Chapter Text
Dream had never been fond of traveling to towns.
They were always contaminated and coated with gore, oozing on the crumbling roadways like dug-up graveyards full of bones. Corpses and their wretched, broken brains laid limp on sidewalks and shattered windows, and no matter how adapted Dream thought he was to it, his head would always start to pound after inhaling so much of the smells.
Dream was constantly bothered by the stillness, which worried him because he generally appreciated it. Silence offered him great comfort, and he soaked it up whenever he could. However, in towns, things were different. It wasn't a good experience. It wasn't a peaceful experience. It served as a reminder of how things used to be.
Dream wasn't frail, but he fractured easily when it came to nostalgia.
He preferred to collect supplies from solitary dwellings or tiny petrol stations that had been evacuated long ago. Cities attracted trouble, and most were strewn with concealed zombies that loved to jump out and strike when you let your guard down. It was frustrating. Possibly hazardous, but Dream wouldn't see a couple of zombies as a threat.
Most stores had been deserted, and if they did have supplies, it was probable that other people were camping out elsewhere; rouge gangs were more of a danger than the crawlers.
Gangs were not mindless, ravenous vultures. They were intelligent, hungry sharks that wouldn't spare a single soul. Dream couldn't count the number of times his belongings had been snatched from him when he was still a child. Back at the start, if you were a child, you were an easy target, and Dream could do little to stop it.
That, thankfully, no longer occurred. Dream had fewer run-ins with gangs as time went on. He hadn’t seen many people at all, now that he was thinking about it. He probably should have been interested in that, perhaps worried, but he couldn’t find a bit of him that truly cared. Perhaps, as the years of the apocalypse passed, more people began to forget how to fight.
Perhaps others were starting to think like him.
Dream pushed his way into the small convenience store, his gloved fingers flowing among the shelves, dust gathering on the fabric. It was one of the town's numerous abandoned structures, sandwiched between an ancient bookshop and a caved-in pet store. The fresh flakes of ash floated down and glittered in the murky fluorescences that hung overhead, ready to fall and collapse at any time.
He saw no zombies. Dream gritted his teeth.
Fewer zombies meant fewer supplies, and fewer supplies meant lost time. The zombie population was in the single digits. Dream initially entered the town, and a few stragglers wandered the streets.
But that was all.
Now he was left with a decaying group of the dead laying across the tile.
A few rotted behind counters, while others sat still in the rows of aisles Dream went through. Only a few had the energy to thrash a limb or two at him, but most just stared at him with cold, empty eyes. Dream put as many as he could out of their misery, quick with his movements, not sparing a second to linger.
Even if the environment was desolate, staying in one place for too long constituted a death wish.
Zombies always found civilizations.
They could smell them like the bloodthirsty misquotes they were. Any hint of life would raise the alert, and hordes would slowly but steadily slog in.
Dream had witnessed it several times in previous compounds. Humanity was foolish at first, assuming that they could settle in large quantities in communities with no walls or fortifications to defend them.
They always ended up wiped out.
Always.
He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a familiar groan from one of the back rooms behind the counter.
The corpse was sitting in the corner of the room, its head wobbling as it looked around, bewildered. Its uniform was ragged, and it was already painfully decomposed, with bits of its skull visible. They were also young, as evidenced by their tiny cranium, slender limbs, and diminutive height. A teenager, most likely, just trying to make ends meet and save for education.
College. What a ridiculous idea today.
Dream couldn't take the thought of letting the poor kid suffer much longer. With the outfit and location as some sort of twisted proof, Dream guessed they were one of the first. He approached them, and they raised their head to peer at him. The worst part was that it didn't even try to get up. Their legs were too injured to move, and their groans were ineffective. They sounded like a wounded animal, little and crushed on the inside.
Dream crouched in front of them and saw they were wearing a name tag. The undead still didn't attack him. Instead, they leaned back and rested their head against the wall, as if embracing what was to come. Dream leaned forward and delicately took the name tag off. His knuckles brushed their jaw ever so gently, and Dream waited for just a moment.
The zombie did not move towards him.
Dream reluctantly pulled his hand away.
He lifted the piece of plastic to his eyes, squinting. The label itself was hard to make out, but Dream could guess.
“Victoria, huh?” He asked, his voice soft.
The zombie didn’t respond. They did tilt their head.
Recognition.
Dream’s heart sank.
They were still in there, as the firsts usually were.
"Pretty name," He whispered, and he pulled out his knife. He looked them in the eyes one final time, and Dream swore he saw relief. The zombie sighed. Dream's jaw locked. "May you find peace." He stabbed the zombie in the forehead and watched as it went limp and collapsed against the wall.
Dream stood there waiting, lowering his head and rising to his feet.
That move would have raised a few eyebrows at the onset of the outbreak. People were sympathetic and connected during the time, but they were also harsh. People saw no use in treating zombies with such respect, especially after family members and friends had been slaughtered by them. Hell, Dream shared a similar sentiment when he was still a kid. But now, as his gaze drifted back to how small the teen’s hands had been, he knew better.
The zombies had been people too— people who had lost everything. Dream lost many people to them. He hated them as much as the next survivor, but he also knew it wasn’t their fault. They were suffering just as much as Dream, and the others were. He saw no point in fear or resentment. He hadn’t felt fear of the creatures in a long time.
Dream could still recall watching the news with his mother. The terror he felt at that moment was something extraordinary. The way his heart stopped and his gut swirled would forever be etched into his memories. At the time, he was a lanky, young-faced fourteen-year-old who could barely keep standing as the news declared the nation dead.
Now, he was twenty-two- just recently turned- with the apocalypse still around every corner. The horror just wasn’t there anymore, but that was relatively normal. Being alive these days means you've seen bad shit, and you go through bad shit, and it isn't much you can do about it. You just have to adapt.
He supposed it was sad, bleak, but it was just how it was now. This included it.
It didn’t make it any less hard, though.
He carved the name on the wall, adding a sloppy ‘RIP’ under it. Some survivors could take it as mocking, but Dream knew most would understand. Graves weren’t really a thing anymore. It was the best he could do.
Shortly after, Dream exited the shop with nothing worth commenting on. All he managed to snag was an old sheet hidden in the back room. He saw some cans of food stuffed in the back of an overgrown shelf, but he knew that during the ten years they had been sitting and rotting in their little metal case. They weren’t even worth taking. Dream was glad for a blanket now, even if it was dirty as shit and torn at the corners. He shoved his new stock into his bag.
The sun cast down, and Dream stopped, just for a second, to watch it. He wondered briefly if it was worth it. Was the murder worth it? Was it truly worth walking around the nation aimlessly along forever, alone and borderline emotionless? He didn’t think so. It was like being a zombie-- living like that. He fiddled with his knife. His fingers brushed along the dull end of the blade.
Then he heard rustling from behind him.
He whipped around, eyeing his surroundings. He was in the open, easy to ambush or shoot. He swore to himself. He couldn’t see any sign of life, but he didn’t doubt that there was something— maybe even hiding from him.
Meaning the enemy was alive.
A part of him beamed in excitement. He hadn’t seen another human in ages, even if most were now annoying and horrid. Talking to yourself or just walking in silence could be difficult to deal with— even if it was a part of the new life Dream had been forced into.
It was a lonely life. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a real conversation with someone, no talk about rations or feuds— just an insignificant discussion between two trusting individuals. Even then, with all the hope gaining in his chest, he stomped out the feelings before they got too intense. People weren’t kind anymore. They couldn’t be trusted.
He hardened his expression into a snarling glare rather than a hopeful gaze. He couldn’t see it, but he was sure it was terrifying.
He stalked towards one of the line cars, keeping his distance from it, just in case someone was under it holding a knife. He couldn’t afford to be immobile, not when he had to fight.
“I know you’re there.” He called. “If you come out now, I won’t kill you.”
Silence greeted him.
He felt the slightest bit of embarrassment color his cheeks. Maybe he misheard it. Perhaps he was finally going crazy. However, just as he was getting ready to turn away, he spotted a hint of color from behind one of the cars farther down the street. A person.
He was right.
He tried to play it cool, moving forward as if he was leaving, inching ever so closer to the car. He stood next to it, keeping his face neutral. “Damn,” he muttered. “I’m going nuts.” He hid his smirk with a twist, keeping his head focused in the other direction. If he pretended he was thinking about something, unprepared, maybe his opponent would try to move behind another car. He saw it possible for them to leap out and charge him as well, but he was ready for that. He was prepared for anything they hurled at him.
As soon as he heard movement again, he swiveled, hopping on top of the hood of the car. From there, he saw a figure flinch before he descended upon them, tackling them to the ground and pinning their arms down with one scarred hand as they screamed. He heard a thump and a grunt, and he assumed they hit their head on the curb a bit. If they messed around too much, Dream could use that to his advantage. He fought a cruel smile.
Before he took a good look at them, he pressed his switchblade to their throat, careful not to cut them just yet, and then finally, he looked down.
He was met with wide, pale blue eyes.
Young, blue eyes.
Dream’s blood ran cold.
Below him was a boy, terribly childish in the face, with panic painted across his features. His golden, literally golden, hair sprawled out from under him, while some loose strands stuck to his face along with the dirt and ash that sprinkled his cheeks and smeared his forehead. He was littered with fresh scratches, dried blood smudged across his tattered red and white shirt. He was tiny from under Dream’s grip. Dream couldn’t even believe how small his wrists felt from under his palms. He looked to be around twelve, maybe thirteen if Dream was being generous.
He was just a child. Dream had a literal child in his clutches.
If Dream thought people were a rarity, then children were a needle in a haystack. The last time he’d seen a kid was back in the early days when he was considered one as well. Compounds had been popular back then, and Dream still remembered playing with the small, scarce group of youngsters in the first before it was infiltrated. They were sweet kids. He couldn’t remember the names for the life of him. He did remember the way their faces melted and stuck to the pavement as the fire roared through the town, their blood becoming fuel while their skin became slime.
He never played with the other children in compounds after that, terrified of what he saw that day. They always ended up destroyed or corrupted anyways, and with each new one, the population of children became less and less. When he turned sixteen and stopped looking for compounds altogether, sure, he ran into the occasional older teenager who thought they were stronger than they actually were, but never preteens.
He hadn’t seen youth in so long. The boy’s skin was covered in scars, but it was still smooth. His eyes were still big and shiny. He was still a boy. A boy— like he had been. Tiny, innocent, and frightened.
But.
Dream wasn’t going to underestimate him.
The kid was obviously alone, and for him to still be alive after all this time, he had to have the skills. The kid was practically born into this hell, meaning he knew the world and its gears like the back of his hand. The only thing Dream did was lighten his pressure with the knife.
“Trying to kill me, were you? ” Dream asked, his voice calm but laced with malice, and the kid’s eyes expanded even more.
“No!” He coughed out.
It was the first thing Dream had heard in so, so long. If he hadn’t lost touch with his emotions long ago, he might’ve shed a couple of tears. The child had a British accent. It almost made Dream raise an eyebrow. He didn’t know how a boy obviously not from America was there, but Dream decided it wasn’t important. Perhaps the kid was just weird.
“- I wasn’t! I swear I wasn’t!”
“Then you were trying to steal from me? Thought you could pull a fast one?”
“I-I…” the kid hesitated. Bingo. It wasn’t too hard to guess. The kid was skinny as all hell. “I was just trying to get supplies. I thought the town was empty! I didn’t know you were here too!”
Dream studied him a bit more. He was shaking. Bad. Dream felt a little sorry for him. He was also yelling. A lot. Dream was starting to wonder if he was trying to attract the zombies towards them. Surely he wasn’t that much of an idiot.
He wasn’t going to kill him. That much was decided. Dream had done plenty of fucked up things. Many would consider him a horrible person, but he wasn’t a monster. He didn’t think he even had it in him to kill a child. Scaring him wasn’t too out of line, though. The kid needed to be taught a lesson.
The lesson being: learn to hide better.
He was way too vociferous for someone who grew up on his own. Dream could tell immediately that his solo trek was a recent thing— and he was horrible at it. He was lucky he ran into Dream. Otherwise, he’d already had a bullet through his head from other survivors who lost their kindness long ago.
“Please,” the boy spoke again, bringing Dream back. Fat tears streamed down the boy's face, shining those blue eyes of his. “I don’t have anything of use…I-I don’t want to die. Please. Please don’t kill me.”
Dream frowned. Now the kid was just annoying him. “Quit crying. It isn’t a good look.” The boy’s eyebrows screwed down as he opened his mouth a bit in confusion. Dream didn’t wait to hear whatever he had to say. He sat up, keeping the kid's wrist in a tight grip. The boy gawked with wordless terror as Dream forced him to sit up, eyes trained on Dream’s blade. To calm the boy, he shoved the dagger back into his pocket.
The kid looked more terrified.
Dream stood to his feet, dragging the kid up by the front of his shirt. He dusted him off with his free hand. At last, Dream released the boy’s wrists, and the kid yanked them to his chest, cradling them close like Dream almost cut them off. Dream gave him a look.
Was he really that scary?
He already knew the answer.
Yes, he knew it was a stupid question.
The kid stared at him carefully, like at any moment, Dream would pounce. As they stood, the child’s size difference was even more obvious. He was up to Dream’s forearm. He was slender, and his bones were clear to see. His clothing was loose on him, and his face still contained minor amounts of baby fat. He carried a backpack, but it looked deflated from lack of items. The kid’s jaw was tense, and his fists balled up. Dream saw a small bat slung in the backpack, a fitting choice, and one of the kid’s hands twitched.
Dream sighed. He was not going to fight a kid. He was better than that.
He turned away and rounded the car hood, moving along his original path, headed to the next store over. Dream expected to hear the kid running away from behind him, maybe no sounds at all. What he actually heard stunned him.
“Wait— wait, that’s it?”
Dream wavered. He peeked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. The kid was following him. He had no weapon in his hands, and he approached fully vulnerable and trusting— making Dream stare, baffled. The kid stopped right in front of him.
“What?” Dream asked blankly because what else was there to say?
“You aren’t gonna kill me? No cool threats? You aren’t even going to search me for items? Really? Nothing?”
“Do you…want me to do those things?”
“No! Of course not.” The kid rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But usually people try killing me.”
Dream has never been more confused in his life. First, the kid was crying buckets, and now, he was angry at him for not…threatening him more? What the fuck? The kid was either the stupidest person alive or insane. Maybe both.
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re just a child.”
“So if I was an adult, you’d kill me?”
Dream stared. His eye twitched. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, turning away once more. He sped up his pace, sadly hearing a pair of modest footsteps trailing him. The boy was ever-persistent, it seemed, and Dream held his tongue, afraid of snapping and restoring to threats.
“You’re weird.” Blue eyes trailed him up and down. He could feel it, even with his back turned. “I totally expected you to not give a damn about me crying. Honestly, I was excited. Haven’t fought for a long while.”
“You shouldn’t be fighting. You’re a kid.”
The kid snorted. “I don’t know if you know this, pal, but we’re kinda livin’ in a world-ending scenario. Sorry, you got the message so late.”
Dream took back everything he was feeling about talking to a new person. “Why are you following me?”
“I’m bored, and you look like a pretty interesting fellow. Plus, I haven’t had a real conversation in ages! So if you could put in a little more effort instead of being all closed off and shit, it would be much appreciated.”
Dream stopped. He glared at the kid. “ You were literally just trying to steal from me.”
“As you said before, I am just a humble little boy. I need to eat, my good friend! Surely you understand that.”
Dream sighed, irritation creeping in. He was getting reminded of why he stopped talking to other survivors. “Listen, kid. I got places to be. I don’t have time to sit and chat with you. Go and find scraps in the woods.”
“Well, isn’t that convenient! I have places I need to be too.” The boy sped up, practically bouncing in his step while alongside Dream. “And I think we can help each other!”
Dream sputtered. He had to keep his jaw from dropping at the utter audacity the child had to even ask that. The kid had to be going nuts from the apocalypse. He had to be. Nobody, even if they were a child, could be that nonchalant. “ I just tried to kill you!”
The kid waved his hand and took the opportunity to stand in front of Dream again. “That was so long ago! We’re in the present, now.” Then, the boy’s smile tightened. He looked up into Dream’s eyes. “Look, I hate to admit it, but I need help."
"Of course you do," Dream muttered, picking up his pace, shoving past the kid. The boy raced to keep up with him.
"Wait! Hear me out! I’m heading to a place— a place where I can be safe. I’ve been looking for it for ages now, and I haven’t been able to find it, but I know I’m close!” The boy stated firmly. “ I know you have places to go, and I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t desperate."
“Why would you need me to help you? Haven’t you been doing fine on your own?”
The kid hesitated again, wincing. “I don’t travel…alone. Never have. I’m not really an independent kinda guy. I get lost easily, and I get crazy when I’m left alone with my own thoughts.” When Dream didn’t react, the boy appeared to grow more frantic. “The place I’m going— it has loads of supplies. I’ll give you a whole bag of food and first aid shit. The good stuff too. It would be enough stuff to last you a good while. They might even have seeds.”
Dream thought this over for a minute. Stores were running low, and the idea of having literal seeds was unbelievable. He could take longer breaks- not settle, of course- and start gardens up during the winter so he wouldn’t freeze in a house while starving. He also did like the idea of having more medical equipment. Gods know he needed it with how often he found himself injured or sick. Maybe if he was feeling greedy, he could sneak a couple more bags of stuff too. The kid wouldn’t be able to stop him, and if there were other people, Dream could take care of it.
He glanced over at the boy. He looked…really desperate. The kid obviously was lost and couldn’t read the dilapidated road signs. Nor did he have a compass in his sack-like Dream did, despite it being on its last leg. He had no food, no guns. He was completely helpless. Dream was startled to find himself feeling a sense of sadness at that. Though, he understood it. The kid was young, and he shouldn’t be deserted like this in the first place.
And Dream didn't really have anything better to do besides wander until his legs eventually gave out. Maybe this could be a thing to do before then.
He threw his head back in a dramatic sigh, stopping short. “What’s your name, kid?”
The kid’s lips lifted into the biggest smile Dream had ever seen. The boy thought for a moment, eyes filled with caution, before reaching out his hand. “Theseus, and you?”
Dream didn’t question the bizarre, fancy-ass name. He took the boy's tiny hand in his, giving it a gentle shake. “Dream. Where are you headed to, exactly?”
Theseus took a breath. “L’manberg.”
“Bless you.”
Theseus gave him an indignant look. “ It’s a name, dickhead! It’s just too cool for you to understand.”
Dream rolled his eyes, choosing not to push that topic any further. He didn’t need the boy to go off on him. “What is it, then?”
“A safe haven. A place where no one can get hurt. No zombies can reach it. It’s…a place of normalcy.”
“So it’s a compound?”
Theseus scowled at him. He shook his head. “Fuck, no. It’s way better than a stupid ass compound.”
“Right. Have you ever seen this place?”
Theseus halted, eyes focused on the ground. He laughed, though it sounded strained. Dream groaned. “You haven’t seen it.”
“I know it’s real!” Theseus yelled. “I’ve heard talk of it before. In other compounds and groups. People have seen it and said the same thing. It’s safe.”
“Then why has nobody stayed?”
“Because some people don’t like to settle down. I would think you’d know this, considering you are apparently a traveling genius.”
“You are unbelievably rude.”
“And you ask so many useless damn questions,” Theseus shot back. “Let me ask one, please.” He cleared his throat. “Do you know the state we’re in right now?”
“Florida," Dream answered instantly. "I don’t know the city name, but I do know we’re here. “
The boy’s eyes lit up. “That means I’m close! Only a couple of days away! I didn’t think I was that close! Holy shit!” Theseus pumped his arms in the air and whooped. Dream slammed his head on his mouth, instantly tensing as he looked around for any sign of zombies. Theseus did too.
Luckily, after a couple of tense seconds, Dream let go with a sigh. He pressed his pointer finger against the boy’s chest. “ If you put me in any life-threatening situations, I am leaving you on the side of the road.”
“Promise it won’t happen, big D.”
Dream faltered. “Oh gods, do not call me that.”
The child grinned at him, seeming to not have heard a single word. “ Alright, big D, do you know the way to Virginia?”