Chapter Text
Alone in the woods, Tommy should have been terrified.
The ten year old’s shoulders shook under a weight far too great for him to carry. Tommy, almost eleven, still in the sunny days of his youth, froze to death alone on the mountains an hour away from his mother’s home.
His forehead pressed into the cold, harsh ground. He was numb and empty, unable to feel any pain (or anything else, for that matter). The snow continued to pile up around him, burying him against the earth.
His teeth chattered together from cold - cold, cold, cold that chipped away at his outsides. Knives dug into his chest tighter with every inhale, with every exhale.
Tommy was in the most pain he’d ever been in. He got his tonsils taken out once, and it had hurt pretty bad. Wilbur had to sit with him on the couch and share his mint chocolate chip ice cream with him until he was better enough to play again.
This was nothing like that. This was a painful death, and worst of all, Tommy was alone.
“Wilbur,” the boy called out, but there was no one to save him. “Wilby! Papa!” He hiccuped weakly, falling against the earth.
Wilbur was on the other side of the mountain. His girlfriend was waiting in the car while his father drove frantically to arrive on the scene.
“I lost him,” Wilbur had confessed as soon as the line went through. “Dad, Tommy, he-- I lost him.”
Tommy, lover of unlovable things, was chilled to his bones. The boy was defeated and collapsed on the side of the mountain. The cold around him numbed him to the point he couldn’t move. His hand stretched out reaching for warmth, for a hand to hold him.
His energy ran out, and his arm dropped against the icy cold ground. His fingers twitch in a last effort to grab at his world before his eyelids flutter shut.
Tired, defeated, Tommy dropped against the earth. His body aches. He’s tired.
He curled up against the snowfall and dropped his weary head against the snow. He carved out a home for himself in the earth to return to.
He sleeps in the snow, wrapped up by nature in the same way his mother tucks him into his bedsheets at night.
-
Wilbur was a terrible older brother.
The rangers in front of him had maps pulled out against the tree. They were wasting too much time. It was already night, and the storm is reaching its worst.
“It’ll be okay, Wilbur,” Phil says, squeezing his oldest son’s fingers, but neither of them believe it. They want to with everything they have, but it’s a bastardly storm.
Tommy’s been missing for five hours. No one survives a storm like this.
Especially not a child.
“I’m so sorry,” Wilbur seethes, digging his nails into his thigh. “We only looked away for a second, and I told him to stay close. I told him! He promised he wouldn’t go too far, but then he- then he wasn’t there, and--”
“Shh,” Phil hushs, breath coming out as smoke as he exhales into the cold. “It’s not your fault.”
The guilt eats away at Wilbur, and he turned in within himself. “I killed my baby brother.”
“Wilbur, he’s not--”
“I killed my baby brother,” Wilbur repeats, bringing his knees up to his chest.
Phil doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure what to say. He doesn’t have the answers, nor does anyone in this fucked up world. Their youngest is lost in the woods, and no one is hopeful for his return.
He grabbed his son as tightly as he could and brought him close to his chest. Wilbur fell against him and huddled for a warmth he can’t appreciate. He never would again after his brother’s skin turned purple and died alone in the woods.
-
Wilbur and Phil are sent home. The rangers continue to search. Sally’s mom picked her up hours ago, and she doesn’t text Wilbur. She sits in front of the TV and checks the news for any update on the situation.
A boy got lost in the snowstorm. That’s all her mother sees on the television, and Sally knew what he was wearing. She knows the wimpy sweater is no match for the Colorado winter.
A helicopter is sent out. The search comes up empty.
There was no sight of Tommy.
A week later
“Dude, I’m regretting taking you here already.”
Dream watches in disbelief as George slips on a stray branch and almost tumbles down. He reaches out, and Sapnap is there to quickly catch him. “Who knew Gogy was so clumsy?”
“There’s a huge hole right here,” George complains. “It’s not my fault. Anyone could’ve tripped over it.”
“Bad didn’t,” Dream points out, waving to their friend across the trees. He starts to double back. “Bad, you totally missed it. George ate shit again.”
“George!” Bad scolds playfully, catching up with the group. “You’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine,” he says, rolling his eyes. “They should really put caution tape around here. It’s not safe.”
“Just an idea,” Sapnap remarks suddenly. He doesn’t take his arm away so George can lean against it. His ankle rolled a bit in the fall. He wasn’t hurt too badly, but he wasn’t prepared enough to let go of him. “Maybe they don’t expect people to be stupid enough to come off the trail.”
Bad gasps, betrayed. “You said we weren’t!”
“We literally passed like four signs, stupid,” Sapnap retorts. “Are you dense?”
Bad shrugs. “Maybe I was distracted...But it’s not safe. We should go back.”
“No, that’s so lame. Come on, I wanna go find a bear,” George says, continuing to climb up the mountain. Sapnap is forced to follow. He’s not willing to let go either. Dream picks up his pace and grabs the other side of George.
“Guys!” Bad calls, stomping his foot. His friends ignore him and continue walking off the path. “We should really turn back!”
His friends don’t offer any sort of response. They know their best friend through and through.
“3...2...1,” Dream counts off only for Bad to shout out right as he finishes.
“You guys are the worst.” Bad gives in, having to jog to catch up with the others.
George cheers with a grin and continues. They have to push past the tree branches to get anywhere.
“Why did we let George take the lead?” Dream complains loudly. “I’ve got thorn scratches everywhere.”
“Boo hoo,” Sapnap mocks. “Suck it up.”
“Sapnap, I’m gonna throw you into the bushes,” Dream promises, reaching over to grab him by the shoulders. “Switch spots with me then.”
“No, thanks,” he sneers. “I do think we should head somewhere else, George.”
“Like back, maybe?” Bad suggests, his plea falling upon deaf ears.
George leads them into a clearing. “Ha! See, I knew where I was…”
George stops in his tracks. Dream pushes a branch out of the way and lets go as soon as he catches up with him. The branch swings back - Bad dodging it just at the last second.
“...Have you ever seen a tree grow like that?”
The group was silent.
In front of them was an overgrown tree twisted into a loop. The roots were overgrown with flowers and vines covering it. A deer lay against the tree with her eyes closed peacefully.
The sunlight poured in through the tree’s leaves to shine against a thorny wall. The tree’s branches wrap around each other to form what looks like a sphere.
George grabs ahold of it. “Dude, what’re you doing?”
“This is so cool,” George says. “Come on. Help me through.” Sapnap obeys, holding the branches to the side so his smaller friend could squeeze through. “I’m gonna be right back.”
“George, you don’t know what’s over there.”
“That’s why I’m lookin’!”
His friends stay quiet as he crawls forward until the branches cover him once more.
“Guys, I don’t know about this,” Bad peeps up. George is silent. No witty response greets him. “George, you should come back now.”
Dream steps forward at his friend’s sudden silence.
For once, no one argues with Bad. “George?” Sapnap calls. “George!”
“Stop yelling,” he snaps quickly.
“Why aren’t you talk--”
“Shh.”
Dream and Sapnap exchange confused glances. They crouch at the branches. “George?”
“You’re scaring him. Shh.”
“Him?” Dream exclaimed. “Oh, hell no.”
“Oh, fuck, fuck! He means no harm, I swear! Don’t bite me - holy shit!”
That’s the final straw for the group. Sapnap pulls back the branches so Dream and Bad can climb through. They grab ahold of George’s elbows and pull him out.
“Oh my god,” George pants, a fresh scar on his wrist. He holds it tightly with his other hand. “Call the police, call the rangers.”
“George,” Dream cries, grabbing at his arm. The bite mark is barely bloody. There’s slobber spread over his arm and faint teeth marks, but there’s barely any blood. “What bit you?”
“A kid,” he exhales, shaking. “There’s a - there’s a kid in there.”
A kid?
A tree branch snaps.
From the woods, a small blond boy climbs out. His bare feet land on the ground with a supernatural ease. His hair is matted to his head with sticks and leaves clung to him. He wears a tattered pair of shorts and nothing else.
“Hey,” Bad says, voice lowered as gently as it can go. “Hi. Are you lost, kiddo? Are you hurt?”
The boy tilts his head. Dream rips off his hoodie. “You must be freezing,” he says, offering the green cloth. “Here. Please.”
The boy hesitantly steps forward before snatching it from his hands. He slips it over his head.
“Can you tell us your name?” Bad asks. “I promise we’re not bad about you biting George.”
“I’m a lil’ mad,” George says, pinching the skin of his arm.
Bad scowls at him.
“You’re okay, kid,” Dream adds. “You lost?”
“W--” The boy’s voice broke off as soon as he started to speak. He breaks off into a harsh cough, and a red liquid spills out from the corner of his mouth.
“I got you,” Dream promises, stepping forward to catch him. The boy stumbles forward as he gags on his breath.
“Wilb,” the boy croaks. “Los’ my Wilbur. Didn’t mean to, I swear.”
“Shh, shh,” Dream says, rocking the kid. “Shit, George, go find someone, yeah? It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”