Predator (DWT x OC)

46

Finally, the combination of pain meds, infections and exhasution seemed to have knocked him out for good, not the half-zombie half lunatic state he was floating around in the last couple of days, and Tommy can finally get some fresh air, armed with a clumsy bow and wooden axe. 

He heads towards L'manburg, because he knows he's missed tax day, and he should look over Niki and Rose, see if they need a hero too swoop in and save them. He knows guards are up at the perimeter, on the few tiny excursions he's been able to sneak in when Wilbur spontaneously passed out, but he's never been able to get through. 

It shouldn't be an issue though, especially not for Tommyinnit of all people.

He loops around, far far out of the range, over by the edge of the north wall, quiet footsteps and flattening his body against the trees. He passes by a bush splattered in something dark brown, which makes him feel uneasy, stomach churning. He can't figure out why. 

He keeps going, because feeling a little sick is not going to stop him from achieving what he set out to do, who does people think he is? Still, he drifts off to the west, away from the bush. 

Purely tactical and completely unrelated of course. 

But when his foot kicks something solid in the undergrowth and it squelches, well Tommy pretty much shits his pants. 

What the fuck was that? What the fuck makes that kind of fucked up noise? What the FUCK is buried under a pile of leaves in the middle of nowhere, just outside the border of L'manburg. Tommy's not shaking, he's definitely not scared, he's just taking his time, assessing the situation, just like a good soldier, a smart soldier would. 

There's this absolutely foul smell, death and disease, and more brown stuff dried on the pile, and it's all very confusing. 

However, when he flicks away the rotting leaves and dry dirt with the tip of his boot and sees a fucking hand, the brown on the bush makes a hell of a lot of fucking sense.

Blood. Hand. Body

It's a fucking body. And he just touched it. 

His butt collides with the ground in his haste to scramble away, shuffling back wildly because that's a body and he just touched it , and oh my fucking god he needs to get away from it as soon as goddamn possible, which is not happening as fast as it fucking should be. 

He screams, high pitched and so loud his throat hurts when his back collides with someone's legs, and he probably just almost shit himself for the second time, jumping forward so violently, he nearly flung himself out of his own skin. 

"You found Jack then." A deep voice says sadly, and it sounds a hell of a lot like a traitor he knew. 

"Eret?" He pushes as much hatred and confidence in his voice as he can muster, well as much as anyone can muster when they've just been caught flailing on the ground and screaming like a girl . 

"You're alive." Eret says, like he's surprised, like he didn't believe Tommy was capable of it. 

"Of course I'm alive you fucking bit-" Tommy spits, interrupting himself halfway through. Wilbur would be calm, he'd want to talk, he'd be dip-lo-matic. "What are you doing here?"

Eret looks down. He looks tired. Serves him right. "I was looking for Jack."

Even though it confuses the hell out of him, Tommy doesn't let his face betray surprise, just like Wilbur taught him, never play your pieces- or cards to your enemy or whatever. 

Okay, so maybe he doesn't always listen to everything Wilbur says. Can you blame him? Wilbur talks a lot. 

"He's probably at the ponds by the south-west corner, he likes fishing there" He says confidently, dusting off the back of his legs, and slinging the bow back onto his shoulder.