispering. Sometimes he caught the sheep far away from the rest, watching out windows he managed to pry the blankets away from. Quackity would have to talk to him soon about things, figure out a way to explain the world had changed.
"Good morning." Quackity jumped, startled out of his thoughts by the low, rumbling voice. He turned to see Mr. Stone, the reptilian teacher, towering over him with a clipboard in hand. Mr. Stone’s slitted amber eyes bored into him with an unsettling intensity.
"You're jumpy," Mr. Stone remarked, his tone flat and devoid of sympathy. Quackity frowned, feeling a mix of irritation and anxiety prickling under his skin. The clipboard hovered just above his line of sight, a stark reminder of the authority the teacher held.
"Names?" Mr. Stone prompted, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. Quackity licked his dry lips, feeling the weight of the boys’ eyes on him.
"Quackity Nevadas. I have Tubbo Underscore and Tommy Innit." Mr. Stone flicked his wrist three times, checking off names with an efficiency that felt almost mechanical. His amber eyes never left Quackity, scrutinizing him with an unnerving focus.
"I have it noted down that you are to report to Ms. Stella today," Mr. Stone continued, his tone unyielding. Quackity opened his mouth to protest, but the teacher cut him off. "You and your charges haven't been tested for your secondaries."
"I'm only fifteen," Quackity snapped, his voice coming out harsher than he intended. Mr. Stone’s amber eyes narrowed, his thin, forked tongue flickering out briefly. Quackity flinched, unnerved by the serpentine gesture.
"Considering your parents have not come to claim you, it was decided by staff that all remaining students need to be tested," Mr. Stone said, his voice cold and clinical. "Being properly placed in groups according to your secondaries will help us better monitor you all." Quackity clenched his fists, resisting the urge to argue. He could still hear his mother's voice in his mind, her furious tirade in Spanish as she tore up the testing permission form. She had always insisted that the school had no right to know his secondary.
"They are only eleven," Quackity said, his voice shaky as he glanced at the boys. Tubbo’s eyes were wide with fear, while Tommy’s face was set in a stubborn frown.
"And their parents have left them here," Mr. Stone replied, his tone cruel and dismissive. Tommy sucked in a sharp breath, and Tubbo whimpered, the sound tugging painfully at Quackity’s heart. He trembled with rage but knew better than to fight back. He had seen what happened to those who resisted: they were thrown outside to fend for themselves.
"Mr. Nevadas, you will report with your charges to the nurse’s station," Mr. Stone ordered, his voice brooking no dissent.
"Yes, sir," Quackity muttered, turning away. He tensed when he felt a warm breath against the top of his head, Mr. Stone’s presence oppressive.
"That attitude will get you in trouble," Mr. Stone hissed. Quackity shivered as the teacher moved on, feeling the weight of the warning. He watched as Mr. Stone had a similar conversation with another group, who agreed without hesitation. Quackity huffed in frustration. Did they even understand what was being asked of them?
"What's a secondthingy?" Tubbo asked, his voice small and uncertain. Quackity turned back to the boys, seeing the confusion mirrored in Tommy’s eyes. They were both looking at him, expecting answers he wasn’t sure he was ready to give.
Quackity scanned the room, making sure no one else was too close before lowering his voice. "A secondary is talking about Alpha, Beta, or Omega," he explained.
Tommy's eyes lit up with a sudden confidence. "Oh, I know what those are! Alphas are like, super strong and can lift buildings. Betas are really smart and can solve any problem in the world. And Omegas... Omegas are like moms and teachers.”
Quackity choked on a laugh. "I've never seen an Alpha lift a building before."
Tommy frowned. “But that's what they do in movies!"
Quackity sighed softly, feeling a pang of sympathy. They were just kids. "Real life is different from movies. Alphas, Betas, and Omegas have different roles and traits, but not quite like that. Alphas are often leaders, they're strong, but not superhuman. Betas can be smart but they lack the musky smell of an Alpha or the sweeter smell of an Omega. And Omegas, well, they have their own special roles, but they aren't just moms and teachers."
Tubbo's eyes were wide with curiosity. "So, Alphas are like... bossy?"
Quackity chuckled, relieved at the simpler question. "Kind of, but in a good way. They take charge and look out for others. They have a strong presence."
Tommy nodded, his previous confidence returning. "Okay, so Alphas are strong leaders. Got it. My dad smelled like a wet dog sometimes," he added, his voice thoughtful.
Quackity nodded, feeling the flush on his cheeks. "So your dad might have been an Alpha. But it's not just about being strong. It's about instincts and roles in the group."
"What about Betas and Omegas?" Tubbo asked, his voice filled with innocent curiosity.
"Betas are steady and dependable. They support the Alphas and help keep everything balanced," Quackity explained. "And Omegas... they have nurturing instincts. They're really important, too."
The boys nodded slowly, still looking uncertain but willing to accept his explanation for now.
Quackity’s heart ached for them. He wished he could protect them from all of this, but he knew he couldn’t. All he could do was guide them as best as he could and hope that it would be enough.
-oOo-
It wasn't much of a bar, but it was a place anyone could come in for a drink. Rundown, mismatched furniture, but it was a reminder of a world from before the virus. Something Philza couldn't help but cling to. Stepping into the dimly lit establishment, the hum of chatter and generators filled the air. He kept his long raven wings folded tight to his back and tried to look as uninteresting as possible.
He took swift steps towards the bar, a familiar routine. The Cat hybrid behind the counter wordlessly poured Philza’s usual glass of whiskey just as he offered up his bag of produce for pay. It was swept swiftly off the counter, a tall glass replacing the payment. Philza sat down, taking the glass eagerly. It was something to drown the memories to forget what life once was, to ease the pain of losing her.
"Hey, sweetheart, why don't you come sit and warm my lap?" The crude remark grated on Philza's nerves. If only all Alphas like this one were just moaning husks, he could at least be a little thankful then. Unfortunately, these types just got bolder the more people died. No real law to keep them in check, no betas to soothe contentious situations. Rolling his eyes, Philza refused to acknowledge the mutt. He wouldn't be taking another mate regardless.
The memory of his late wife, Kristen, flashed through his mind at that thought. A painful reminder of the bloodshed that happened in those early days of the outbreak. Their home had been a target right away. Philza was a well known gardener, when food got scarce the mob came. He had wanted to get out with his wife and son. Food wasn't worth this, he could make another garden. She insisted on staying behind, she would try to talk them down.
Someone threw a flaming alcohol bottle into the home before there was a chance to make peace.
As Philza fought against a pang in chest, a heavy hand dropped onto his shoulder, and he refused to acknowledge it. "Did you not hear me?" the dog hybrid barked, his tone brimming with arrogance. Philza raised his glass to his lips, drowning out the man's chatter with a long sip of his drink. Tilting his head back, he drained the glass. He savored the fleeting moment of peace it provided.
When he set the empty glass down, the dog hybrid's grip moved suddenly to his wrist. There was a rough jerk and Philza was made to stand. The mutt didn't bother to pay attention to Philza's other hand. As Philza faced the dog hybrid, he placed a dagger at the other’s neck. The dog’s eyes were wide with shock. It was Philza’s turn to growl.
“Touch me again, I'll let you bleed like the dirty dog you are.” His wings chose then to flare out behind him, causing his shadow to be cast down over the other. “Understood?” He shoved the dog hard, and watched the bastard fall back and scramble away. Some around the bar chuckled, having seen Philza deal with young rowdy Alphas before. He folded his wings, straightened his large brimmed hat, and started to the exit. At least he got to finish his drink tonight.
As Philza strode out the exit and into the unlit streets, the cool night air provided a welcome calm. His hands trembled slightly as he tucked his blade away. The adrenaline from his encounter with the dog hybrid still coursed through his veins. Encounters like that made him miss Kristen the most. She wouldn't have needed a weapon. her cold aura had always been enough to chase away other suitors. He missed it.
He passed by boarded-up storefronts and deserted alleyways, the streets were eerily quiet, save for the occasional sound of footsteps echoing in the distance. His mind was miles away, lost to memories of the past. Kristen holding him close, praising him, letting him steal her clothes for nests. She always laughed finding one of her favored outfits trapped in his bedding. His heart ached enough that he staggered. No one would ever come close; No one would replace her.
A sudden force sent him sprawling backward and his gaze abruptly fixed upon the night sky. His heart raced - urging him to summon his adrenaline - yet before he could react, the weight pressing down on him vanished as swiftly as it had come. With a grunt, Philza propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes scanning the darkness to find who had plowed into him.
A gangly teenager was kneeling nearby; his form contorted in pain or perhaps fear. Philza's instincts kicked in, urging him to act, but before he could fully comprehend the situation, the boy, a piglin, attempted to flee. Reacting on pure instinct, Philza lunged forward, his movements swift and decisive as he intercepted the fleeing figure. The piglin offered no resistance, his wide red eyes pleading silently for mercy.
“There's the fucking swine,” a gruff voice pierced the night air, causing the teen to flinch instinctively. Philza's jaw clenched, his resolve firm as he picked himself up to face the teen's pursuer. “Move aside, sweet scent, we'll take the oinker,” a burly bear hybrid growled, mere inches from Philza's face.
"No." Philza's voice cut through the tension, his gaze unwavering. The bear hybrid's scarred visage contorted into a snarl as he loomed over Philza. With a forceful shove, Philza staggered backward, his body teetering. It was with an extension of his wings, he regained his footing.
“He's my property, I bought him.” Bile rose up in Philza's stomach. So quickly had everyone abandoned reason and morals, maybe that was why Philza moved so fast, why he didn't leave a moment to regret his actions. Warmth gushed over his hand the instant he was close to the bear hybrid. He wouldn't let this young teen be swept into the night to die, he wouldn't let the same kind of monster that killed his wife, kill again.
The bear grabbed him, but Philza merly knelt slowly down, twisting his blade under the bear's ribs. He met shocked wide eyes, and Philza only glared. He stayed in place, holding the blade firmly, waiting for those last few breathless hisses.
Philza grimaced, pulling his knife away only to again stab into the bear, through his temple this time. That's the only way people stayed dead. Some part of Philza felt dead at that moment, a part of him that should have died weeks ago. Another part burned with a new fire he felt slipping away ever since he lost his wife.
Turning back, the teenager was still there, staring at Philza with a fearful look. Philza sighed and put his weapon away. “You can go back home,” Philza told the teen. “He's not going to come back for you.” He had been about to walk away, to head back towards his own makeshift lodgings, when the teen finally spoke.
“I don't have a home,” The teen walked closer as he spoke. Philza could see him better. He had wounds, several of them, up and down his arms, some actively bleeding, some leaking pus. In the dark, Philza couldn't see the full extent of the damage, but the boy had a limp. It made his instincts ache in a familiar, longing way. Poor pup. He didn't have to think twice about it.
“Come on, mate,” The teen looked hesitant, eyes flicking to the dead bear hybrid. Philza held his hand out. “You'll be safe with me, I only hurt the bad guys.” There was still a moment longer of hesitation before the piglin took Philza's outstretched hand. He pulled the young man close, showing the teen how to lean on him as they walked.
Philza tried not to react as his senses assaulted by the sickly odor emanating from the wounded teen. The stench, he reasoned, could be fixed, yet the sight of the boy's limp and other injuries caused deeper concern. He silently prayed that these wounds were not beyond his help. While no doctor, Philza possessed a rudimentary first aid skill. It was born from necessity rather than any type of formal training.
“Got a name?” Philza's voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm enveloping them. The teen remained silent for a moment, his gaze distant as if lost in memories. Then, with trembling lips, he uttered his response.
“In the ring, it was Bloodgod,” the words hung heavy in the air. Philza's stomach churned uncomfortably at the mention of the fighting rings, those grim arenas where innocence was sacrificed for the entertainment of beasts. Though he had purposefully steered clear of such places, he was all too aware of their existence.
“Protesilaus was my name. My father liked those old myths,” the teen's voice wavered with a poignant mix of sorrow and longing, tugging at Philza's heartstrings. Instinctively, he moved his hand in comforting pats against the young man's back as they hobbled forward together.
“You can pick a new name,” Philza hoped his words would bring comfort to the young man, maybe give him better thoughts to dwell on for their walk. To his surprise, a soft chuckle escaped the teen's lips, igniting a flicker of warmth within Philza's chest. “Have something in mind?”
“Technoblade,” the name rolled off the teen's tongue with a certain resonance, its syllables infused with a quiet strength. Philza couldn't help but nod in silent approval, a faint smile gracing his lips.
“Alright, Technoblade, you can call me Philza,” The teen leaned into him more, and for the first time, since the world ended, Philza felt a bloom of hope in his chest. He held Technoblade closer to him. He looked up at the sky for the second time that night.
This time he tasted a familiar flora scent, mixed with mulch, Kristen. She had sent Techno to him. She always knew just what he needed. He sent his silent thanks and continued forward to his place, he would have a long night cleaning up Techno.
-oOo-
Ruined tents lay damp in the morning dew, their fabric sagging and torn. Once sturdy cabins, now charred and crumbling, littered the area around a steel frame of a smoke-scarred ranger tower. The air was heavy with the scent of ash and decay, a stark reminder of the violence that had swept through. Only the soft crackling of radio static disturbed the eerie silence, as the old device was once again brought to life by soot-covered hands.
“Airing on all open channels.” A deep voice cut through the crinkling of white noise. “This is Major-Captain Fit of the second battalion of the second tactical reconnaissance unit. To repeat, this is Fit MC of 2b2t, reporting from Watchtower Zeus, quadrants six, seven, and eight.” He paused for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air like the smoke that still clung to the ruins.
Fit’s hard-set eyes scanned the remains of the temporary settlement below. The remnants of a sanctuary lay scattered: blackened timbers, twisted metal, and personal belongings half-buried in ash. He could almost hear the echoes of children's laughter that once filled the air, now replaced by unnatural silence. He clenched his jaw, forcing down the surge of memories.
“Quarantine Wards Yankee, Victor, Tango, Mother Thames, Roseville, Sierra, and Oscar are considered lost. I repeat, all Quarantine wards south of the hold line are to be considered lost.” The radio went to static as the receiver was dropped from his now trembling lips. A heavy, frustrated growl left Fit's throat. He knew good people in those places, good men and women who he had trained with, fought alongside, shared meals with. Clearing his throat, he tried to shake off a feeling of helplessness.
“This is Fit, Major-Captain of the second battalion, second tactical reconnaissance unit. I am broadcasting on all open channels.” He repeated his report three more times, each repetition driving home the finality of his message. “Fit MC of 2b2t signing off, for the final time.”
As the transmission ended, Fit leaned heavily against the railing of the tower, staring out into the bleak expanse of smoldering forest. The morning light cast long shadows over the desolate landscape. His fingers tightened around the edge of the railing, knuckles white with tension. He had no idea what was next for him. He could stay, yes, but it felt like there were ghosts watching him now. He stood a little taller, forcing himself to scan the horizon.
In the distance, he could see movement—a shambling figure, slowly making its way through the debris. One figure appeared to become two as the pair crested the ridge. Fit's eyes narrowed, it couldn't already be looters, not with the size of the horde that had ravaged the area. He brushed ash from his pair of binoculars before bringing them to his face. The scent of smoke wasn't so easily brushed off, causing him to cough softly.
Fit watched a too lean young man kneel down to what appeared to be a small child. Both heads had jerked to the sound of his coughing. Their clothes were rags, their faces a bit gaunt with thin cheeks. It was a common sight for him while the camp was operational. People came in looking just like this. He set the binoculars down and turned towards the ladder of the ranger tower.
Despite having little to offer them, Fit wanted to at least try. If he could do nothing else with his time, he wanted to help at least these two young survivors. Give them hope of better days. So, he gathered some of the meal bars and a jug of water, and jogged over to meet them.
They were startled, naturally. The older of the pair was fast to thrust the child behind him. Fit couldn't blame him, this was the time to be worried and distrustful. “¿Quién carajo sos? ¿Qué querés?” A harsh thick Spanish flew out from the man's throat. Fit frowned, trying to remember the little bit of Spanish he had picked up here and there. Something like, who are you? What do you want? The accent made it sound a little odd though. It was different from the Spanish he learned, but he still tried.
“Soy amigable. Tengo agua y comida. Soy militar. Puedo ayudarte a sobrevivir.” Fit was nervous, seeing the young man squint at him. He held the food and water out. The young man stepped closer and took the jug and cereal bars. The child, still tucked behind the older, shyly looked up at Fit. Fit smiled and the child tucked closer to the older boy again.
“His name is Ramón.” The young man spoke up, his native language still warm on his tongue. “My name is Spreen.” Fit gestured the two to follow him back towards the ranger tower.
“You can call me Fit, Mi nombre es Fit.” The pair gave him weak smiles, which were quickly gone as Ramón tripped over a half burned log. Spreen wrinkled his nose when Ramón pulled himself up with blood leaking from his palm.
“Let me look at it,” Fit said once he realized Spreen was only waiting for him to continue onward. Ramón shook his head, but Fit was already knelt down. It was with much hesitation that the dark haired boy offered his arm out. “Agua, por favor,” Spreen handed the jug back to him.
“Es un desperdicio de agua.” Fit frowned at the words, trying to decipher their meaning. Whatever it was, wasn't important enough to distract him for long. He dumped water across the young boy's hand, rinsing away dirt and grime from the wound.
It wasn't a deep cut, but it would be better bandaged and covered up. Fit tore his own shirt with little effort and wrapped it around the boy's hand. He tied it off carefully, making sure it wasn't too tight. He handed the water back to Spreen.
“¿Creés que podés manejar la escalera? Si no, puedo subirte.” Fit spoke slowly to Ramón. The boy nervously looked at Spreen. Fit sighed and looked over at Spreen as well. “I can carry him if I need to.”
“Llévalo, dejá que el viejo te lleve.” Spren spoke the second half looking directly at Ramón. It seemed to do the trick as the thin boy shifted and held his arms out. Fit held a hand up and did a quick look around. “What is it?” There was a hint of worry in Spreen's tone.
“Looking for a tarp or blanket, algo para asegurarlo mientras subo.” Fit answered hoping his words were correct. It had been a while since he had spoken so much Spanish. He feared his words may have been misspoke. That fear vanished as Spreen tugged a muddy towel from the dirt.
“This work?” Spreen offered it up, Fit took it, beat it out a little and wrung what he could of the moisture out. It wasn't ideal, but it would do.
Both boys watched him rip the towel length wise. He tied the shorter ends on one side together tightly. He set that aside on a crumbling wall before turning back to Ramón.
“How good is his English?” Fit asked Spreen without looking at him.
“He's still learning.” Spreen sighed. “What are you wanting him to do?” Fit knelt down, facing away from Ramón.
“Tell him to climb on my back and hold my shoulders tight.” Fit noticed Spreen frown. “I’ll tie the towel around him-” Spreen instead grabbed the towel.
“Stand, I’ll do it better.” Fit was going to argue, but Spreen made a gesture of stand to him. Fit stood and Spreen stepped closer. He tied the towel diagonally across Fit’s chest.
It was done tight, but not too tight. Spreen didn't look thrilled with it , but gave a sharp whistle sound that had Ramón running over. Spreen lifted the young boy, but staggered as he did so. Fit held his arms out, only for Ramón to be placed in them.
“Envolvé tus brazos alrededor de él. Envolvé tus dedos alrededor de tu muñeca y no lo sueltes. Pegate lo más que puedas, pero no te interpongas en sus brazos o piernas.” Spreen spoke fast, Fit couldn't keep up. He felt Ramón shift in his arms and the little boy wrapped arms around his neck. He pressed close to him, then Spreen moved the towel so it was a sort of cradle against the boy's back and tightened it further. Fit could easily move, but it wasn't something that was overly comfortable.
“Secure, yes?” Spreen stepped back so Fit could lead him up the ladder.
“Yes,” Fit couldn't help but ruffle Ramón's hair. He would bring up the idea of cutting it shorter later, there was still time that the boy could stay a boy. “I have more supplies up top.” Fit started up the ladder with Spreen following after him.
The climb was only slightly more difficult with the extra weight, but Fit managed. He set Ramón down as soon as they were up. The little boy found a comic book and plucked it up with an interested gleam in his eyes. Fit couldn't help but chuckle.
“How long can we stay here?” Spreen spoke as soon as he pulled himself up, though Fit did bend to help with the final lift up.
“You two can rest here, I’ll scavenge what I can from the wreckage.” Fit glanced over as Spreen did. Ramón had claimed the small bed in the room for himself and was looking over the colorful pages of the comic book. Fit didn't expect Spreen to suddenly step in front of him.
“I will go back down with you then.” Fit opened his mouth to object, but Spreen already stepped around him and opened the hatch up again. “Ramón will be fine here, yes?”
“Yeah,” Fit answered, only getting a nod before the young man started his way back down. Fit moved to follow him down, taking one last look at the child before he started down. “So is he your brother-”
“Son,” Spreen answered sharply, already moving away from Fit and towards the muddy wreckage. “Ramón is my son, is that a problem?”
“No, not at all you just look young is all.” Fit couldn't help the fact his eyes flitted over the young man, trying to see any physical traits related to a secondary gender. If Spreen was an omega then-
“I’m 20, old enough.” Spreen was looking back at Fit, he must have noticed the staring because a smirk crossed his lips. “Do you see something you like, señor?” Fit felt the heat rise in his cheeks, but laughed at the comment.
“You don't have to worry about that, I'm a gentleman.” Spreen just chuckled and turned back to the wreckage around them. “How did you two end up out here?” Fit decided the task might go by a bit faster with some conversation. It also might make the overall task less daunting.
“My family owns land out here.” Spreen answered with a sigh. “I brought Ramón so he could experience life outside a mansion.”
Fit listened idly as he worked. It was just nice to hear another person after the dead silence that had been over the area hours before. He got along well enough with Spreen. He was intelligent, funny. He even made a good work companion. Both were diligently shifting through the wreckage under the ranger tower as the sun rose up into the sky.
It was nice to find ice chests that had been spared in the fire as well as a little storage cabin far enough away that it was never close to the horde's path. So by noon they had a supply of items that could last them several weeks still, maybe even months if they did it right. It was only when the sun was starting to sink down below the ridge that Spreen asked if they could finish up and check on Ramón.
Ramón was happy to see both men coming up into the tower. Fit felt a little tug at his heart when the boy hugged him as eagerly as he had hugged his father. The child had managed to find some crayons and blank paper, and had spent a good portion of the day coloring. He liked coloring in the comic book as well which made Fit laugh as the boy had brought it over to show him. Spreen also got a laugh from it.
When the sun finally dipped down fully, and the sky started to darken, Spreen asked about cooking. Fit brought out a camping stove which he took outside to the balcony for safety. The other two joined him as he heated up some cans of stew he managed to find in the rubble. Spreen was talking with Ramón in Spanish, and Fit only picked up bits here and there.
Spreen was telling his son about the stars in the sky, what direction they pointed and how to properly follow them. Fit didn't know how much a young child could retain. The boy couldn't have been much older than five, maybe six. Spreen didn't coddle the boy though. His words were strict, firm. Ramón appeared to hang onto every word his father spoke. Fit found himself smiling at the pair. He needed this after his week of utter hell. He found himself hoping again.
-oOo-
Gray fog blanketed the fenced field behind the daycare, swirling eerily. Missa’s breath hung in the chilly air, his senses on high alert as he scanned the perimeter. The wire fencing, intended to keep children safe, now served as a feeble barrier against outside threats. Each morning, he braved these inspections, heart racing with the fear of what he might find—a breach, a toppled fence, or worse, a Revivido lurking nearby.
The word "Revivido" felt fitting, Missa had thought. His fingers slid down to his belt where a folded and sharpened trowel was. Just beyond the fence, a lone figure lurched from the mist, specter-like. Its clothes, ragged and stained with dark, unknown fluids, clung to its gaunt frame. One of its long rabbit ears hung in tatters, the other sagged at an unnatural angle, almost as if it were surrendering.
Missa took a steadying breath, the cold air filling his lungs as he made his way towards the gate. The chain links clinked softly as he undid the bike chain and stepped out. The mangled Revivido stumbled closer, its breath raspy and uneven. The smell of rot hit him, a sickly sweet tang that made his stomach churn. He swallowed hard, murmuring a prayer as he gripped his makeshift weapon tighter.
Through the temple was the easiest and fastest way to deal with them. As the sharpened trowel pierced the creature’s skull, Missa felt its body go limp. His eyes watered, not just from the smell but from the weight of what he had to do. More quiet prayers left his lips as he gently lowered the Revivido to the ground, its lifeless eyes staring blankly into the sky.
He felt hollow in these moments. This had been a person, a soul corrupted by something monstrous. A young woman, now just a lifeless shell. As he dug a hurried, shallow grave he felt the weight of his actions. He knew this was an insult to the reverence the dead deserved. Each hurried ritual tore at his soul. The dead should not lay to rest like this, but time was a luxury he didn’t have. Before covering the grave, he placed a small, hand-carved cross he had made from a fallen branch, a token of his promise to honor them properly later. As he covered her, he whispered, "Descansa en paz," knowing that “later” might never come.
Pushing aside his sorrows, Missa turned his attention to the familiar comforts that now sustained them. The creek’s gentle murmur used to invite children’s laughter, but now it offered clean water and a faint sense of normalcy. He glanced at the row of mulberry trees, their branches heavy with ripe fruit—a gift of nature’s bounty that he carefully harvested for their breakfast. Nearby, the stubborn walnut trees yielded their bounty, providing essential protein to complement their meager meals of rice and lentils.
As he retraced his steps toward the daycare’s entrance making sure the outside gate was once again properly chained. Missa’s mind churned with gratitude for these small mercies amidst the chaos. As Missa pulled the heavy iron door of the daycare shut firmly, he made sure he tightened the locks properly. The area within wasn't well lit, some starting daylight leaked in from the boarded windows, but the daycare was extremely dim. Missa liked it that way. Lights might give them away entirely, and Missa wouldn't risk his children.
Well, not technically his, not by blood anyways, but after two months of constant care for them, he felt like they were his kids now. They were all he had in the world right now, as scary as it was to admit that. The risk of going out to find more people was just simply too high. Way too high when he factored in Chayanne and Tallulah. People were cruel in times like this and children would too easily be viewed as a burden. He did his best to shake those unsettling thoughts away as he entered the children's shared room.
“Chayanne, pequeño, es hora de despertar.” The soft morning light filtered through the boarded windows, casting a gentle glow on the cot where Chayanne slept. A tousled mop of blonde hair popped up, followed by a sleepy but determined pair of eyes. Missa couldn’t help but smile. The little dragon hybrid stretched his arms high, his wings unfurling slightly before he pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes.
“Tallulah, pequeña flor, hora de despertar.” Missa sat gently on the edge of her cot, his presence a familiar comfort. Tallulah’s big brown eyes fluttered open, locking onto his. A sleepy smile spread across her face as she slowly sat up, leaning into Missa's warmth. Her delicate, scaled tail curled around her legs as she nuzzled against his side.
Over the past months, Missa had come to know their morning routines intimately. Both children spoke and understood English and Spanish fluently, but their preference for Spanish warmed Missa’s heart. It was his native tongue, and he loved the way it felt to coo and comfort them in it.
Chayanne, ever the independent spirit, was already out of bed and pulling on his light blue jacket. His t-shirt, adorned with a cheerful duck floatie, peeked out from under the jacket. He slipped into sturdy jeans, his small fingers deftly fastening the buttons. Proud of his ability to dress himself, he gave Missa a quick, determined nod before trotting off to the kitchen, clipboard in hand.
Tallulah, still wrapped in the remnants of her dreams, sighed softly through her nose. She gave Missa a gentle push, their unspoken signal that she needed a moment to fully wake up. He kissed her forehead and left her to dress, knowing she’d join them soon enough.
Chayanne’s little feet pattered against the cold floor as he made his way to the kitchen. His serious expression as he reviewed the clipboard was both endearing and heart-wrenching. Missa watched from the doorway, a smile tugging at his lips. The boy was counting their supplies, a habit they’d developed as part of their survival routine. Powdered milk and eggs were running low, canned fruit was completely gone, but the stewed mulberries Missa had made were neatly lined up on the shelf. Chayanne’s small fingers traced each jar, his lips moving as he counted under his breath.
Missa moved silently in, not daring to break Chayanne's focus. He reached for the carefully measured oatmeal. Teaching Chayanne and Tallulah about measurements and rationing was his way of shielding them with pretend games. It was a much needed skill now, and he wanted them prepared without stealing their childhood.
“¿Terminaste de contar? ¿Podemos preguntar ahora?” Tallulah’s soft voice broke the quiet, catching Missa by surprise. He hadn’t heard her come down the stairs. Chayanne set his clipboard down and scrambled up to sit on the counter, extending a helping hand to Tallulah. Missa couldn’t scold them for the small act of defiance. They weren't close to the flame of the camping stove, nor were they playing around.
“¿Ustedes dos tienen preguntas?” Missa asked gently, his eyes shifting between the two children. Tallulah glanced at Chayanne, her brow furrowed with worry. Chayanne fidgeted with his hands, wrestling with his thoughts.
“Nuestros padres no van a volver, ¿verdad?” Chayanne’s voice was steady but laced with sadness, a question that twisted Missa’s stomach. He had known this moment would come, but he had hoped to shield them a little longer.
“Sé que sus padres los aman mucho…” Missa began, his voice trailing off as Tallulah cut in with a blunt honesty that startled him.
“Pero no regresan por el virus. Eso enfermó a mucha gente y arruinó muchas cosas.” Her words hung heavy in the air, punctuating the silence that followed. Missa felt a wave of mixed emotions—relief that they understood some of what had happened, and sorrow that they bore such heavy truths at their tender ages.
Tallulah shifted uncomfortably in his silence, her purple-green scales shimmering in the subdued light. Her gaze was fixed on Missa, seeking reassurance despite knowing the harsh reality. Chayanne’s expression mirrored hers, his eyes locked on Missa with a mix of anger and vulnerability. He longed for answers and likely was the driving force behind this little confrontation.
Missa swallowed hard, gathering his thoughts. He stood before them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, grounding himself. “Sí, es cierto que el virus ha hecho mucho daño. Pero estamos juntos, y estamos seguros aquí.” His voice was steady, filled with a resolve that belied the uncertainty in his heart. He brushed a lock of hair from Tallulah’s face, meeting her gaze with a tender smile. “Somos una familia ahora, ¿de acuerdo?”
Chayanne’s shoulders relaxed slightly, a small nod acknowledging Missa’s words. Tallulah leaned into him, seeking comfort in his embrace. They were his children now. It was for the best this was cleared up. Though he understood if the children still felt unease with their new found knowledge.
“Mientras termino de desayunar, vosotros dos dibujad algunas fotos de vuestros padres. Probablemente tenemos algo aquí podemos hacer una pequeña ofrenda para ellos.” Missa cooed to them. Both children suddenly wrapped their arms around him tightly. He was startled until he heard their quiet whimpering sobs. This was the finalization they needed to cry for their parents. An Ofrenda was a type of finalization, it meant dead but not forgotten, not lost.
He held them both, cooing. “Estoy aquí contigo.” It made the both sob just a bit louder, but not for long. Sad as they were, they were strong kids. Chayanne did pull away first, his crystal blue eyes red, but he wiped his eyes, taking steadying breaths. He did take a moment to hug his little sister tightly when she let go of Missa.
“Encontraremos la flor favorita de mamá con Missa, y encontraremos una taza de café para papá. Haremos una muy buena Ofrenda.” Chayanne said it firmly, his voice stern in the way only an older brother’s could be. Tallulah nodded her head and gave another whimpering cry that broke Missa that much more. That was when Chayanne’s ice blue eyes fell on him.
“Missa, tú también estás llorando.” It was true, Missa brought a hand up to his face and felt the tears. He was going to turn away, but forced a smile for them, letting his own tears spill down his cheeks.
“Yo también tengo una mamá y un papá. No creo que los vuelva a ver tampoco, ¿crees que a tus padres les importaría compartir la Ofrenda?” It was Tallulah who spoke up first.
“Ahora eres como nuestro padre y toda la familia comparte la Ofrenda.” Her sweet voice quivered, but she smiled. Missa couldn't help it and pull both of them close while he took his turn to softly cry. It was bittersweet for all of them. They lost and found family all at once. He held them so tightly
“Virgen de Guadalupe, madre de todos nosotros, Hoy vengo a ti con un corazón herido por la pérdida. Te pido consuelo y fortaleza en este momento de dolor.” He started the prayer in a low soft tone. Both children pressed closer to him as he spoke.
“Tú que conoces el amor verdadero y el sacrificio, Llena mi alma con tu paz y tu amor infinito. Ayúdame a aceptar lo que no puedo cambiar, Y a encontrar esperanza en los recuerdos y el amor que perdura.” He kept his eyes closed, and heard the soft murmur of the children repeating his words. It choked him for a moment, but he found his voice again.
“Guía mis pasos y dame la sabiduría para seguir adelante, Aun cuando el camino parezca oscuro y solitario. Que tu manto me envuelva con su calor y protección,
Y que sienta tu presencia en cada momento de mi vida.” Missa took a deep breath and felt both children breathe in deep with him. He felt it, in his soul, the fire to protect these two precious lives.
“Virgen Santísima, intercede por mí ante tu Hijo, Para que pueda encontrar consuelo en Su amor divino. Bendice a los que ya no están con nosotros, Y que su memoria viva siempre en nuestros corazones. Amén.” Chayanne and Tallulah both echoed his final word a bit louder than they had the rest of the prayer.
It was a common and simple prayer, but it felt like it fit the best for their time of need. He had remembered reading somewhere culture and religion were the best things to turn to in dark times. He decided then he would do his best to carry these little traditions on. It would help remind all three of them where and how far they had come.
-oOo-
It was supposed to be fun, Dream thought, his eyes fixed on the empty shell of what was once his home. The familiar white picket fence now lay in splinters, and the front yard, where he once played tag with his sister, was overgrown with weeds. The broken windows gaped like hollow eyes, and a dark, dried trail of blood smeared a haunting path out the front door. His knees trembled, threatening to buckle, but a firm presence pressed close to his side. He turned to meet green eyes that mirrored his own and forced a smile.
XD was just as devastated. This had been his aunt and uncle's home, a place filled with laughter and warmth. He remembered countless hours spent here, playing hide and seek with his cousins, and the smell of his aunt’s famous apple pie wafting through the air. Now, the silence was deafening, and the air was thick with a sense of loss. Dream leaned a little harder against his only family, seeking solace in the familiarity of his cousin's embrace. XD slid an arm around him, protective as ever, and together they took hesitant steps toward the house.
The college visits were supposed to be a time of excitement and possibility. XD and he had planned to meet up with some friends, but one by one, they had canceled, citing illness or a family emergency. Dream had brushed it off, convincing himself that everyone gets the flu now and then. But when he heard his little sister had fallen ill, a gnawing unease had settled in his gut. He had almost stayed home, but the trip had been planned for ages, and it didn't seem right to cancel over a simple flu. Except it hadn’t been just the flu.
They approached the porch, the familiar creak of the wooden steps now sounding like a mournful cry. Dream’s heart pounded in his chest as he pushed open the front door, its hinges groaning in protest. Inside, the house was a chaotic mess. Furniture was overturned, and the walls were scarred with signs of a desperate struggle. The once-cozy living room, where they had celebrated birthdays and holidays, was now a battlefield of broken memories.
Dream's eyes scanned the room, landing on a framed photo lying face down on the floor. He picked it up, brushing off shards of glass. It was a picture of his family at the beach, all smiles and sun-kissed cheeks. His throat tightened, and he blinked back tears.
XD's grip on his shoulder tightened. "We need to see if there's anything useful left," he said, his voice steady, nearly emotionless. Dream nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat, and they moved deeper into the house.
In the kitchen, the cupboards had been ransacked, and the once well-stocked pantry was bare. Dream opened the fridge, the light flickering weakly. The smell of spoiled food hit him, and he quickly shut the door. He noticed the calendar on the wall, still showing the date from two months ago, the day everything had changed.
The basement door was ajar. Dream and XD exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them. They descended the stairs, the darkness swallowing them whole. Down here, the air was cooler, and the sounds from above were muted. They found shelves of canned goods, untouched and forgotten in the chaos. Dream sighed in relief, grabbing as many as he could carry.
As they made their way back up, Dream's mind wandered to their canceled college visits. The excitement and hope they had felt seemed like a distant memory. They were supposed to be planning their futures, not scavenging for supplies. It was supposed to be different.
He was supposed to be visiting various colleges, marveling at the sprawling campuses, exploring state-of-the-art facilities, and imagining his future within those ivy-covered walls. XD should have been close by, scowling and warding off anyone who got too close to his cousin, just as he always had. Ever since they were young, their family had teased that if Dream was there, XD wasn't far behind. Now, more than ever, Dream was grateful for that. He had no idea how far he would have gotten without XD by his side.
As he watched his cousin set his bag down on a surprisingly upright end table, XD moved toward the front door with a purpose. “Stay here. I'll hide the van real quick.” His words were short but firm, filled with the confidence of someone who was always ten steps ahead in these situations.
Dream took a moment to cover the front-facing windows as best he could. The Husks weren't the only threat out there—wild animals and desperate humans were just as dangerous. As he worked, the familiar creaks and groans of the house made him uneasy. When he cautiously headed up the stairs, he suddenly froze. There was the unmistakable sound of footsteps and shifting legs above him. His heart pounded in his chest, and he glanced upward, muscles tensing with dread.
A scream tore from Dream's throat before he could stop it. He heard a rush of footsteps, and then he collided hard with a solid body. Words failed him as a sob broke past his lips. In his arms was a shorter, solidly built young man with dark hair—so different from Dream's own light hair, yet unmistakably familiar.
“Sapnap,” Dream finally managed to choke out. His friend's cheeks were flushed with heat, steam rising from his skin. He couldn't help but laugh, a hysterical sound in the quiet house. Fire imps could cry, but their tears evaporated too quickly to be seen. “Holy shit, you're alive!” He pulled Sapnap into a tight hug, relief flooding through him.
“You too,” Sapnap choked out, his hug as firm as Dream remembered. “Fuck, I can't believe you made it back!” They pulled back just enough to inspect each other, their eyes scanning for injuries, their noses taking in familiar scents. Sapnap’s inspection was as intrusive as ever, checking Dream's neck and scent. Dream did the same, the ritual reminding him that they were still pack, still family.
When XD returned, his expression hardened upon seeing Sapnap so close to Dream. "The van’s hidden," he announced curtly, glancing between Dream and Sapnap with a cold, assessing look. "Looks like you found something useful while I was gone."
"More than useful," Dream said, a genuine smile breaking through his exhaustion. "Sapnap’s alive."
XD’s expression remained stony, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Good. We need all the help we can get," he muttered, the words dropping like stones in the tense silence. There was no warmth in his tone, just a cold practicality. He moved to the other side of the room, putting a noticeable distance between himself and the reunion happening before him, his eyes never straying from the newcomers.
Dream had been about to say more when the floor creaked above them. Instinctively, he tensed, but XD moved faster than both Dream and Sapnap could react. In a blur, he was past them and at the top of the steps, his senses on high alert.
XD jerked open the nearest door, a shriek piercing the air. Sapnap lunged forward, grabbing XD roughly by the arm and shoving him back with a snarl. Dream moved quickly, forcing himself between the two. If these two could just go a few minutes without being at each other's throats...
“Sappy, are you okay?” A gentle voice broke through the tension. Dream looked closer and saw two pairs of eyes staring back at him. One pair belonged to a tall mink hybrid with fluffy brown curls, and the other to a much shorter cat hybrid with mismatched blue and brown eyes. Dream felt his voice catch in his throat.
“XD’s just a prick,” Sapnap muttered, eyes still narrowed on XD. Despite Dream's presence, XD’s posture remained defensive, his muscles taut, ready to spring. “Dream, XD, this is Karl,” Sapnap gestured to the mink. “And this is George.” Dream shifted slightly, but XD’s arm wrapped around him, holding him in place. Dream didn't need to look to know XD was scowling at the strangers.
“I’m Dream.” Dream patted XD’s arm, which reluctantly fell away. “That's XD. He’s just sensitive to new scents.” XD scoffed, moving to the side of Dream, his eyes still locked on the newcomers like a hawk surveying its territory.
Karl, the mink, stepped forward, a nervous smile playing on his lips. “Sapnap talks a lot about you two.” He extended his hand, and Dream took it. Stepping closer, Dream could pick up his friend's scent over the mink’s. Ah, that definitely explained why Sapnap was on edge. Having an omega close by always made Alphas act a bit more territorial.
“I hope you can accept me as pack too.” Karl’s voice was bold, but there was an underlying tremor. Dream smiled, appreciating the courage it took for Karl to say that.
“It’s not me you have to worry about warming up to you,” Dream chuckled, gesturing with his head towards XD. XD rolled his eyes, grumbling something under his breath that Dream didn’t quite catch. XD’s eyes were still sharp, a predator assessing potential threats, but he moved away, heading back down stairs. Part of Dream wished he would relax.
“The way Sappy here talks about you, I would think you were famous,” George stepped out from behind Sapnap, his movements cautious but deliberate. Dream felt a bit more flustered about shaking his hand. There was no sweet scent wafting from him, but a more natural, clean air, ozone smell that signified a Beta. George’s eyes, one blue and one brown, seemed to search Dream’s face, seeking something—reassurance, perhaps.
“The world ended before that could happen,” Dream said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. The response drew a chuckle from everyone, a much needed moment of levity. “How did you all meet?” Dream asked, his curiosity piqued. He gestured for the other three to follow him down to the living room, where XD was likely handling preparations. Sapnap followed immediately, his trust in Dream evident. Karl and George followed more slowly, George hanging back, his eyes darting around as if expecting an ambush.
“Hospital,” Karl supplied as they descended the steps. “I was recovering from surgery, and Sapnap was in there for—”
“Drista,” Sapnap cut in, his tone turning grim. The name seemed to hang in the air, heavy. “She…changed.” Sapnap said it slowly, each word carrying the weight of a painful memory. Dream felt himself sway, his mind flashing to his little sister’s face, her bright smile in the family vacation photo. His vision blurred, but before he could fall, George was there, steadying him with a firm grip. The contact was grounding, something to hold him the present.
Dream really did try not to dwell on his little sister, but her face kept popping up. Sapnap was stumbling over his words, Dream met his eyes and felt that old bond between them. Drista had been just as much a little sister to Sapnap. He had witnessed her as a husk, Sapnap's mouth was opened to explain, but his voice was soundless.
“There were a lot of them at once,” George’s voice broke the tension, the calm cadence soothing. “The hospital hadn’t been following the burn protocol.” Dream would have normally shifted away from contact like this, but it felt oddly comforting. When he met George’s mismatched eyes, he saw understanding there. His heart leaped into his throat.
“Us and a few more got out, but there's no telling how many more are just locked in there.” George’s words were a stark reminder of their new reality. The living room felt smaller some how, he leaned more into George unconsciously.
XD reappeared then. He glanced at the group, his expression unreadable but his body language subtly protective as he placed himself between Dream and George somewhat forcefully.
“Everything’s secure for the night,” he announced, his voice a low rumble. Dream caught a silent exchange between XD and George, their eyes meeting momentarily. George looked through the Alpha, as if he wasn't even there. Dream shifted himself a little bit in front of XD again, now in the center of the small group.
“We should bring all our supplies together and take tally of it all,” Dream felt a little more comfortable at the center, he had spent a childhood bossing both XD and Sapnap around. Karl and George made no protest to his idea. “Then we can set up sleeping schedules together, and discuss a plan from there.” He really had meant to make it sound like a question, but all four nodded at him, seeming fine with his orders.
XD stepped closer, eyes still watching the three closely as they headed back up stairs. Dream rolled his eyes when XD made a rumble noise in his throat, a mocking growl sound. He pushed his cousin back, finding his protectiveness childish. XD knew Sapnap, he didn't need to keep up the act just because there was an omega around.
“Do you have to do that?” Dream asked, his voice low so the others wouldn't hear. XD stepped closer again, purposely so Dream would have to look up at him. “You know Sapnap and it's pretty clear he's into Karl.”
“The beta,” XD started and Dream groaned. “We don't know him, he's an odd element. It could be-”
“He's been here with Sapnap and Karl. If he was a threat, Sapnap would have acted differently around him.” XD's nose wrinkled at Dream's argument. Dream knew what was coming next.
“He's not a proper-” Dream snatched the front of XD's shirt.
“You being your usually manipulative self has nothing to do with Sapnap's judgment.” Dream snarled. He wished he and XD looked less alike at times like this. It felt like he was yelling at a mirror, he might as well have been with XD’s blank expression.
“He's a weak Alpha.” Dream shoved him, annoyed that XD kept this stupid notion. “He is. If he can bend-”
“If you weren't fucking lying to him and pretending to be me, that wouldn't have happened!” Dream shoved him again, irritated XD barely shifted from it.
“Is the douchebag bothering you?” George’s tone was sharper sounding. It made Dream jerk his gaze over to him. George was just at the bottom step, a couple of bags in hand. “Sapnap and Karl wanted a moment,” George supplied casually Stepping the rest of the way into the room, tossing the bags down near his feet. XD shifted his stance slightly, Dream growled this time making XD shift back. George cocked a brow at them.
“Sorry hes-” Dream struggled for the word, but a smile crossed his lips as he plucked the right one out. “A bit of a douchebag.” XD gave a snort at that, moving away now, thankfully.
“All Alphas are like that, aren't they?” George mused, despite the comment he actually moved over to XD and wordlessly helped him move the couch upright. XD didn't say a word, but moved on to righting a coffee table.
“Not all of them, but our family did encourage him to be protective of me and my sister.” Dream answered truthfully, seeing no reason to lie about it. He bent over and moved the bags to the newly righted coffee table.
“An Alpha protects his pack.” XD grunted as he plopped himself down in a newly righted chair. Dream grabbed one for himself, and George did the same, all of them silently deciding Karl and Sapnap could have the couch.
“Well, we'll have two Alphas for that.” George said it with a dismissive tone. Dream felt his face warm a bit.
“Three,” Dream corrected. George gave him a look, eyes carefully studying him.
“Three Alphas,” George's smile made Dream feel warmer, his eyes snapped to XD. “So don't get your panties all twisted up.” Dream barked out a laugh, but so did XD. It was then Sapnap came down, Karl's hand in his own, almost pulling the mink along with him. Everyone stayed silent about the fresh marks adorning Karl.
Their focus as a group was to organize their supplies, food, equipment, fuel, tools, weapons. Then it was rationing the food and items appropriately. They traded stories back and forth about their struggles, tragedies, triumphs. Dream found himself smiling more that night than he had in the past two months. These would be the people he survived for. His eyes then landed on George, his heart fluttered when the cat smirked at him. He was definitely excited to learn about his new pack mates.
~oOo~
Translations:
Fit-Ramón-Spren section Argentine Spanish dialect
1. "¿Quién carajo sos? ¿Qué querés?" - "Who the hell are you? What do you want?"
2. "Soy amigable. Tengo agua y comida. Soy militar. Puedo ayudarte a sobrevivir." - "I'm friendly. I have water and food. I'm military. I can help you survive."
3. "Mi nombre es Fit." - "My name is Fit."
4. "Agua, por favor," - "Water, please,"
5. "Es un desperdicio de agua." - "It's a waste of water."
6. "¿Creés que podés manejar la escalera? Si no, puedo subirte." - "Do you think you can manage the ladder? If not, I can carry you up."
7. "Llévalo, dejá que el viejo te lleve." - "Carry him, Let the old man carry you."
8. "Envolvé tus brazos alrededor de él. Envolvé tus dedos alrededor de tu muñeca y no lo sueltes. Pegate lo más que puedas, pero no te interpongas en sus brazos o piernas." - "Wrap your arms around him. Wrap your fingers around your wrist and don't let go. Press as close as you can, but don't get in the way of his arms or legs."
9. "Algo para asegurarlo mientras subo." - "Something to secure him while I climb.”
Missa-Chayanne-Tallulah section Mexican Spanish dialect
Descansa en paz:
Rest in Peace
Chayanne, pequeño, es hora de despertar: Chayanne, little one, wake up.
Tallulah, pequeña flor, hora de despertar: Tallulah, little flower, wake up.
“¿Terminaste de contar? ¿Podemos preguntar ahora?”
"Have you finished counting? Can we ask now?”
¿Ustedes dos tienen preguntas?
"You two have questions.”
Nuestros padres no van a volver, ¿verdad?
"Our parents aren't coming back, right?”
Sé que sus padres los aman mucho…
"I know your parents love you very much.”
Pero no regresan por el virus. Eso enfermó a mucha gente y arruinó muchas cosas
"But they're not coming back because of the virus. It made a lot of people sick and ruined a lot of things.”
Sí, es cierto que el virus ha hecho mucho daño. Pero estamos juntos, y estamos seguros aquí
"Yes, it's true that the virus has caused a lot of harm. But we're together, and we're safe here.”
Somos una familia ahora, ¿de acuerdo?
"We're a family now, okay?”
Mientras termino de desayunar, vosotros dos dibujad algunas fotos de vuestros padres. Probablemente tenemos algo aquí podemos hacer una pequeña ofrenda para ellos
"While I finish breakfast, you two draw some pictures of your parents. We probably have something here to make a small ofrenda for them.”
“Estoy aquí contigo.”
"I am here with you."
Encontraremos la flor favorita de mamá con Missa, y encontraremos una taza de café para papá. Haremos una muy buena Ofrenda.
"We will find mom’s favorite flower with Missa, and we will find dad’s cup of coffee. We will make a very good Ofrenda."
Missa, tú también estás llorando.
"Missa, you are also crying."
Yo también tengo una mamá y un papá. No creo que los vuelva a ver tampoco, ¿crees que a tus padres les importaría compartir la Ofrenda?”
"I also have a mom and a dad. I don’t think I’ll see them again either. Do you think your parents would mind sharing the Ofrenda?"
Ahora eres como nuestro padre y toda la familia comparte la Ofrenda.
"Now you are like our father, and the whole family shares the Ofrenda."
Virgen de Guadalupe, madre de todos nosotros,
Hoy vengo a ti con un corazón herido por la pérdida.
Te pido consuelo y fortaleza en este momento de dolor.
Tú que conoces el amor verdadero y el sacrificio,
Llena mi alma con tu paz y tu amor infinito.
Ayúdame a aceptar lo que no puedo cambiar,
Y a encontrar esperanza en los recuerdos y el amor que perdura.
Guía mis pasos y dame la sabiduría para seguir adelante,
Aun cuando el camino parezca oscuro y solitario.
Que tu manto me envuelva con su calor y protección,
Y que sienta tu presencia en cada momento de mi vida.
Virgen Santísima, intercede por mí ante tu Hijo,
Para que pueda encontrar consuelo en Su amor divino.
Bendice a los que ya no están con nosotros,
Y que su memoria viva siempre en nuestros corazones.
Amén.
Virgin of Guadalupe, mother of all of us,
Today I come to you with a heart wounded by loss.
I ask you for comfort and strength in this time of sorrow.
You who know true love and sacrifice,
Fill my soul with your peace and infinite love.
Help me accept what I cannot change,
And find hope in the memories and love that endures.
Guide my steps and give me the wisdom to move forward,
Even when the path seems dark and lonely.
May your mantle wrap me with its warmth and protection,
And may I feel your presence in every moment of my life.
Most Holy Virgin, intercede for me before your Son,
So that I may find comfort in His divine love.
Bless those who are no longer with us,
And may their memory live forever in our hearts.
Amen.