Chapter Text
"Are you plannin' ta ever do somethin' bout them ankle biters ya got runnin' round, B?"
Barbra Jean, or B as the man beside her so eloquently said, sat on her back porch in all her cheetah print glory. Her make-up is done with care and precision - even now, so late in the day she was painted like a picture. She paused mid-drag of her cigarette at the question; lip curling into a sneer as silvery, gray eyes lazily stray from the wilting tree in her backyard to stare at her most consistent lover as of late, Wilbur “Will” Neaten. Wilbur only found himself privileged enough to sit there because he had been chasing after her for two and a half years with vicious determination. He spent days sending her gifts from flowers to lotions to boxes of candies when he wasn’t sending diapers for Benny. Her favorite gifts had to be the box of twelve packs of Marlboros he bought her and the expensive perfume she’d seen on tv. Barbra hadn't even gone through two packs yet but she knew that would change soon with Benny teething and Leroy in his ‘terrible twos’ phase still. God, she was scared for what was to come when Benny also hit that stage.
"What's that s'posed ta mean?” She turns on him fast and the cigarette in her hand dangles like a looming threat. Smoke pours out of her nose in an aggravated huff similar to a dragon lying in weight over intruders in its den. Barbra’s sneer harsher as she continues, “Ya got an issue with my kids, Willy?”
Will puts his hands up instinctively, placatingly, “Heh, whoa, honey bee! Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth.”
“ I told you that 'm not givin’ up or passin' 'em off ta anybody. Them’s are my kids and I will take care of them, with or without help," Barbra declared. She flicks her thick, blonde hair over her shoulder as if that was signaling the end of the conversation. A pointedly slow drag of her cigarette, holding steady before blowing out thick white smoke rings, and watching them dissipate around the uncovered lightbulb hanging half-hazardly above them.
Neither speak for a moment, staring at the bulb.
Barbra sighs, "Is this your deal breaker? Yer tryin’ ta tell me you can’t deal with tots or somethin’?"
"Of course not! Who'd let some babies come between them and some amazin' ass?"
"That's worded a lil weird, Will," Barbra snorts derisively.
Wilbur seems to freeze as he thinks over what he said and shrugs half-heartedly, "Just ignore that bit! What I'm really sayin' is when are you gonna get yerself a man that'll help ya wrangle 'em up? Or help ya make a couple more when the munchkins need another playmate?"
Barbra guffaws loudly at the suggestion. Her free hand coming up to cover her mouth in an attempt to quiet herself down, lest her boys wake up. The blonde snickers quieter, "With how you shoot? Heh, don't kid yerself."
Face red by the insinuation, Wilbur grunts out a couple curses under his breath. His thin hands play with the stray threads coming from the old hoodie that he's owned for the past nine years. Scraggly black hair is a mess of curls that frame his unshaven face in a loose afro - his box braids taken out recently by Barbra herself when he couldn’t afford to go to the barbershop. The squeaky lawn chair that he sits in creaks each time he moves and Barbra can tell right away just why he’s so antsy. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what’s the issue from the heated looks Wilbur sends her way and his hands lingering on the crotch of his pants none-too-subtly. Men have been like this almost all her life so it wasn't hard to tell what was on his mind.
"I'm not gonna be suckin' you off, if that's what you're waitin' for," Barbra chided him, resting her cigarette between her teeth.
Wilbur gaped, "Why not? Uh, what I mean is-- Why'd you think I was lookin' for some of yer throat work?"
"Yer not subtle, Willy-boy," she hums almost absentmindedly. "All the looks and fondlin' are the clearest sign that yer pitchin' a tent. Real nice one too, but ya got enough head earlier while I didn't even get a good clit flick."
"What's wrong with my technique?"
"It's the same as just about everyone else who's wandered into my bed. Well… Okay, maybe not everyone," Barbra looks off into the distance and can practically imagine her favorite lovers by heart. Derek Dunlap, Maurice from her time working at Cinderella’s Playhouse, Thomas Keiner, Arianna Mendez, and so many others that fell over themselves to please her. People that she’d worked with, went to school with, were clients of hers, and even just friends she’d made along the way. Though, none of them would ever compare to her firsts.
"Ugh, I wish ya wouldn't do that, Babs! I hate hearin' about all the dick yer suckin' and all the cunts you've fingered." Wilbur crosses his arms, huffing and puffing like he always does when Barbra teases him. It's one of the few things she's found so endearing about him when everything started. Now, so many months down the line, Barbra regretted not taking the chance to break up the arrangement during the last disastrous date Wilbur took her on last Valentine's Day. She's tempted to do it now, but then Wilbur speaks up again, "Why couldn't I be the guy you pick? Is it just because of mah sperm count?"
Barbra rolls her eyes, "I can have plenty of kids with or without yer help, Willy. That's not the biggest thing that's keepin' me from datin' ya."
"Then what?!"
"Oh c'mon! Don't ask me that, Wilbur... Ya know very well why I'm not settlin' down with nobody. Ain't got no need for some man to be stompin' around thinkin' they call shots. They got no right to me, mah kids, our house, or any of mah money. I stand by that. Plus, ya know...," Barbra trails off.
He knew what she meant. Everyone knew what she meant. Anyone could see how attached Barbie and her kids were to her baby daddy, as much as he refused to acknowledge it. It was bad enough when he and Babs were young but it seemed to only get worse with age. Her heart was big in so many ways yet Wilbur, just like every other man or woman that came through, would never be a permanent resident.
“Ya can’t spend yer life waitin’ for him to pull his fat head outta his ass and finally settle down with you, B.”
“M not waitin’ around like some sick puppy, Will,” she denies.
Wilbur shakes his head exasperatedly, “Then what do ya call this? Ya need ta let yerself be happy and ya can’t do that when ya won’t even take support when it’s knocking at yer door.”
“Ya give yerself a lotta credit for somebody who’s never had his own place.” The comment is a low blow, but she’s always hated people telling her what to do. Barbra hated how just the mention of her baby daddy changed her mood at the drop of a hat.
“C’mon, B… I wish you’d at least consider,” Wilbur grumbles.
Barbra watches him sink low into his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he glares at the willowy tree in her yard. That was the tree she’d planted some time after she’d bought the house and only two months before she’d given birth to Leroy. She’d named the thing ‘Hope’ at the time because that’s what she had; nowadays she likes to call it ‘Spite’. Sometimes hope can’t take you nearly as far as spite can and it’s what kept her going this long despite the multiple jobs, the strained relationships, and the god awful yearning. Yearning was for the girls in fairytales, not mothers with things to do.
“I won’t.”
He shakes his head, “I know…”
Silence falls over the squabbling lovers once more. The two smoke lazily in their respective seats, minds far away. What can be said at this point? He asks, she refuses, and their relationship continues in a limbo that neither are truly happy with. How can they ever be? He wanted exclusivity but she couldn’t give him that no matter how much he pushed. It wasn’t in the cards so long her boys and their father existed as an anchor to the past.
But that doesn't mean they don’t get stuck talking in these circles time and time again.
Wilbur suddenly says, “Ya sure you’ll be able to protect ‘em?”
Barbra doesn’t look at him as she replies, “Protect ‘em from what?”
His hand is on her thigh in a familiar, comforting weight that strangely feels desperate. At this moment Barbra is sure that his face is twisted up again and a part of her worries what she’ll feel when she sees it. He’s taking too long to finish his thought.
“Danger, drugs, cars, becoming their daddy-- Just all the bad things in the world,” Wilbur fumbles over his words.
“There ain’t nothin’ wrong for ‘em to be like him. Ya best not be insinuatin’ that to ‘em when you’re around, alright? I’ll put ya in the ground if I ever hear my boys repeatin’ that. And then I’ll castrate ya, understand?”
Wilbur lets go of her thigh like he’s been burned, “Whoa, of course not! I was just meaning--”
Barbra turns to him, finally looks at him, and she can’t help hissing at him in annoyance, “Stop talkin’ in riddles than! Just say what ya mean and say it plainly!”
“Are ya sure that yer gonna be able to help and protect ‘em? I could help you if you let me. Take some burden off yer shoulders and make sure that yer boys have everythin’ they need,” Wilbur insists.
“Ain’t ever been more sure about anythin’ in my life. I may fuck up a couple times and I may get overwhelmed, but imma take care of my family. When they’re old enough I’ll make sure that they can do the same fer each other. It’s gonna be a Greenberg tradition,” Barbra explains like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
Wilbur’s teeth pull and tug at his bottom lip, “That gonna be enough?”
“It will. I’ll make sure of it.”
There’s nothing else to say in that moment; the arguing and the mixed up feelings all bleed away in favor of the music of the night. The orchestra that is cicadas chirping and screaming. The backyard filled with distant lights from homes of distant neighbors that she’d grown close to over the years. She can distantly smell the dew of early morning setting in as dawn creeped closer and the natural musk of the wilderness around her. Something she blames stupid Merle for. Then suddenly there was thumping across her creaky, wooden floor.
“Mama!”
=======
“Mama!”
Barbra Jean “Barbie” Greenberg was a simple woman and had simple needs. She wanted her children to be safe, to make enough money to never be in poverty, and to one day have the true love she’s always wanted. It’s not much to ask of the universe, yet the world had gone to complete shit one day a total of three months ago and it’s only gotten worse. They’d traveled for hours to get to Atlanta, Georgia from their home in Valdosta, Georgia--she and her children had been together to prepare for a family trip when things hit the fan--which had allowed them to move fast, efficiently even. Should have avoided the city, especially with the cars that barricaded the freeways, as the dead were now congregating in Atlanta like New Years came to town. The world went to hell and they’re stuck on an almost constant supply run, especially with five hungry boys on her hands.
They worked together as a family. Efficient and quick with the right amount of time, obviously. However, not all of her boys are as equipped as the others to deal with the hard world bearing down on them.
“Leroy! Benny! Run interference,” Barbra shouts to her eldest boys.
The two rush forward at their mother’s call with their blood soaked weapons at the ready: Leroy’s old, metal baseball bat is tight in his grip and Benny’s crowbar not in a much better state. Lenard “Leroy” Ray Greenberg was the eldest of Barbra’s brood of kids and was the classic jock stereotype on paper. Tall, broad shouldered form always dressed like a prep school kid in jeans and a short-sleeve polo shirt. Benjamin “Benny” Riley Greenberg, second born son, was the complete opposite of his older brother from his dark clothes and leather jackets to the mean scowl etched into his features. A gifted mechanic thanks to his time spent in shop classes in the secondary school his mother paid good money for. Despite the two never getting on the best or hanging out in non-family based settings, they were quite the duo in fights. A Greenberg family rule was to always help your family if they were in need and the boys had taken that to heart by making sure to be the other’s backup in a fight.
Leroy takes their legs out from under them while Benny jams his crowbar into their eyes; Benny cracks them upside the head and Leroy takes the other. A makeshift game of ping pong with clambering corpses being used as the ball between them--splatters of blood a fun bit of theatrics to the whole affair. It would be amusing if Barbra’s heart wasn’t pounding out of her chest each time she heard that telltale scream.
“Mama!”
“I got ‘em, Ma,” another voice calls out.
Middle child, Tobias Lee “Toby” Greenberg, is a much more creative and fashion forward child of the bunch. He had the most outfits out of everyone, well except their mother, that he loved to mix and match throughout the day. Currently he was wearing a pair of designer jeans, new shoes, a flannel over a cropped short black tank top, and enjoyed wearing jewelry--mostly since he could toss them away to make noise that led the hordes of shambling corpses away. Toby, despite his somehow still quaffed hair is barely disturbed as he dual wields a set of pistols that he had inherited from his grandfather (on his mother’s side), Lee. Shooting down the ones closest to his screaming brother as he does his best to find another route to his brother.
“This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just let me set off those fireworks! Then they’d be too confused to attack,” another voice, much closer pipes up. Barbra’s youngest son complains like the whiny preteen he truly was and it was the only reassurance she had that things aren’t too different.
“Sometimes I worry that your daddy dropped you,” Barbra grunts as her ax slams into the side of a nearby walker. Rearing back for another blow she continues, “Normal kids don’t exactly make plans to kill the undead.”
“Yeah, and how did that work out for them,” he huffs under his breath before lighting up the mini molotov cocktail he’s been throwing together from things in his bag. Nicholas Bernard Greenberg, or Nicky for short, wasn’t the brightest bulb in the block but he did enjoy learning things that disturbed the neighbors and gave his mother a mini heart attack.
Nicky was dressed very similar to his older brothers as Barbra refused to toss out good hand-me-downs. His outfit was a mixture of black tops from Benny, faded jeans from Leroy, any number of flannels that no longer fit Toby, and shoes from Phinny--the brother they were saving--since they were the only ones to wear size sevens. Most of the things about him that were ‘unique’ in his mind were the various hazardous items he kept in his bright, sparkly unicorn bag. Things like his slingshot and a bag of ammunition: Bang Snaps Poppers, marbles, rocks, and on occasion he would have balls of clay with glass smashed into them. Hair spray canisters, small alcohol bottles stuffed with handkerchiefs for molotovs on the go, a first aid kit, various pocket knives, pepper spray, a taser, and a bunch of ammo for his siblings’ weapons. A bit of a mule for the group.
“Enough with the lip, Nicky,” she hisses before yelping in surprise as the molotov her son was holding is lobbed over her head towards a group of cars a good few feet away.
The explosion was minor at first, only a few of the stragglers at the edges of the forming mob having their attention diverted. However, now Barbra understood why Nicky had been so adamant to stop to douse the cars when they had been on the move. As Benny and Leroy got closer to their
Phineas Lloyd “Phinny” Greenberg is the definition of soft, sweet, and delicate. He stuck to layers of clothes because the boy was always twenty degrees colder than everyone else, another child in a collage of mismatched hand-me-downs. The boy was thin and lanky as puberty began to set in; the bags he carried mainly held the lighter snacks, first aid kits, and any small weaponry they picked up along the way. Sometimes that meant he made a bit too much noise than the others at times, but it had never been this bad. With the streets flooded it was impossible to not attract attention and Phinny had found himself being cornered off like a baby gazelle that lagged too far from the herd.
But they weren’t about to let him become a sacrifice.
Vicious growling overtaken by the squelching and crunching of weaponry against the walkers shambling towards them. Nicky uses his slingshot to lob oblong rocks into nearby cars, setting off alarms that distract stragglers in the back. Leroy and Benny are back to back as they breach the growing mob around their younger brother, getting closer to him by the second. Toby, a gun in each hand, is doing his best to cover his eldest brothers’ backs while Barbra Jean sticks close to Nicky--the preteen too focused on his mission to keep his own safety in mind.
“Grab him, Ben,” Leroy grunts out, his swing sending three walkers to the ground in a domino effect.
Benny nods, launching himself towards Phinny and sweeps the fourteen year old up in his arms, “Got ‘em!”
Leroy jerks his head towards the nearby building, “Phase two! Go!”
Toby takes off running towards a side alley to clear a path to the entrance they’ve used before. He reaches into his back pocket for extra ammo to reload his guns, keeping light on his feet to avoid the grasping and clawing hands of the undead. As he reaches the entrance, he shoots down skulkers that idly wandered around the alley. Benny is quick to follow behind him with his arms too full to do much else, Leroy takes up guard beside his brothers in quick half circle movements, and - lagging at the back of the group - Barbra is pulling Nicky along. Her youngest son spitting and flailing as he’s being pulled along against his will; his free hand still tossing rocks every chance that he gets. Toby holds the door open for them as they rush past him and once they’re all safe inside they begin to lock up the door with a mess of chains they’d left in their last visit. The family quickly takes a chance to rest and catch their breath, bodies drenched in sweat from their expedition in the vicious Georgia heat.
Benny looks down at Phinny in his arms and whispers, “You alright, Phin?”
“Of course, he’s not,” Leroy scoffs, wiping sweat and blood from his brow. “Who’s fine after a close call?”
“I know I wasn’t,” Toby cringes physically at the memory.
Nicky, hand still clasped in his mother’s, rolls his eyes at the other, “Yeah, but yer a pussy.”
“Nicholas!” Nicky squeaks as his mother drags him into her side to clamp her free hand on his ear and tugging twice in reprimand. She spins him like a dancer twice before taking Nicky’s face into her hands as she huffs, “What did I say about using that kind of language?”
“But it’s true--,” he whines but he’s cut off by his mother squishing his face till his words are nonsensical.
“No buts!”
Ignoring the chaos of the rest of the family, Benny asks again, “Are you alright?”
“We need to get a move on. We can check when we’re out of this lobby,” Leroy says, feet stomping heavy against the ground as he ventures towards the stairwell in the back.
“Would you just let him answer,” Benny snaps.
Phinny squeaks, “I-I’m okay! I p-promise… We’re good to go.”
Benny whispers, “Are you sure?”
Phinny nods and all the
“Let’s get a move on! We can--,” Barbra’s command is cut off by the sound of gunshots ringing out nearby.
Phinny clings to the front of Benny’s jacket, his lip wobbling, “What was that?”
“Gunshots, duh,” Nicky snorts. His grin is immediately wiped off his face as Toby smacks him upside his head, “Ow! What the hell, asshole?!”
“Figured yer head was on loose and ya needed reconnecting,” the seventeen year old shrugs.
“Oh, I’ll show you reconnecting,” Nicky growls, lunging forwards only to be scooped up onto Leroy’s shoulder. He lets out an indignant scream, “Hey! Put me down!”
Leroy grunts as he shifts his hold on Nicky, “Not on yer life, shrimp.”
“It’s close by…. We can probably see it better from the roof,” Benny says, heading towards the stairs without ever putting his shaking brother down.
Nicky’s nose crinkles in disgust, “Ugh, stairs? Do we gotta go, Mama?”
“Don’t see why yer complainin’, Darlin’. Yer gettin’ carried up those steps,” Barbra taps his nose affectionately.
Leroy sputters in shock, “Hol’ on a second! ‘M doin’ what exactly? I never agreed ta that.”
“Too late. Let’s get a move on, boys,” Barbra says as she leads the charge up the stairs.
As they climb more gunshots go off in the distance. Winded as they may become, both of her boys push on without putting their younger brothers down till they reach the very top. Toby opens up the door and puts down a cement weight to keep it from closing on them. Leroy unceremoniously drops Nicky the moment they reach the top while Benny is much slower, much more care given to Phinny in hopes he doesn’t get nauseous. Barbra quickly goes through her old rucksack bag for a pair of binoculars she’d gotten as a gift on her tenth birthday, perfect for bird watching. She hasn’t had a chance to do that in over thirty-two years. Depressing…
Barbra peers through her binoculars, “Let’s see what’s all the hullabaloo?”
“Who says ‘hullabaloo’ anymore? God, yer old, Mama,” Nicky shakes his head, disappointed or just plain baffled. He curses when Leroy shoves him over and he clatters onto the rooftop, “Ah! Ya fucker!”
Leroy rolls his eyes, “Language, baby brother.”
“Mama! Leroy--,” Nicky’s whine is cut off by Barbra’s gasp. They all turn to their mother in alarm at the sound and quickly crowd around her, Nicky taps at her bicep violently, “What happened, Mama? Whatcha see? Can I see?”
It had only been the briefest glance. The sun was bright as hell, as it always was in boiling summers like this, but the moment the glare cleared her heart stopped. She hadn’t seen him in almost two years because he’d been arrested for meth again and he hated when she visited him. Refused to let her post bail and had mouthed off for four minutes about how he wasn’t that kinda man, that he could deal with anything the world threw at him. A part of her was hurt by that and another part knew that he’d be going through withdrawals for about a month; he hates it when she sees him like that. Plus, he never did get over the whole Wilbur thing. Barbra didn’t push cause he’d be back eventually, but then the world went to shit and she feared the worst was gonna happen. The boys had rounded each other up before bringing her along with a full determination to keep their family together despite it all. She’d forced herself to work through her fears and sorrow to keep them going for the past two months for her boys. Yet, there he is. Face unshaven, hair buzzed down like when he went off to fight, dressed in his casual clothes that are covered in sweat, and he’s wearing that shit eating grin that always made her heart race. Couldn’t be anyone else.
“I-it’s… Oh my god, boys, it’s Merle.”
The various shouts of surprise are followed by a fumbling of the binoculars as they fight to verify, “What?!”
“Boys. Boys! Boys, enough!”
They all freeze at their mother’s tone. She steps back to look each of them in the eye before pointing towards the roof where she’d seen the wayward love of her life. Her face splitting into a large grin, “We’re gonna have us a lil’ reunion.”