Chapter Text
Before all this started, Porsche had dreamed of opening his own bar—a cozy haven where his little brother could sing on a small stage, strumming his guitar, while familiar patrons filled the space like an extended family. He had imagined knowing each of their lives intimately, their problems and joys shared over drinks. Every extra hour he worked, every penny he saved, had been for that dream. And for Chay—to send him to university so he could become whatever he wanted.
But now, as he brought the axe down on the head of an eerie-looking walker, he wondered what the point of all that effort had been. Chay was currently hidden in a nearby motel they had cleared earlier that day, waiting for him to return with supplies so they could snatch a few precious hours of sleep.
Sleep. A luxury he hadn’t allowed himself since it all began. Every time he closed his eyes for too long, he imagined waking up to find Chay gone—ripped apart, just like Yok had been. The paranoia clung to him like a second skin.
With a grunt, he shoved the walker to his left just as it lunged. His axe was still lodged in the first one's skull, so he abandoned it, reaching instead for his kukri knife—the same lucky blade Chay had salvaged for him nine months ago. It had never let him down, and as he plunged it into the attacker's head, he was confident it wouldn't fail him today. He had to get back to Chay. His brother hated being left alone, but Porsche couldn’t risk exposing him. They had encountered too many sick people since this nightmare began.
Chay had only been sixteen when the world collapsed. Malnourishment had stunted his growth, leaving him looking more like an adolescent than a twenty-year-old. His delicate features made him a target, and Porsche had seen firsthand what some survivors were willing to do to people who looked vulnerable.
During one particularly harrowing incident, a settlement leader had become too infatuated with Porsche. Chay, trying to protect him, had suffered a brain injury. They had managed to save him, but the damage was permanent. Chay had developed social-emotional agnosia—an inability to recognize social cues or lie, a devastating handicap in a world where deception was often the key to survival. Since then, they had avoided both the living and the dead. Porsche had tried to train Chay, to teach him when to stay silent, but it was an uphill battle. Assimilation into any group had proven impossible. Now, they were at the end of their rope.
The walker to his right lunged, and Porsche grabbed its collar, driving his knife deep into its skull. As the body slumped to the ground, he heard it—
A car engine.
Shit.
His pulse spiked. He had gotten careless. His slip-up could cost them everything. Instinctively, he moved toward cover, but a voice rang out.
"Stop right there, or I'll shoot you."
Porsche froze, turning slowly. It had been four years since the world fell apart and two since he last saw a functional gun with ammo. Thailand hadn't been flooded with firearms before the outbreak, which was why the undead outnumbered the living so quickly.
"Hands up."
He complied as a car rolled to a stop in front of him. Two men stepped out. One had shoulder-length black hair, sharp eyes scanning him with an assessing gaze. The other, a man with shaggy brown hair, looked cleaner and more put together than anyone Porsche had seen in years. They didn't just look like survivors—they looked stable, like they belonged to something bigger than a wandering band of scavengers.
"What's your name?" the long-haired man asked, his voice cool, measured.
Porsche pursed his lips. Did his name even matter anymore? He and Chay had no affiliations, no ties. The last community they had been a part of fell two years ago. Still, after a pause, he decided on the truth.
"Porsche."
The man narrowed his eyes. "Are you alone, Porsche?"
That, he wasn’t willing to disclose. Instead of lying, he simply remained silent.
"We have a settlement," the shaggy-haired man suddenly spoke, his expression far too cheerful for someone in this hellscape. "It’s secure. We have food, shelter, and protection for anyone willing to pull their weight."
Porsche raised a skeptical brow. That was the easiest offer he had ever gotten. Most groups demanded something first, held people at gunpoint before even considering them. It sounded too good to be true.
"I’m going to ask you three questions," the long-haired man continued. Porsche found it amusing how the guy kept demanding answers without offering his own name. He nodded.
"How many zombies have you killed?"
"Too many to count." It was the truth. But he knew Chay could give an exact number. The last time they had talked about it—"Somewhere in the low five hundreds."
The shaggy-haired man gaped at him. The long-haired one, whom Porsche mentally dubbed ‘Loki,’ scoffed. "Bullshit."
Porsche shrugged. He wasn’t here to convince them.
Shaggy—Porsche decided to call him that—hesitated before asking, "How many humans have you killed?"
"Seven," Porsche answered coldly. The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Both men tensed.
"Why?" Shaggy pressed.
Porsche met their gazes, unflinching. "Two separate incidents. The first four tried to rape my little brother." He ignored Shaggy’s wince and Loki’s clenched jaw. "The last three were part of a group that imprisoned us. One raped me. The other two caused my brother’s brain injury."
Loki’s expression darkened. Was he angry at Porsche? Or for him? Hard to tell. Shaggy, on the other hand, looked heartbroken, like he was about to cry. Porsche almost scoffed. How had someone this soft survived when someone as ruthless as Yok hadn’t?
But he had long since stopped questioning fate.
"I’m sorry," Shaggy said, voice heavy with sincerity. He stepped forward, cautiously, as if afraid Porsche would bolt. "M' name 's Ken." He flashed a charming smile that caught Porsche off guard. "The ball of rage behind me is Big."
Loki—Big—scoffed, looking away. "Would you like to come with us?" Ken asked, his tone almost inviting.
"Ken!" Big growled. "You can’t just decide that!"
"Sure I can't," Ken grinned sweetly at him, making Big falter. "Tha’s up ta’ Boss. K'Kinn makes ta' final decision, like 'always."
Big scowled but turned back to Porsche. "Weapons." His surprise was evident when Porsche handed them over without hesitation. He relinquished his axe, kukri knife, and two small hidden blades. No point in resisting. He still had his necklace blade and his pager—his real lifeline.
Ken frisked him, surprisingly respectful, while Big examined the weapons. Porsche’s fingers twitched. If this place wasn’t safe, he would do whatever it took to get back to Chay.
Granted, his brother waited.
Tankhun lounged atop the watchtower, soaking in the sun while Pol stood beside him, actually doing his job of keeping watch. Their prison sanctuary had turned into a comfortable haven—fortified with rock walls so impenetrable that neither rotters nor an entire horde could breach it. Not that they had to worry much about that anymore; Kim and his most trusted bodyguards had cleared the surrounding area ages ago.
Despite the world falling apart, he and his brothers had managed to build something out of the ruins. Something safe. Something theirs.
"Big and Ken are coming," Pol murmured, lifting his walkie-talkie. "Song, open the gates."
"Roger that."
Tankhun pushed his sunglasses down, squinting at the approaching vehicle. "Huh. Looks like they’ve got someone with them. That hasn’t happened in a while."
"Indeed." Pol nodded in agreement.
Curiosity piqued, Tankhun climbed down from the tower. He barely registered Pol relaying the news over the walkie—"Khun Kinn, Big and Ken are back from scouting with someone."—before he strode toward the gates.
"I’ll be there," was Kinn’s curt response before the radio cut off.
Tankhun reached the car just in time to be annoyed by Tem stepping in front of him protectively. He didn't need protection from—
He sucked in a sharp breath.
Big yanked a man from the backseat, and what a sight he was—filthy, clad in tattered rags, his body skeletal beneath layers of grime, streaked with blood and guts. But despite his vagrant appearance, there was something strikingly composed about him. He was... pretty. In an unconventional way. Weak yet strong. Worn yet unshaken.
Then Kinn arrived, and Tankhun watched as his younger brother faltered for a second.
They’d only recently begun searching for survivors, having ensured their home could support more than the thirty people already living there. They had found people in horrific conditions before. But none of them had ever looked quite like this man—so detached, so unaffected.
"My name is Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun," Kinn introduced himself, his voice steady. "I run this place with my brothers and a few others."
The man—Porsche, according to Big—stared at him, giving away nothing but the fact that he was, indeed, listening.
"You're welcome to stay here. I trust Big’s judgment."
Porsche’s voice, when he finally spoke, was unexpectedly soft. "What would be required of me?"
Tankhun scoffed before Kinn could fumble through an answer. "What’s your name?"
"Porsche."
"Alright, Porsche, here’s how it works. First, you eat. Then, you get checked by medical and rest. After that, we talk about what chores you’ll take on based on your skills and what we need."
"Reasonable," Porsche agreed. Then, as if confirming something unspoken, he asked, "Apart from that?"
Kinn and Tankhun exchanged glances, not understanding the implication. Big, however, seemed to get it because he answered before either of them could.
"Nothing apart from that. You work, you eat, you stay. That’s how it is for everyone. You won’t be expected to do anything… unpalatable."
Tankhun’s stomach churned at the implication, and from the way Kinn stiffened beside him, he knew his brother understood, too.
Porsche studied Big for a long moment before his shoulders, which had been wound tight, finally relaxed. The change was subtle, but it was there.
"Alright," he said. "Thank you. Can you help me get my brother, then?"
Silence.
Big blanched. "Brother?! You said there was no one else!"
"No, no he didn't," Ken shook his head a little amused, "He didn' say nothin' rem'mber?" He chuckled before he paused, "Is tha' ta' sam' brother with brain damage?" Tankhun winced at the indelicacy but Porsche looked unoffended as he nodded.
Porsche nodded, unfazed. "Same one."
"Where is he?" Kinn asked.
"In a motel near the highway."
Kinn’s brows furrowed. "You left your handicapped brother alone in a motel?"
Tankhun barely resisted the urge to smack himself in the face. No one put their foot in their mouth quite like Kinn—except maybe Ken.
Porsche tilted his head, unimpressed. "He has a knife. You think I should’ve brought him with me on scavenging runs?"
Kinn clamped his mouth shut, the mocking lilt in Porsche’s tone effectively silencing him.
"Why didn’t you tell us before?" Big asked, still tense.
"Didn’t know or trust you before," Porsche said simply. "Still don’t. But you seem reasonable."
"And that’s enough?" Ken asked incredulously.
Porsche shrugged. "It has to be. We’ve been on the road for over a year."
That stunned everyone into silence.
Finally, Porsche turned to Big. "Can we go now? It'll get dark soon, and I don’t want my brother wandering off to look for me."
Big hesitated before glancing at Kinn. Kinn nodded. "Take backup. Don’t leave the vehicle. Porsche will go in alone and bring him out. Any funny moves—take him down. Frisk the brother before letting him inside."
"Roger that, boss!" Ken saluted cheerfully before waving over Jom and Tem. "Let's go! I wanna be back before dinner!"
Tankhun watched them leave, uneasy, and nearly jumped when Arm placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"They'll be fine, Khun. He seems like a good person."
Tankhun huffed. "Maybe. But we should be more worried about explaining this to Khun Kim when he gets back."
Both he and Kinn winced. Kim was—by far—the most distrustful of them all. Cynical to a pathological degree, he doubted the intentions of anyone outside their original group. Even the young women he had personally rescued from sadistic raiders had to prove their worth before he accepted them.
To Kim, trust was earned, not given. And new people? New people were problems.
The distant roar of a Harley rumbled through the air, and Tankhun’s stomach sank.
"Not it!" he blurted, attempting to slink away. Arm, unfortunately, caught him by the arm, his expression apologetic as Tankhun glared at him in betrayal.
He would never admit that post-apocalyptic Kim scared him.
Never.
"What do you think?" Ken asked as they waited for Porsche in the car while he went inside to get his brother. The ride to the motel was tense—so tense that even Ken couldn't fill the silence with his usual chatter. Big and Porsche seemed to have some kind of mutual dislike, making the atmosphere even heavier.
"I don't trust him," Big muttered. "This was a bad idea."
Ken shrugged behind the wheel. "You were Khun Kim's bodyguard for a while, of course, you guys thin' alike."
"Everyone at home trusts too easily," Big said. "We’re fools for letting such a suspicious guy in so easily. Especially if he has a mentally ill brother—he'll be a liability." He felt sympathy, sure, but that didn’t mean he’d risk his family for a pair of unfortunate strangers.
Ken frowned but didn’t disagree. "Then tell m', if we don't accept' new folks', how we ar' supposed to grow as a com'munity? And how will take back the Theerapanyakun mansion?"
Big was silent, so Ken continued, "We need to check this guy out' but ho' can we do that if we throw 'em in a cell or let 'em go? If we pla' this right, we could have a strong soldier with us who'd help us take 'ack the mansion. That place has everything, ya' know? Ammo, gas, and rations of food shou'ld still be 'ood courtesy of the late boss and Khun Tankhun. But we can't do it with our numbers, and most of 'em are not fighters. Hell, som' of 'em still break out in sweats at ta' thought of going out on runs."
"Fine, I get it. I don't need a lecture from you," Big snapped.
Ken huffed a small laugh. "Oh, so from me' ti's a lecture, and from Khun Kinn' it's ta' bloody dogma."
"Shut it."
Their walkie buzzed before Jom’s voice crackled through, "It looks like they're back."
Both Ken and Big straightened to look, frowning when they saw a small boy pressed against Porsche. Well—not exactly a boy, but he looked young, a teenager at most. He clung to Porsche, his face buried in his side, completely unbothered by the grime and blood covering his brother. His movements were mechanical as they approached the car.
Porsche opened the back door, letting the boy in first before looking around, his paranoia palpable. He entered the car himself, closing the door firmly behind him. With a protective grip, he pulled the boy half into his lap, his sharp gaze still scanning their surroundings. It was the first time Ken had seen such naked emotion on the man’s face.
Still, Ken turned his focus to the boy. "Hey," he greeted.
The boy slowly lifted his head from Porsche’s side, revealing large, innocent eyes. Ken felt his heart squeeze at the sheer purity in that look.
"Hello," the boy said softly, raising his hands in a wai before bowing respectfully. "Thank you for taking us in, Phi. My name is Porchay. Please call me Chay."
Ken resisted the urge to coo at him. The boy peeked up at his brother for approval, ducking his head shyly when Porsche gave a small nod. His big eyes darted between Ken and Big before finally settling on Big, who looked absolutely gobsmacked.
Ken started the vehicle, following Jom and Tem’s car back to the prison.
"H-Hey," Big finally stammered in response, his voice hesitant and unsure. Porsche looked like someone who had fought tooth and nail to survive the apocalypse. But the boy with him? He looked untouched by it.
Then Big mumbled to Ken, "We forgot to frisk him."
Ken grinned. If nothing else, the next few hours were about to get very interesting.
Kinn sighed as he faced Kim’s anger and indignation after informing him they had taken in two new survivors. After the group of women Kim had rescued a year ago, most newcomers had proven to be unreliable or outright dangerous. So much so that Kim had pushed for an end to taking in any more people.
Usually, Kinn would agree with that stance, but he knew for a fact that their uncle was still alive. He had no idea where Vegas and Macau were holed up with their father, but it couldn’t be anywhere as safe as the prison. Kinn had asked Vegas to join him, to bring Macau along so they could all be protected. But his cousin still lacked the resolve to leave his abusive father’s side. They were surviving through looting, of that Kinn was certain. Kim and Vegas had clashed multiple times over the years, and even though Kim reported that Vegas was only armed with melee weapons, the main manor still contained a vast arsenal that could wipe out half of Bangkok.
If their uncle ever got desperate enough, he would raid the main house, and Kinn needed to secure it before he—or anyone else—could. That alone was reason enough to expand their numbers, whether Kim liked it or not.
"Kim, please."
Kim glared at him, and as if on cue, the legion of women who followed Kim’s every word mirrored his expression. The women Kim had rescued were fiercely loyal, treating his decisions like scripture. Kinn often wondered if they realized that was exactly why Kim would never sleep with any of them, let alone date them—because of the power imbalance. Kim’s reputation as a playboy still thrived in the prison, as did Kinn’s, but while Kinn exclusively preferred men, Kim was bisexual, leaning toward women. But only those who understood their encounters would be purely physical, nothing more.
Kinn had once tried to find something meaningful, but his past with Tawan had burned him badly, leaving him wary.
"You allow strangers into our home, you endanger everyone in this prison," Kim spat, his tone edged with fury. Kinn was reminded of how his brother had single-handedly cleared the prison courtyard, while Big and Pete provided sniper cover.
"Their rooms will be near ours," Kinn explained, keeping his tone measured. "Porsche will be in the cell next to yours. His brother will room with him. Mine is right beside theirs. We’ll keep watch, and all bodyguards have been instructed to monitor them at all times."
Kim finally looked less feral and more merely pissed off, but he didn't argue. He understood the larger goal and, despite his frustration, would support Kinn.
"They're here!" Tankhun caroled as he entered dramatically. Kinn sighed.
"Well, they were here half an hour ago, but I asked them to take a bath and change."
Kim stared at Tankhun, while Kinn tilted his head to the ceiling, praying for patience.
"Why?"
Tankhun frowned. "Because they were filthy! I could smell them from a yard away, so I stopped them and sent them to the showers. They should be here any—"
"Hey!" Ken greeted cheerfully. "We got 'em!"
Kinn turned, and his breath caught at the sight before him. The man he was sure was Porsche was now clean-shaven, his wet hair slicked back. Kinn recognized the clothes—his old ones. The shirt was missing its top three buttons, tucked into blue jeans, fitting him almost too well. He looked like a different person, his cold, hardened eyes from earlier now softened as they flickered down toward the boy at his side.
"Kinn, you're drooling," Tankhun informed him, a little too gleefully. Kinn cleared his throat, shooting his older brother a glare before turning his attention to the boy. He couldn’t be older than seventeen, yet his wide, demure eyes absorbed everything around him like he had never seen anything like it before.
"So, you must be the little brother," Kinn said. The boy’s gaze snapped to him immediately. It was striking how two people who had endured the same apocalypse could develop such different personalities. "My name is Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun. We’d like you and Porsche to stay here, to live with us."
"It's a prison," the boy replied automatically, then blinked, seemingly realizing his words before bowing and giving a polite 'wai.' "Thank you for taking us in, P'Kinn. My name is Porchay. Please call me Chay." Then he smiled, wide and pure, and Kinn was sure if he could harness that brightness, it would power a generator for a year.
"Oh my god!" Tankhun gasped. "Oh, he's so cute! I’m going to faint! Arm! Hold me!"
Kinn ignored his dramatics and turned to Kim, only to find him staring intensely at Chay.
"Kim?" he called, and his brother responded with a distracted "Hm?" but didn’t look away.
"Chay, come here."
Chay obediently went to his brother’s side, wearing a green sweater far too big for him and white cargo shorts. He wrapped his arms around Porsche and buried his face in his chest, occasionally peeking around at everyone.
"Sorry, he's a little shy," Porsche explained.
"I certainly didn't expect this 'en ya' said he 'as injured in ta head!" Ken said bluntly, only to pout when Big elbowed him savagely.
"Do you need to be looked over by medical?" Kinn asked, ignoring them. Porsche hesitated before shaking his head.
"No, we're fine. A little tired, but fine. D-Do you need me to help with anything?" Porsche asked. "I can still work, but I'd like for Chay to rest if possible."
Kinn turned to Kim, who met his gaze briefly before shrugging. Tankhun, looking thoughtful, finally spoke. "How about you join me so we can discuss where you’d be most useful? It should only take a few minutes. We have a room ready for you and your brother so he can rest."
Porsche hesitated before nodding in gratitude, the small smile he gave causing Kinn to momentarily forget how to breathe.
"Can someone escort him?" Porsche asked.
"Yes, Kim," Tankhun decided. "His room is next to yours. You came back from a run, so you can change in the meantime."
Kim sighed but moved toward them. "Follow me," he grumbled.
Chay blinked at Porsche, who nodded before he turned and walked toward Kim. But instead of stopping at a respectable distance, he ran straight to him and clung to his side.
"What the fuck?!" Kim yelped.
"Hey! Let go of him, you stupid freak! You're making Khun Kim uncomfortable!" one of Kim’s followers, Kami, snapped angrily.
Chay didn’t flinch, only blinked. But when her words registered, he looked back at his brother, who looked horrified, angry, and sad. Kinn thought Porsche might want to rip Kami apart, but his voice was surprisingly calm.
"Chay, you can't grab people you don’t know like that. Let go of him."
Chay immediately obeyed, stepping back. "Follow him, don’t touch anyone, and rest until I come back, okay?"
The boy nodded. "Sorry, P'Kim," he said sincerely.
"It's fine," Kim muttered, still frowning. But his voice had softened in a way Kinn hadn’t heard in a long time. "Come on."
Chay followed him like a duckling, but before they disappeared, he turned at the doorway and bowed. "Good night."
For Kinn, this was the strangest experience since the dead had started walking. Considering what he had seen, that was saying something.