AN: I don't even know what this is. RavenCrow17, here's your Tallumbus. Or at least the beginnings of it, I guess.
If you love someone let them go. If they stay away then they were never yours to begin with, but if they come back then they are yours to keep.
They'd lost Columbus a week ago. The scrawny spitfuck had pulled some bullshit hero move, because fucking hell, the kid had kept rule seventeen with the scratched out don't exactly the way it was. Tallahassee wasn't even exactly sure how it had happened, or where all the zombies had come from. Maybe it was because there seemed like there had been other survivors in the area recently, a trail they'd been following in hopes of finding more than just the four of them as the last alive in the United States of Zombieland. All the zombies who had followed the living, just like they were, were already there, waiting.
Then again, it had been a fucking mall. Whoever they had been following obviously had a death wish and they must have too, since Little Rock and Wichita both wanted to do some clothes shopping. Which was what got them stuck in the little fuck Auntie Anne's kiosk in the first fucking place, reminiscent of the booth he'd locked himself in at Pacific Playland.
And they'd run out of most of their weapons, even Little Rock and Columbus resorting to some of the more disgusting routes of zombie killing, he'd been mumbling something about burning his hoodie, though as if because all the spitfuck did was wear those goddamn hoodies, and then more zombies had appeared to add on to the cluster fuck they were already facing. The moment it happened, he'd just been turning towards Columbus to shoot one, the only one of them with any fucking bullets left, and had seen the realization and resignation that they could all very well be zombie chow, and the freedom that came with it.
It had nearly taken his breath away, that freedom that came on Columbus' face. The one that, oddly enough, went along with realizing he could sacrifice himself to save the others possibly, something that should have been a heavier weight instead of a light one, but the spitfuck had always been odd. Tallahassee was used to the Columbus he had first met, that shaking, scrawny ass little ex-college student that had a list of phobias taller than he was and who was trying to hold a gun against him even though he'd never been violent against anything other than the zombies before. A freedom that was confident, brave.
In the instant he saw it, he supposed he had known then what the spitfuck was going to do, a wrench in his gut as sharp as his hunting knife. Don't get attached. A lot of good that had fucking done him, and in that moment he'd never felt more helpless in his life, except for maybe when he had learned the damned things had gotten his baby boy, bitten the man who Tallahassee had left in charge of him and who had just ran away instead of saving Buck.
Columbus had caught his look and smiled this little fucking smile, then slipped out the door. Right out the fucking door, shoving his way past grabbing hands and running for it, shouting all the way and hopping around like a demented fucking rabbit, making as much noise as he possibly could. Little Rock screamed for him, but most of the zombies drew off to give chase for the easiest flesh. He had dispatched what few had remained, about ten, with Wichita and Little Rock, but by the time they were done they couldn't hear Columbus or the horde of zombies anymore.
Little Rock cried the entire way back to the house they were staying in, silent tears that just kept streaming and streaming down her face as she looked out the window. Wichita had a hand pressed to her mouth, trying to keep her sobs in and hugging her sister close, mascara running, though why the fuck the girl felt the need to look hot during the apocalypse Tallahassee never could understand. He'd just drove, grip tight on the steering wheel and numb, trying not to notice the spot beside him that was achingly empty.
Depression was the only thing that kept them around the house. Even he couldn't just nut up and fucking shut up, without Columbus there was a huge hole in their little group. It wasn't until he was gone that Tallahassee realized how much Columbus had done, keeping track of all their food and bullets, even noting the girls' menstrual cycles so he could try and warn them ahead of time to get some Midol and tampons. He cooked, knowing just enough because he'd grown tired of the TV dinners, but never pizza, the one food he said was his Twinkie.
On the third night of their moping, Little Rock had dug in Columbus' suitcase, the same one he'd had when Tallahassee had first met him, and found the little notebook he'd taken to keeping, reading it aloud. It was divided into sections, his neat scrawl and need to organize either showcasing that he was a college student or that he had OCD. There were lists of nearly everything: what they all liked to eat, what the girls preferred when each had their menstrual cycle, guesses at clothing size just in case and what they might want if it was needed, a list of Little Rock's favorite candy and sugar free gums, expected expiration dates for any and all Twinkies, what weapons they had, what ammunition they might need, what weapons Tallahassee'd get a kick out of using, what music each of them liked. He had random tidbits of information on them, like his story of having a Buddy once, and then accidentally offing him with some nuts in a chocolate bar. At the very back was his list of rules, the newest one tacked on being never let Little Rock drink ever again, right after enjoy the little things, something he'd said himself.
To get as close to a funeral as they could, they burned Columbus' notebook and all but one of his hoodies. Tallahassee kept the map, and only bothered looking at it on the sixth night, deciding enough was enough. They needed to get a move on, staying in this place wouldn't do them any good. But opening the map had revealed more of Columbus' little notes, the worst places due to population, or places that some of them might like to visit. He'd nearly cried when he'd seen a big circle and read the scrawl that was beside it, the location of a Twinkie factory.
Seeing that, he just couldn't handle it anymore, and that morning, the seventh day since Columbus saved them, he left the girls and made an alcohol run, returning to a worried Little Rock and a pissed off Wichita. He let the girl yell at him for being stupid and not saying where he was going, unusually nice because of the tears in her eyes and the fact that it had been stupid of him to not say anything. Columbus had always asked him before, but no one had asked this time, so he had just left, and fuck if that hadn't made him an ass to the last two important people in his life who were actually alive.
Little Rock forgave him first, demanding a hug goodnight and he even tucked her in bed. Don't get attached. Fuck that little rule; these girls were all he had now. Hell, even he realized how close of a father figure he was becoming to Little Rock, the girl stuck between the age of not wanting one but desperately needing something more than her sister in a world where she could die each day. Wichita didn't forgive him until he patted her head, just as surprised as she was by the gesture. So he grunted a little, and gruffly told her to get her ass in bed because if she lost any more beauty sleep he'd shoot her because he thought she was a zombie. That had gotten him a little smile, the first he'd seen in nearly a week, and damn if he hadn't felt proud because of it.
With the girls in bed, or at least away from him, Tallahassee took to the bottle and keeping watch in case anything tried to break in. With the storm raging outside that was unlikely, flashes of lightning illuminating the whole room even with the windows boarded up, and booms of thunder that shook the house. The noise would leave most of the zombies too confused on which way to go even if they did catch the scent of flesh, which he was pretty certain was impossible with the way the rain was coming down. Either way, he kept a baseball bat, his pistol, and some ammo close by. He also had the only hoodie they had kept, still smelling of Columbus and the perfume bottle that Little Rock had dumped on him as a prank, which, coincidentally enough, ended up letting a zombie with no eyes walk right past him as he stood stock still.
He'd finished a whole bottle of whiskey, the burn almost soothing. In the back of his mind he could picture Columbus there, telling him that alcohol was a depressant and would only further to depress him, like every other time he tried to drink around the spitfuck. Tallahassee snorted, using the hoodie as a pillow on the coffee table, too drunk to care if the girls walk in and saw him doing so, because damned if he wouldn't hold on to what little of Columbus they hadn't given away to the raging flames.
Bang. It took him a second to realize what the noise was, brain muddled from the alcohol, though he was quick to snap to an adrenaline fueled alert when the doorknob rattled, and more harsh knocks followed it. He made to grab his gun, planning to shoot the fucker through the door if possible, but decided against it when he remembered the girls were sleeping, instead grabbing the bat. The little Columbus voice in his head switched from droning on about alcohol to the fact that it might not just be one zombie and he might be going into something he couldn't handle, but he really didn't fucking care. He unlocked the door and swung it open, bat already primed to swing at the undead motherfucker-
It was Columbus.
For a horrified second, one of the few times he'd ever felt truly scared and disgusted in a world full of zombies, Tallahassee had thought that the ex-college student was a zombie, and that he'd have to kill him. But then Columbus gave this strangled kind of sound, hand dropping a pipe that had been used as a weapon, and he realized that the kid just looked like fucking death, wasn't actually a part of it. Thank God.
How was the spitfuck that lucky? How did he manage to outrun all of those zombies? His first rule, about cardio, or the one about limbering up? There was this awkward moment as he tried to figure out what the fuck he should do, torn between hugging his spitfuck close and never letting him go, or killing him for making them all go through hell. He was the one who was a one man army against zombies, Wichita and Little Rock did the girly emotions. Columbus did the girly emotions. He did the yelling and the killing, the occasional kind pat and show of emotion.
Columbus came in slowly, shutting the door softly and locking it behind him because he just fucking knew what Tallahassee was thinking, struggling with, the fear that maybe he was bit and he just didn't see it yet, or that it was some crazy alcohol induced dream, and fuck, the spitfuck was always the one who was thinking, never seemed to stop, always worrying and planning ahead. Always thinking about how to survive, how to make all of them survive. But he'd be damned, if he could just get past the thought that Columbus was standing there, nearly dead on his feet, but alive, bags under his eyes showcasing that he probably hadn't slept a wink, but alive despite even that, returning like a little scrawny fucking puppy, he might be able to actually do something besides just stand there with his fucking mouth open gawking.
"How the fu-"
He never got to finish his sentence, Columbus finishing surveying the house and deciding he was safe, though of course he fucking was, and then the spitfuck just pushed him, Tallahassee just going with it because what the hell, hitting the wall and sliding to the floor, getting a lap full of shaking ex-college student.
That was possibly even scarier than thinking he might be a zombie, or before when Tallahassee had refused and just made himself think that they'd 'lost' him, like Buck, because this was fucking Columbus, antisocial twitchy little spitfuck who somehow became the center of their little group, who didn't break down outside of ohgodohgodwe'regonnadie, and he was sitting in his lap and shaking, head buried in his chest. Tallahassee wasn't even sure if Columbus was shaking because of emotion or because he was fucking soaked, he could already feel it spreading from the damp curls which were too long to be right but looked surprisingly good on the spitfuck, and he grabbed the hoodie from the coffee table, placing it on his shoulders in case he really was cold.
"How the hell are you alive?"
"I-I did take care of myself before you found me."
Tallahassee knew that was true, but sometimes it was hard to imagine it. Little Columbus, with all his rules that really didn't matter in the end, but somehow still kept him alive. He'd heard the story of 406, the spitfuck's first infected encounter, before the news about the virus had even spread, and how he'd taken her out with a double tap by a toilet bowl lid. Then he'd just kept on surviving until he'd found them, when he could actually start living again. When they became a dysfunctional family.
So what if Columbus' voice shook a little? Tallahassee's was almost the same, and he'd give the spitfuck a break this time around for being a pussy. It wasn't manly at all, but the end of the world had already come and gone and he was still scraping by, so fuck his manliness and machoism. None of it mattered when it came down to the four of them, surviving together day by day and loving one another in their own way, relying and trusting each other, living in a world ruled by the dead. It's not like Columbus would tell the girls that he pulled him closer, held him there, hand on a head full of curls and the other on his back, mumbling something about keeping him warm as an excuse.
For the longest time they just sat there, Tallahassee not knowing what to say and not caring, and Columbus apparently not up for talking. It took him about an hour to realize Columbus had fallen asleep, and for the briefest of moments he thought about shoving the ex-student off, before deciding against it. He didn't know how Columbus had managed to survive, what kind of horrors he had faced, and if he was what made his spitfuck feel safe again, then he'd damn well sit there and let the kid sleep for a few hours.
Tallahassee woke to a shriek, whole body jolting as he went from dreaming of Buck to awake in less than five seconds, looking at Little Rock and Wichita just standing there with matching looks of disbelief on their faces.
Columbus stirred, mumbled something, and then he actually had the gall to bury his head further into the crook of his neck, apparently planning on continuing his little nap. Tallahassee growled a little, wondering what was the best way to wake him up with as little pain as possible for the both of them, though mainly he was concerned about himself. He'd had the honor of waking the spitfuck up before and had nearly gotten a broken nose because of it, the light pat somehow being mistaken for a zombie bite. Not that he wasn't the same, sometimes, it was just no one was stupid enough to shake him awake or be close by when they woke him.
Then he remembered the girls, looking back at them to find Wichita with her arms crossed against her chest and foot tapping, and Little Rock grinning like a loon. Both girls could be scarier than any zombie, and he knew they were smart, so he couldn't decide which look he hated more. He shoved Columbus off of him, the spitfuck waking with a small yelp and looking around in panic before he realized where he was.
"Surprise?" Columbus offered, voice raspy and rough, Wichita's daze darkening.
Tallahassee decided he really needed some Advil if he was going to be in the vicinity of Wichita's bitch fit.