The next day, the incident, as Phantom had so chosen to refer to it as, went forgotten. At least, no one spoke of it. Yet Phantom had laid in bed remembering the feel of Freud's lips on his skin. Freud showed no sign of saying anything further about the incident, and so Phantom spoke nothing either. Instead, they sat together on the wood floorboards after peering out the closed blinds warily. No Rotters marred the image of the sunrise rising, over green grass with frozen dew drops gathered at the tips.
They talked in hushed voices, with Freud occasionally going upstairs to check on the little boy who still slept on, exhausted from the trauma of the previous day.
"What are we doing next?" Phantom murmured softly, unconsciously rubbing at the scabs on his neck. The house was slowly lighting up with the dawn shine, and it revealed a homely little place, with a kitchen off in the corner, and a fireplace in the living room, where they currently were. The blond sighed and curled his fingers against his temples. "What's even the point of all this traveling we're doing, Freud? What are we trying to find?"
Phantom's eyes fixed on a clock up on the wall, and the ticking which he had tuned out seeped back into his ears. "We have a child to look after, now..."
Freud's voice was solemn when he finally spoke. "A cure. No, not a cure... The cure."
"What are you even talking about?" Phantom sighed wearily. "There is no cure."
"You don't know that. I could- the scientists. I could pick up their research! If I could just remember where the lab was..."
"Don't you get it?!" Phantom stood furiously. He couldn't take this. He had given up all hope of this sick disease ever being cured. Humanity was over and gone, and so was his hope. And Freud was fucking...! "They're dead. Gone. And so is any hope that they found anything. And you don't even know where the lab is?"
Freud almost seemed to flinch, but he just stared at Phantom. And just as suddenly as it had come on, the man's rage disappeared. He sighed and looked away, anywhere but at Freud, because he knew that that had been a low blow. "Sorry."
The quaint little kitchen was suddenly very interesting, with its light brown cabinets that had golden knobs, and pale yellow hotpads that hung from them. Whoever had lived here was very color coördinated.
Just then, little Evan stumbled down from upstairs, rubbing his eyes blearily with his clenched fists. He yawned and stared at Phantom and Freud.
"Where's Mom?" He asked, voice fuzzy with sleep. "I had a nightmare. I need Mom," He blinked up at the two of them, batting his blue eyes. "But don't tell Utah. He'll tease me."
Phantom felt his chest clench. He exchanged a glance with Freud.
"You're Mom and Dad's friends, right?"
The blond fumbled for words. But before he could speak, Freud spoke for him, voice resigned.
"It wasn't just a nightmare."
This time, real fear crept its way into Evan's voice. "You're lying."
"I'm sorry."
It was around noon when the three got back into the Lumiere. They had had a meager breakfast of the remains of a scavenged box of cereal from the cupboards of the house, although a very shocked Evan had barely eaten.
For the first time since that morning, Evan spoke.
"Mom and Dad and Utah can't be dead."
The little boy was looking up at Phantom, eyes wet as he gnawed his lip. His voice was far too quiet, far too reserved for an excitable kid. "We- Can we go back? Please? I need my stuffie."
"Stuffie?" Phantom raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah! It's a little dragon. His name is Mir and we're best buddies." A watery grin. Phantom hated kids, but maybe this time he could make an exception.
"We need to go back anyways," Freud stated absentmindedly. "To check if there are any other survivors. Maybe this 'Utah' is still alive."
Phantom dreaded what they would find at the house.
"You should stay behind and watch over Evan."
"What? No!" Phantom immediately protested.
"You have a gunshot wound, Phantom. Don't be stubborn. Besides, I'd rather not put him in danger."
Phantom bit his lip angrily. As much as he hated it- oh, he so hated it, he had to admit that Freud was right. If not for his own sake, then for Evan's.
"Come back safely."
Freud nodded, coming around to the passenger side to open the door and lean in quickly, giving the startled, amethyst-eyed man a hug. "If I'm not back soon, take Evan and go."
Phantom swallowed hard, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Evan sitting in the back seat. Freud didn't wait for an answer before going in.
An awkward silence hung in the air after the front door shut behind Freud. At least, awkward for Phantom. He had no idea what to say to Evan.
So instead, he spent the passing time checking himself out in the mirror and fixing his hair.
The door shut behind Freud with an ominous thud. He looked around warily, flick knife at the ready and gripped tightly in his hand. He moved quickly but silently.
The kitchen was empty of any people... Or Rotters. There was broken glass littering the white and black checkered floor. Freud quickly moved on to the hallway, which was lined with several doors.
A thump. A shuffle. Freud frowned.
That hadn't been him.
Freud inched forward, placing his back against the door to the room the noise had come from. In one quick movement, he opened the door and swung his knife forward.
It plunged into an arm. The foul thing screeched at him, an inhuman noise, before grabbing his wrist roughly. He hissed in pain, unwillingly letting go of the knife, which, having not gone very deep, fell to the floor with a clatter.
Struggling, Freud was backed against the wall, staring into the ugly face of the Rotter hanging on to his arm. It was a woman, with several strands of brown hair left. Her... Its face was discolored and peeling.
The realisation that this used to be Evan's mother hit Freud like a brick, nearly causing him to stop struggling.
In that moment, it surged forwards, wrapping its skeletal hand around his throat and lifting him to the wall. His fingers scrabbled desperately to fight the hand away.
He couldn't breathe...!
Spots of darkness began to creep into Freud's vision, and his fighting grew weaker and weaker.
"Phantom!" He cried out hoarsely.
It had been far too long already. Where was Freud?
Looking back at Evan one more time, Phantom sighed.
"...Look, Evan, I need to go find Freud, okay? Whatever you do, don't get out of the car unless you need to run."
Evan nodded, eyes wide, as Phantom reached back to comfortingly touch his small knee. The blond got out of the car and ran to the house.
In moments, despite the pain in his shoulder from exertion, he was inside the house.
"Freud?" He called out.
And that was when he heard it.
"Phantom!"
Phantom raced towards the room he had heard the breathless shout coming from. The door was open.
Freud was being choked.
Freud's flick knife was on the floor. In one quick movement, he grabbed it and stabbed it into the Rotter's neck, forcing it off of Freud.
The redhead gasped for breath, on his hands and knees on the floor. His face was red and his eyes were unfocused.
"I told you... To stay... In the car," Freud huffed out.
"Well, you can thank your lucky ass that I didn't."
Phantom helped Freud up. Together, the two checked the rest of the house. They found nothing. Evan's father and brother, now Rotters, must have made distance from the place. They began walking towards the door.
"Wait," Phantom hesitated. He quickly made his way up the stairs to Evan's old bedroom. He wrinkled his nose and ignored the dead body of the Rotter to instead rifle through Evan's drawers.
Aha!
A small blue stuffed plushie of a dragon. On the tag on its butt, in sloppy, child's handwriting, was written 'Mir'.
Phantom smiled triumphantly, heading back downstairs to show Freud his prize. Phantom and Freud looked at each other. "Thank you," Freud said softly.
"Any time."