The crisp morning air is rather dry today, but it's still somewhat refreshing compared to the warm air inside as Tommy sticks his head out the window.

Everything is dull at this hour, when the sun doesn't shine super bright and it almost looks like somebody took a grey brush with a little bit of opacity and painted over everything because although it's not completely white and black out here, it's a little grey for sure.

He hears the sound of wind somewhere off in the distance but he can't feel it. The air is unmoving where he is, unlike his eyes that rake the whole city, every wrecked building and crashed car, for anything. Well, not just for anything, but for something.

It is silent, just him and his searching eyes. So silent even that he jumps when he hears the slight turning of a doorknob, his previous observations of Wilbur and Quackity still being asleep making him near startled as he spins around.

There, Wilbur looms just barely by the table as Tommy regains himself and focuses on the man before him.

"Hello," He says calmly, eyes glancing past Wilbur's shoulder towards the bedroom door. "I thought you were asleep." He adds a chuckle at the end, but it's not strong or anything close, leaving it to die in the new silence as Wilbur's eyes scan over the kitchen counters and finally return to meet Tommy's blue ones.

"Quackity still is," Wilbur says with a mumble, moving past Tommy to rummage through the shelves as the younger walks back over to the window, hands on the ledge as he glances out one last time.

"So," He stalls for a moment, sparing one quick glance over at Wilbur. "How'd you sleep?"

Wilbur whips his head around, eyes falling to Tommy's hands before he waves a dismissive hand. "Leave the window open, fresh air." With that he closes a cabinet, a can in his hand as he walks over and places it on a counter. Sighing, he looks up at Tommy and shrugs. "And I slept alright."

It's cut short and Tommy is left to simply nod at his words, slowly sinking into a chair to wait at the table as Wilbur grabs three soup bowls that they had conveniently found deep in the storage of these cabinets. Soon, he's prying open canned vegetables and splitting them up in the bowls and shuffling back over to the table.

He slides them onto the wooden surface and flops into his seat. "Get some greens in you, hm?" He hums, looking up at Tommy for a response who blinks down at the variety of vegetables before nodding.

"Oh yeah." He nods, grabbing a bowl. "Finally something other than cereal," He says brightly with a small smile before taking a bite.

Wilbur mimics his actions and the room falls silent as they eat, Tommy only sparing a small "thank you" for Wilbur grabbing the food.

Soon Quackity tumbles into his chair with a yawn, catching both of their attention beforehand with how he opened the door rather loudly, apparently using much more strength than he had intended to.

"Good morning," Wilbur says politely, his lips curling upwards so softly it's almost missed by Tommy until Wilbur is grinning at Quackity with a gradually growing glint in his eyes, almost like a newly lit fire. "This bowl has been waiting for you," he states, presenting the mixed vegetables to Quackity who takes it appreciatively.

"Well my bad, I was tired," Quackity states with a roll of his eyes and Tommy's glance shifts between the two before he blinks back down at his bowl and quietly eats as Quackity's gaze settles on Wilbur who hums with a light chuckle.

"Clearly."

Tommy swallows his food, placing his hands on the table rather loudly it's sudden and grabs both Wilbur's and Quackity's attention as they eye him curiously as he stands up. "Okay, well, I'm gonna go…" Tommy starts but slows as they toss somewhat careless looks at him and he fixes his eyes over to a certain glass jar. "Outside the front door for a bit, hang out with Shroud."

Wilbur's face only shows distaste for the spider for a short second; it's practically unnoticeable as Quackity nods. "Okay then."

With that Tommy excuses himself from the table, quickly walking over to grab Shroud and a bag and walk out the door. Then, once he's closed the door he lets himself sigh deeply as he sits down in the hallway, faint morning light pouring in through two windows.

"Hey Shroud," Tommy greets the spider, carefully setting the jar down, looking back at the door and down at the ground only to return to Shroud. He picks up the bag he brought with him. It's actually more so a purse, a dark purple one at that. It's so ridiculously purple with its gold accents but Tommy still finds himself smiling, bowing his head as he sets it to the side and quietly laughs. "Hm, should we try today, Shroud?" He asks, lips curling up slightly as bittersweetness glints in his eyes. "I think I still got a shot."

The spider, however, remains completely still as Tommy watches it expectantly. So he huffs, dismissing the indifference with a shrug. "Eh, yeah I do. At least I will have tried by the end of today, ya know?"

Once again, he doesn't mind the lack of response. Shroud is a spider after all.

So he just shuffles his feet, realizing he did not put on his shoes before he left and is instead sitting here with mismatching socks. He frowns slightly and stands up, picking up Shroud's jar and the purse. "Guess I better go get those."

Shuffling towards the door, Tommy holds the purse close to him, peeking down at Shroud and opening the door. "Guess who-"

But Tommy halts, bringing his sentence to an end as he swears to gods he sees Wilbur, standing at the side of the table and bent over as he kisses Quackity who is still seated, craning his neck upwards.

Tommy quickly sets his items down but by the time he's closing the door he hears surprised mumbles, rummaging around, and an extremley dry cough.

He spins around just to see Wilbur raise a hand to a polite wave, a tight smile on his face, "Hey Tommy."

Tommy tries not to think about it, tries to brush it off. But the pure awkwardness Wilbur emits right now as he brushes down his pants is too much, in fact, it's tremendous. So Tommy can't keep his mouth shut, pointing at the two of them. "So it's true?" He asks, throwing them both of their stilts as Quackity nervously chuckles from where he sits.

"Huh, what- like what do you mean? What's true?" He plays dumb, clearly. His mismatching eyes flicker over towards Wilbur before he realizes the mistake and looks down at his bow all in under two seconds.

Wilbur is standing there like he's in sinking sand and there's a boulder coming straight towards him, either way, he knows Tommy knows, whether Quackity pretends or not.

Tommy grins like the gremlin Wilbur thinks he is, snickering relatively loudly from across the apartment. "So it's true you guys are dating?"

Both of their eyes widen, Wilbur's face heating up as he shakes his head, "Well, hey, it's-"

"It's different than that...?" Quackity starts saying, a feeble smile on his face and his voice trails off as he glances up at Wilbur who nods weakly.

"Completely."

Tommy watches, fairly amused as they both try and sneak a glimpse at each other at the same time and instantly look away, perplexed expressions setting on the both of them. Tommy clears his throat with a fist held up to his mouth before he crosses his arms. "Well, I just think it's good that we've gotten past that, yeah?" He states, holding a hand out as Wilbur scoffs silently. Tommy pays no attention to him, instead, he shuffles around and huffs. "It's just, you know, now it won't be surprising when I ask you guys to dial down the romance that you two so shamelessly display in front of me-"

"Tommy!" Quackity scolds, whipping around his chair so fast it's a mystery how he doesn't fall off. Wilbur just stands there, stiff and silent as he slowly shakes his head, seemingly wishing Tommy's lips will zip shut.

Tommy, however, just lets out a breathy laugh with a teethy smile. "Okay, okay," He says, hands up in mock surrender. "But you guys do emit a lot of... boyfriend tension."

Wilbur's face scrunches up as Quackity playfully shakes his head even with the blush on his face. Wilbur looks away, arms crossed as he steps towards Tommy with a firm gaze. "There is no such thing," He informs, voice flat and even.

"Now there is, I've just come up with it," Tommy says pompously, then he gives a proud grin as he points at himself with his thumb. "I'm pretty well known for inventing some really cool shit. Such as my newest one, boyfriend tension."

Wilbur's face drops with a grimace and Tommy holds back any comment relating to the cartoon character Squidward as Wilbur sighs, standing up straight. "If you continue on this path, I will simply go back to not liking you."

"Wilbur," Quackity draws out, somewhat of a light chide while Tommy just laughs shortly at first, then, he fully comprehends what the taller said.

He pauses, turning to Wilbur who is walking away. "Wait, when did you not like me?" He asks, though it's clear just by going off his light airy tone and his face that he can figure that out- or that he already knows. Still, he questions Wilbur to which the man only shrugs and heads into the bedroom.

"How strange," Tommy mumbles thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he looks around, swallowing down his joking mood as his eyes land on Quackity and he strides over with a hopeful breath, "Quackity?"

The man quickly adjusts his beanie and turns to Tommy, a questioning look on his face. "What's up?"

"Well," Tommy says for a start, shuffling his feet and pressing his lips into a thin line before resuming any further, words on the tip of his tongue as his voice lilts higher, "Could we go out to scavenge again? Or just- yeah, I quite enjoy the outdoors honestly," He adds on, nodding firmly to try and assure anybody and everybody of his words.

When he's met with Quackity's unmoving expression he isn't sure what to think. But then Quackity's sighing, leaning his head to the side as he waves a hand around momentarily with a, "Why not."

Tommy doesn't have any sort of excuse for the beams of opportunity that pass through him, nor the hope that simmers in his chest and swells up as he straightens his posture with a wide grin, "Alrighty, it seems Tommy is innit to win it, boys."

Wilbur, who had seconds ago opened the door up again shakes his head with dissatisfaction. "You did not just use your last name like that."

"Oh but I did," Tommy says proudly, placing a hand on his hip with an eyebrow raised. "It works well, doesn't it?"

"No," Wilbur says dryly, "It doesn't."

That gets an offended and dramatic gasp from Tommy, the blonde eyeing Wilbur with mock hatred before he pauses, glances to the left and right, opens his mouth like he's about to say something but instead he frowns. "Quackity?" He drags out with a pout, turning away from Wilbur. "I need you to tell me how funny and clever something is."

Eventually, when Tommy gets the answer he wants and Wilbur reluctantly agrees to get ready so they can all head outside.

This time, Tommy doesn't argue against using the stairs and they're safely outside, a slight breeze sifting through their hair as Tommy surveys the area.

Then his eyes flicker with recognition, adjusting the straps of his bag and taking a much needed deep breath of fresh air. Maybe one plus of the outbreak is there's less running cars and operating factories to pollute the air and more calmness for plants to grow where before, it was far too busy for dirt to even stay solid.

Tommy clicks his tongue as he dismisses those thoughts from his head and points forward confidently. "What about this way?" He asks, turning his head to fix Wilbur and Quackity a quizzical glance full of expectance.

Wilbur hums in thought as his line of sight follows the direction Tommy is suggesting. Without much care to it, he shrugs halfheartedly. "Sure, let's go."

Quackity agrees easily, then the three of them are off, picking up random junk only to declare it as such and toss it back on the ground.

Tommy even finds a stash of mints in somebody's car, stuffing them in his purple bag with a snicker. Who cares if they were sitting here for nearly two years, he just wants something sugary. He takes the noise-canceling headphones from a seat in the back, one with a car seat belonging to someone probably around ten, and he doesn't bother thinking about the past as he slips them on, stomping around to test them out.

Which is rather dumb and a great way to attract zombies. Which Wilbur tells him with a glance towards his direction. Still, Tommy shrugs him off.

"We're fine, mate, I know this place like the back of my hand," Tommy says, ignoring the unphased look of disappointment Wilbur gives him. He laughs, placing his hands on his hips. "If we run into a zombie I can get us out of here like that," He adds with a snap of his finger, waving at Wilbur's eyeroll and turning around to sing some random song, bringing a hand up to the headphones and pretending to be in a studio recording some great next hit.

Wilbur mutters something under his breath, watching the kid with a slight shake of his head. He squints in confusion, then, turns his back towards him to explore the small corner store in front of him. It's absolutely littered with debris, broken glass and rubbish spayed across the nearly unseeable tile flooring. Wilbur surveys the shelves, mostly empty or trashed thanks to the zombies and any past survivors. So unfortunately there's not much. In their small storage room, however, he does spot some neglected packs of dried fruit, examining them to see if they're any good. Well, any good by apocalypse standards. Which basically means you won't die eating it.

He gets rather lucky, finding two whole water bottles. Clean water isn't easy to get, seeing as that's something people stocked up on in the begging of the apocalypse. Because sure, he can make a somewhat decent water filter after collecting some from a lake, but Wilbur can't lie and say he's missed some water with a bit more quality than the ones Quackity would stare at, asking if there were any worms in the water.

Of course there wasn't.

Wilbur smiles a little, that's just something he habitually does whenever he thinks about Quackity. Nobody can really blame him, Quackity's great company. So much so he makes Wilbur's face heat up just thinking about all the time they've spent together, and what more they can spend in the future. Though, he does occasionally wonder how much alone time they'll be able to manage with the loud teenager they've landed themselves with.

It's fine anyways, Tommy isn't that bad. Not that Wilbur will ever say that.

As far as Tommy can be concerned, Wilbur thinks he's an irritation that he hangs around with. Mostly unwillingly.

Speaking of which, the teen has gone terribly silent for the last couple of minutes. And Tommy's like a toddler, it's never good if they're quiet (unless it's a known fact that they're sleeping, then that's wonderful).

With this realization, Wilbur quickly shoves what he found into his bag, shuffling out of the storage room and stepping over the aftermath of an outbreak.

First, he glances both ways down the street, wondering if Tommy happens to be playing some dumb trick or game he wants to drag Wilbur into.

Hesitantly, Wilbur clears his throat and steps out into the empty road. "Tommy?"

He inhales, deciding not to start panicking now as he decides to go get Quackity- just in case. Regroup with him and search for the kid. So he starts heading to the right, eyes still darting all over the place in case he catches a glimpse of blonde and blue.

But then Wilbur feels something grip onto his coat, pulling him back into an alleyway with a surprisingly great amount of strength. He nearly lets out a yelp, but his back hits a brick wall and all that escapes his throat is a huff as the air leaves his lungs. He's about to fight back but sees Quackity standing there instead, making him a bit more relieved. That did kinda hurt though, making Wilbur forrow his brows as he attempts to stand up straighter.

"Hey, what was that f-" But Quackity just clasps a hand over his mouth, sending him a glare. Wilbur realizes this isn't the moment to be complaining about anything now, glancing around the alley in case anything would give him a clue on the exact situation they're in.

Thankfully, Quackity loosens up a bit and lets him off of the wall. "There's two zombies over here, I saw them."

Wilbur nods, Quackity's hand still on his mouth. Then, Quackity looks him up and down, pausing at something as if he's putting puzzle pieces together.

"Wait, where the hell is Tommy?"

Wilbur attempts to answer, but it's muffed, quickly dropping his sight to Quackity's hand. With a huff, Quacktiy lowers his hand, the other holding a baseball bat he stumbled upon earlier, tugging it from the hand of a corpse and passing down his small knife to Tommy when he was around.

But now he's not here, and Wilbur winces because now he has to tell Quackity. "I'm not sure," He admits, instantly recongnizing the frustration that flashes across Quackity's eyes because yes, Wilbur said he would watch him and yes, he has failed at doing so. "One second he was singing and the next-"

"Singing?"

"Yeah, he was singing, but then it stopped and I couldn't-"

"You couldn't see him? You lost him?" Quackity raises his voice only ever so slightly, trying to avoid a pair of zombies stumbling across them just because he couldn't keep it quiet and was scolding Wilbur. The taller nods, not proud at all as he slumps into the wall in defeat. Quackity groans, pressing a hand against his forehead like he's got a headache.

"You said you would watch him," Quackity mumbles.

"I know what I said, but-" Wilbur starts, quickly rethinking his words as Quackity side-eyes him expectantly. He kicks some trash to the side lightly, raising his hands as he steps towards Quackity. "He just disappeared. I'm sure we can find him though."

"Well then let's go, we're wasting our time here," Quackity says tiredly, grabbing hold of Wilbur's wrist who easily follows after him, leaning over his shoulder as his chest hits Quackity's back when he stops to peek out.

"He was over there," Wilbur whispers, pointing over to the left. "By the car."

With that Quackity nods, tense as he creeps across the street, watching as Wilbur does the same.

Curiously, Wilbur turns to Quackity with a wave of his hand. "So where were these zombies?"

Quackity's focused expression flips to an unamused frown, squinting at the vehicle ahead of him. "Just somewhere over here, so be fucking careful."

Quackity observes the car only for a moment, because then he hears a piece of plastic skid across the road, shooting upright instinctivley. Wilbur is instantly ducking behind the car, pulling Quackity down with him as his heart picks up a little.

It's been a while since he's actually encountered a zombie, making Wilbur's chest seize as a different object is seemingly thrown or kicked across the road. Wilbur thinks about peeking, looking to the left of the car and seeing what they're faced with, but then there's a not one or two, but three low grumbles that travels from the zombie's throat right down Wilbur's back sharply.

"Do we run for it?" Wilbur asks as quietly as he can manage, panicked eyes locking with Quackity's. He's about to get a response, but then Quackity bites his lip and his hands tighten their grip on his bat.

"What if it's a fast one?" Quackity hates those things deeply and there's a very good chance it could be one, last time Quackity remembered they've been popping up more frequently nowadays. Wilbur considers the possibility, holding back the urge to cuss under his breath just because he's stressed. He doesn't need the zombies hearing them.

He can basically feel the urgent look Quackity's giving him, not at all helping with the way his heart is indecisively switching from beating dangerously fast or trying to stop all together. They have to find Tommy, that's for certain. At least they know something for sure.

Quackity tries his best to be silent as he shifts towards Wilbur, leaning towards him and whispering into his ear as an assortment of zombie noises gets louder. "Can we take them down?"

Wilbur thinks about it for a moment, thinking about the time they managed to bring down three others once, leaving the fourth injured. But right as he's about to nod with a bit of uncertainty, a soda can rolls past the tires of the car, hitting the brick wall they're facing.

But it's strangely silent- once again, and Wilbur knows they've got to move as he pats Quackity's shoulder as if he doesn't already have his attention. The shorter quickly catches on, lifting his bat with a questioning look that Wilbur hates to nod to.

It's just in time to come up with a plan though, because the silence breaks with a thump on the other side of the car, forcing Wilbur to not freeze and look through the window slightly and sure enough a zombie stands on the other side, trying to get into the car.

It turns to the left and Wibur's eyes widen with the realization it's coming around, the walking corpse figuring out they're outside of the vehicle. He stands up, no more reason for hiding, and pulls out his knife as the zombie groans at the sight of him.

Wilbur is used to the ugly appearance that all the zombies adorn, but it's still gross enough to make his nose wrinkle at the sight of it's misplaced jaw and uneven eyes.

When the zombie swipes at him with it's dirty hand, he is also hit with a wall of rotting scents, a vast variety of things, majority probably being dead things like somebody who once was living or a unlucky animal that somehow managed to last that long.

It's really gross, but the zombie is also dangerous, so he makes sure to dodge, knees bending, before he aims to topple it over. But when he lifts off, his footings a little off, and he quickly grabs at the closest thing.

It's the zombie's arm, of course, and Wilbur has less than a full two seconds to register the way he's still tumbling, and the zombie is practically crying.

Oh fuck, he's just snatched it's arm, the whole thing in it's decaying glory.

That, however, is good news. Sure a zombie is already dead, technically. But this thing is brittle, it's dying.

So really this undead monster just exists as a bump in the road, not a whole ass ditch.

Wilbur catches himself before he even actually falls, a hand held out infront of him as he blows out some air, hair messy, and straightens himself out to land a kick to the zombie's stomach.

As predicted, the zombie doesn't have much of anything to help itself, and goes stumbling backwards, giving time for Wilbur to look over and check on Quackity.

It's nearly cinematic, definitely badass, as Wilbur watches Quackity ruthlessly swing his bat with all of his force right at a zombie's ugly head.

Wilbur catches the short moment of surprise that flashes on Quackity's face when it splits like a watermelon, maybe even a little easier, and he puts a hand to his mouth, looking back at Wilbur.

"Thought that would be harder," He says, completely honest with a shrug.

Wilbur smiles despite the walking dead around them. "Cute."

Quackity laughs before quickly pointing. "Behind you."

Wilbur whips back around, and unfortunately the zombie has already gotten up and is currently launching itself with what little strength it has right at Wilbur in a desperate attempt to kill him.

Wilbur just goes for the neck, it's really the zombie fault for throwing itself right onto Wilbur's blade, that cuts in deep with an assortment of disgusting noises, and hits the crumbling material of what is supposed to be bone.

It's breath stinks an awful amount, clawing at Wilbur with very little success and Wilbur-

He cuts it's neck clean, arm jerking forward with panic when the zombie's hand gets too close to his face.

Wilbur squints, this group of zombies happen to be very weak and easy to kill.

Not that Wilbur's complaining, of course. In fact he is rather grateful and he legit- like seriously- smiles as the third zombie turns its head to look his way.

He hears Quackity join his side, and he glances down at him. "Why are they so... not that dangerous?"

Quackity pauses with furrowed brows before he hums. "I'm not sure," He says. "But I like it."

Wilbur doesn't fight the urge to lean down with a laugh and kiss Quackity. The zombie their audience.

When he pulls back Quackity is pink and confused and a little pissed. "We're fighting zombies right now, dude."

"Really weak zombies." Wilbur argues.

Quackity only rolls his eyes and they are about to easily squash the rodent of a zombie standing in front of them before they actually register the absolutely horrific wave of zombies approaching.

Wilbur almost wonders if he's dreaming, but then he hears rushed footsteps of somebody running and- fuck.

"Holy shit," Quackity blurts.

Good news, they found Tommy and he is alive and, to the eye, not terribly harmed.

Bad news, he's running straight towards Wilbur and Quackity with a whole ass hoard of zombies stumbling or sprinting after him.

"Fuck, Q, we gotta-" Wilbur starts, he tries telling Quackity they have to go. But his body moves quicker than his mouth and he's already turning around with urgent hands guiding Quackity with panicked force.

Tommy is getting closer, waving his hand frantically like they are far too blind to see the mass of zombies chasing after him, and he's shouting to run.

Which they do, of course, it would be dumb not to. Tommy catches up, surprisingly fast, at least Wilbur thinks so, and the teenager is panting like he's been doing this for the past hour. Wilbur only lost him a couple minutes ago.

"What the fuck, Tommy!?" Quackity's the first one to bite, gesturing behind him as the try and lose a couple zombies by taking a sharp right turn. "What did you do?"

Tommy, however, just clutches onto his personal belongings with a frightened look directed at the zombies. "There's fucking sprinters-"

"Sprinters?" Wilbur questions, eyes darting around and wondering how the hell they have fallen into this mess. One of the main things you are supposed to be in a zombie apocalypse is aware. Clearly, not a single one of them had an ounce of awareness until it's too late, landing them here. He huffs, and Tommy urges them to go left with him.

"Ya know, Sprinters," Tommy says breathlessly, glancing behind him and cursing under his breath. "The really fast guys behind us."

"Fuck, they're on our tail," Quackity states, and when Wilbur spares a daring second to look back well, yeah. Okay holy cow, yeah, they're like only two meters behind which is really awful.

Tommy's eyes light up, everyone is too busy to see it happen, but it does, and he waves a hand. "Look, we have to get to higher ground."

Wilbur takes a deep breath to steady the flow of oxygen in and out his body. Honestly this outbreak has made him ten times better at cardio then he previously was.

Still, it's just absolutely absurd when Tommy leads them into an alleyway., something they don't realize until the dead end of a brick wall is ten feet ahead of them and Quackity starts yelling at Tommy.

Then the zombie-sprinter-things appear around the corner, faces saggy but torsos skinny with dead tight skin, it's awful, Tommy says to trust him, just follow him, and Wilbur thinks he's gonna die.

He knows that the apocalypse has put him in better shape, but it's fucking ridiculous how Tommy eyes the mix of dumpsters and bins ahead and promptly proceeds to jump onto a crate, which that part yeah Wilbur can do, but then Tommy pushes himself of the crate and the wall like it's nothing and safely lands on the upside down dumpstter only to fucking summersault himself onto the roof.

"Shit, man." Quackity comments. And yeah, agreed. "Let's do this, Wilbur," He adds and well, maybe. Wilbur has to figure out how to start leaping from container to container, some mutiple feet apart, in like a second if he wants to live.

"Yes, let-" And Quackity is off and the sprinters are really living up to their name, coming right at him and Wilbur isn't sure he can do it until he feels Quackity tug harshly at his arm and drag him. Okay, guess what? He is doing it.

Getting onto the crate is easy, but it's not safe as zombies are already pooling around the bottom. One grabs at Quackity's ankle, something that makes the man jump and swing his bat like it's all too familiar. Then Wilbur hears the box creak, and realizes it's about to collapse. So he shoves down his doubts and presses the fuck it button in his head as he corrects his footing then launches himself for the dumpster, instantly looking back at Quackity who is already jumping over.

He's nearly a second late, but Wilbur realizes Quackity's jump is an inch too short, and desperately grabs for his hand and his shoulder, tugging him closer.

"Wh-" Quackity doesn't even finish, body jolting at impact, his foot hanging for only a moment before he figures out what is going on and pulls himself towards Wilbur too. "Oh. Fuck, thanks."

Wilbur sighs, and Tommy clears his throat, looking down at them with his hands at the edge of the building, peeking over, his blonde hair and purple bag hanging over. "Guys, hurry up or you're gonna die, they're building a legit fucking pile to reach you."

Wilbur glances down and oh shoot yeah they really are, zombies climbing on top of zombies and it's an awful heap of death.

"Uh, so we jump?" Wilbur asks, like an idiot, but Quackity only nods.

"Now or literally never!" Tommy shouts and Gods that isn't really helping. Wilbur swallows then, once again says screw it all as he pushes off the ground and just barely catches the roof with his hands.

It startles Tommy, despite him eagerly telling them to do just that, and as Wilbur's pulling himself up and Quackity's jumping, Tommy's bag fucking drops because for some stupid reason he was holding it with maybe an inch of effort in his grasp.

"Wait, no, no-" Tommy rushes out, Wilbur's mind spins as he quickly goes to help Quackity up, whose shoes are sliding against the brick and making it a bit more difficult. He has good arm strength, though, and the two of them are recovering a second later as Tommy leans his head down. Wilbur reaches for him, to pull him away from the edge, but Tommy just stiffens and shifts away.

"Tommy."

Tommy crouches, squinting down, and-

And fucking jumps off, the idiot. 'Be right back' might as well be his last words, quickly saying them before Wilbur and Quackity are given time to process and grab at nothing. Wilbur looks down, "Tommy what the hell are you doing?"

"My purse!" He answers, dropping onto the dumpster with a dull thud and he pulls out his knife and shoves a zombie with his shoe to it's emerging head. Wilbur groans out of frustration, out of worry, really, and spots the purple purse on a broken and discarded lamp sticking out from the mess of trash that lies between the dumpster and the now wrecked crate.

"Tommy just leave it!" Quackity tells him, waving him over but the kid pays no attention, instead, he risks his life, all for a purse, and yanks a zombie up like a dumbass. Wilbur watches, utterly confused on why he even did that, and calls him over again as the teen pushes it, like a really heavy bowling ball, and knocks over on specific psrt of the zombie pile that had been making fair progress, sending them toppling over.

Of course he uses that as the perfect opportunity to leap across and very ungracefully fall onto a tossed filing cabinet which will do absolutely nothing to stop the walking dead from getting to him.

"The hell." Wilbur furrows his brows. "Tommy get back here, now-"

"Shut it, I'm busy!" Tommy yells back, grimacing as a zombie nears him, he grabs the closest thing possibly useful- a broom- and wacks it to the ground. He then turns to the purse, just out of arm's reach, and uses the broom to tilt the lamp towards himself and finally grab it.

"Yes!" Tommy holds it to his chest, but the filing cabinet wobbles and two zombies are right at the bottom, getting up of their knees. He tightens his jaw, and Wilbur honestly thinks he's crazy for putting himself into this situation at all.

"Tommy, come on." He inches closer to the edge, and the kid shoots him one fearful look, halfway hidden with deep thought and sarcasm for Wilbur's words. He bats away the zombies with the broom, then starts pushing the filing cabinet over with it, wedging it underneath the dresser next to him.

He's about to crash himself into a dog pile of zombies, but jumps off last second onto the dumpster, luckily avoiding the needy hand that claws at him. "Okay, okay, I've got it, guys. I've got this."

But not exactly, because the zombies are shaking the dumpster with the force of them all piling up and trying to get on. Tommy stumbles, a zombie manages to latch it's hand onto his foot, and he tries to shake it off.

Wilbur tenses as Tommy goes to swat it away, doing so but at the cost of his balance with all the shaking. He's gonna fall off, and Wilbur is quickly reaching down with a hand. "Tommy! Grab on. Come on, come on."

Quackity's muttering something, sounding so incredibly stressed and he definitely is. He offers to help, to hold Wilbur and it's just in time as Tommy slips when he attempts to jump.

Wilbur grabs his wrist, torso uncomfortably leaning over the roof and Tommy's weight yanks on his arm.

"Agh!" It's a sudden jolt of pain, it burns, but Wilbur isn't about to drop Tommy who gasps with a very startled yelp when a zombie tugs his ankle harshly. Wilbur's forced closer to the edge, grunting as he tries to pull. "Fuck."

"Tommy grab his hands," Quackity says urgently, holding onto Wilbur tightly, attempting to reel him closer. "Now."

Wilbur sweats, glancing down with worried eyes, hands all clammy but determined. "Listen, Tommy, grab my hand-"

Tommy goes for it, but the zombie tugs on him again and his eyes go wide. "Wilbur!" He's still holding onto that fucking purse in his other hand, and holds it up. "Grab the purse first, take it- fuck." He cuts himself off, squirming around to shake off the needy zombie, making Wilbur's hold tighten. Tommy lifts up his hand, purse ready and Wilbur huffs but accepts it, trying to be as quick as possible about it as he tosses it back onto the roof.

"Okay, Tommy, grab my hands." He holds his hand out, the other still tightly wrapped around the teenager's wrist who squints, brows furrowed, and puts in the effort with a grunt to lift and go for his hand. He manages, nearly slips away, but clutches on like his life depends on it. It really does, so Wilbur and Quackity are instantly pulling him up.

Wilbur can see a zombie reaching for him, emerging from the hoard, on top of the others, and he watches with dread as it opens his mouth, hands closing in on Tommy's leg. "Knees up, Toms." He quickly rushes out and the blonde processes his words and obeys just in the nick of time as the zombie chomps down on nothing but air and Tommy presses his feet to the wall for leverage.

He can finally grab onto the edge and heave himself up onto the roof, elbows bent and face very unceremoniously faced to the ground as he lets out a very big and deep breath. Wilbur and Quackity do the same, Wilbur falling back to lay on the roof as Quackity wordlessly hands Tommy his purse and collapses, his torso on Wilbur's chest.

"Fuck, dude, how the hell did you get in that to begin with?" Wilbur asks, a little breathless, a little shakey. Not as much as Tommy, of course, who only has the energy to wave him off and roll over onto his back.

Quackity sits up. "At least we made it."

Tommy and Wilbur chuckle at that, mindlessly smiling and Wilbur moves to sit up too.

"So now where are we going. We can't sit ducks with all of them down there." He gestures past the edge, to where the groans and low roars of zombies carries on.

Tommy hums, then gets up with a huff, standing up and eyeing the area. "Agreed. I know where we are, though, so feel free to follow."

"After you just pulled that bullcrap?" Quackity questions, dusting off his pants and pointing accusingly. Tommy swallows with a step back. "You still haven't answered why the hell you did any of that."

"I just-"

"No, we saved your life, yknow? After you," Quackity glares at him, "Got yourself in trouble. So what was it for?"

Wilbur blinks, stomach twisting as he watches Tommy mess with the embroidery of the purple purse with unease, blue eyes darting all over the place.

"Well, you see," Tommy starts and his usual confidence is torn away, leaving him coiling in on himself as he tries to shrug it all off, and Wilbur notices the slight shake of his hands and frowns. "I had to lead them away."

"Away?" Wilbur pipes up, rising to his feet.

Tommy's gaze moves to the ground, very fixated, and lifts his shoulders with a small look back to the roads they were just running on. "I mean, yea, I can show you?"

Quackity seems to consider it only for a second before speculation takes over and hee crosses his arms with disdain. "Show what?" He prompts sharply.

Tommy's shoulders droop and he faces away. "Come on, it's this building."

"Great, what else?"

Tommy bites his cheek and grumbles, "I've been trying to get in but for some stupid reason those zombies always hung around, the whole lot of them."

Wilbur's about to ask what may be so important about this building but a single arm is thrown onto the roof and they all jump back with a quick agreement to leave the roof and that is how they end up following Tommy again like no body in the apocalypse ever learned from mistakes.

Because they're too dead to really think, the zombies are still focused on getting up there like total dumbasses when the three of them sneak off towards where Tommy was coming from.

Tommy shushes them as they peek out from behind a car a couple blocks later, zombies long gone, well, like at least fifty feet behind. The building Tommy is talking about is one of the worst-case places anyone in the apocalypse could be stuck in. This area already has a higher zombie population compared to the place where Wilbur meet Quackity, and the building looks absolutely ruined like for some reason it exists as a hot spot for the living dead to chill out and devour humans.

Wilbur really doesn't want to go inside and find out if that's true or not. The outside is all he needs for his judgement to come to the conclusion.

Still, Tommy has been trying to get inside, apparently, before Quackity and Wilbur even crossed paths with him.

And the teenager definitely doesn't look like he is about to give up now.

Tommt glances at them both, blonde hair a total mess, but his blue eyes set on his goal' whatever it may be. "You guys ready to go on?" He asks, voice only slightly above that of a whisper, and he waves. "I don't see any zombies, so I think we are good."

"Great," Wilbur mumbles and Tommy just pauses to smile.

"Indeed." He stands up. "Poggers, even."

Wilbur scrunches up his face and turns to give Quackity a look. The man is equally confused. Neither seem to know what the term poggers exactly means, but honestly maybe Tommy doesn't either. Based on context though, they just assume it's meaning and move on.

Wilbur mentally comments something about the phrases and terminology that teens have adorned this year- okay wait not this year. But before the outbreak.

However then Wilbur feels old for doing so and comes to the decision it doesn't really matter how weird or unfamiliar some of the things Tommy says may be, because the focus is to stay alive, not to judge.

Of course, Wilbur only cares about Tommy because he is another human being. It's very different from how Wilbur cared about his friends before the zombie apocalypse.

Or how he cares about Quackity, who daringly takes the first move into getting outside as he tugs on the double doors.

They are a bit stiff, a loud creak crawls out, and Quackity tugs harder and the doors just rattle.

"It's locked," Quackity says, "I think."

But honestly what does that mean nowadays, a doors a door, go through it anyway you please or find a window to break.

So when Tommy huffs with the edge of frustration that smarts on his face, it isn't some major shocker that he grabs the nearest item that has some weight to it, and breaks the slim window on the right side of the doors with a couple of hits.

"We're in." He states and Quackity ends up laughing.

"Copy that." Quackity smiles, mocking Tommy a little as he holds up his hand and two fingers to his ear. Wilbur can tell anyone the truth that Quackity does not in fact have an ear peice.

Wilbur slips in first and immediately, the horrible smell of rotten fruit and meat hits him. He gags, facing away as he attempts to wave it away even with the knowledge that it's futile. Then he sees the double doors, barricaded and blocked. There is a lot of stuff there stopping anything from getting in, yet, the simplicity of shielding the window apparently never came to mind.

"So what's the deal with the building?" Wilbur asks, rotating around as Quackity walks through, Tommy standing a meter away with a busy mind. The kid blinks at him, blue eyes scanning over the area.

Mostly everything is knocked over, tables and chairs and filing cabinets on the right side where open space lies, and torn and tossed couches and papers over on the left. The windows are sealed too. They must've been too busy with the bigger windows to get the small one right beside the main entrance.

Because of all the reinforcements in position, it's fairly dim in here and Wilbur almost misses the frown etched across Tommy"s face before it leaves and he shrugs.

"We should cover up the window." Quackity tells them, and so they spend the next five minutes doing what someone else never thought to do, leaving wooden boards and filing cabinets in the way, completed with a paper plane Tommy insists is necessary to add on if they want to stop the zombies.

Nobody belives him, but they let him anyways.

Wilbur carefully moves up the stairs between the two open spaces, leading upwairds and covered in trash and remains of seriously whatever might have once lived, it's awful.

But it's sorta something the apocalypse gives desensitization for, although not technically for free.

Wilbur isn't bothered by more then half the things he uses to be, seen things he never would have even imagined that would have left him sick for years, but that doesn't mean he is numb to absolutely everything.

Like the fucking hand still holding onto the doorknob when the reach the end of the stairs. Wilbur isn't even sure that's remotely possible. Well, maybe. How long has it been here? It is most certainly a human hand, not a zombies, which makes it worse. At least he thinks it does.

"Oh," Tommy pauses, tracing over the door and halting at the doorknob. "Oh ew. What the fuck?"

Quackity, however, is mostly unphased as he sneaks in front of Wilbur and opens the door, touching the cut off hand like maybe he has ran into something similar. Of the sorts at least.

"Come on, Tommy, you're the one who wanted to be here," Quackity says with a pointed look, making the teen stumble past Wilbur and nod lazily. "Lead the way and hurry up."

"Yes, right." Tommy salutes. "This way." He strides over in the left direction, head proudly lifted before glancing around and heading to the right. "Or this way."

Wilbur groans. Both ways are just full of doors, if Tommy happens to be looking for something in specific he should already know where the hell it it.

"You sure?"

Tommy crosses his arms and pouts at Wilbur. "Of course I am, mate, do I look unsure?"

It's not actually a question but Wilbur feels he has the right to answer anyway.

"Yes, actually," He says with a blank stare, then, grimaces slightly. "And we are not mat-"

But then a door slowly creaks and it's like the beggining of the outbreak where Wilbur felt like he was living in a horror movie every minute of the day as time slows for just a moment.

Quackity's pulling out his bat, all three of their heads turned to the right, the two adults waiting for the walking dead to pop right out and get ready to beat them.

However, Tommy just gasps as a mop of hair and sunglasses peak out, making Quackity jump.

"What the-"

"Dude!" Tommy holds his arms up, and Wilbur can't even catch his expression before it turns into a mask and-

"Who the hell is that?" Wilbur asks, worry rising up as Tommy just laughs hysterically and it's really concerning, so Wilbur inches closer to Quackity.

"Tommy?"

It's four voices that say his name all at once, but Wilbur only knows his own and Quackity's. And he also realizes that one came from right behind him.

He whips around and yelps at the shadowed and short figure standing there, only to make them jump back too with a possibly even more frightened shout.

Wilbur can hear Quackity's confusion as he mumbles something and snaps his head towards Tommy and pull him by his arm.

"Explain right the fuck-"

"They're my friends!"

Tommy holds his hands up, and Wilbur and Quackity silently look around as they try and process the current situation they have found themselves in because of Tommy.

"What?" Quackity blurts.

"They are my friends," Tommy says with a sigh, pulling his hand back and gesturing to the tall lanky figure that has now fully entered the hallway, lifting their glasses, and over to the much shorter one with a wave. "I knew them before the apocalypse and we got split up so I tracked them here but there was always too many zombies but-"

"Oh my fucking god." Quackity interrupts and Tommy just spares him a nervous laugh.

"But now there isn't and, yeah."

"Who are you?" Something pokes Quackity and he shoots back with a look.

"I could ask you the same," Quackity says hesitantly, shoulders raised as he looks over the shorter figure. A boy, they can see now, with brown hair that reaches his eyebrows and a curious glance, lips pursed downwards.

"I'm Tubbo." He holds a gloved hand out. "Tommy's friend since like, the sixth grade."

"Nice." Quackity comments plainly and steps away as Wilbur blinks.

"So then who is the tall one?" He asks, pointing over towards the one who is currently tiptoeing over.

"Uh." He stops, looking up at them and waving weakly. "I'm Ranboo."

"Yea you are, good sir." Tommy grins.

"I'm also Tommy's friend. And Tubbo's." He points.

Tommy nods, then between the confused and lost glances Wilbur and Quackity are giving each other, he whips around with all the confidence in the world.

"So they'll stay with us now." He beams, hands on his hips as Quackity's face is nearly drained from all color and Wilbur frowns with exhaustion.

"We just met them." Wilbur tells him and Tommy laughs.

"They're staying with us."

"I'm gonna die." Quackity mumbles.

"And they're staying with us," Tommy repeats.

Wilbur and Quackity turn to each other, a slow acceptance sadly comimg upon them. Fate sure is cruel, isn't it?

"Fine. Whatever."