{Author's Note: I haven't updated this fic in forever omfg;;; Sorry about that. Hit a bit of a Writer's Block but I promise I'm working past it...Anyways, here's chapter four.}

It's raining when they finally leave, at first just gentle droplets of water splashing down from a glorious fiery sunset sky, then eventually large drops sleeting mercilessly down on their heads, the flames snuffed out by fluffy deep grey clouds blanketing the horizon. Edd, Tord and Matt have all pulled their hoods up over their hair, but a very annoyed Tom scowls up at the sky as they walk side by side, his hands jammed into his pockets and his hair slicked back with water. Edd, on the left, keeps pulling at his hoodie's strings, nervously messing with them. He doesn't particularly care for storms much, and getting rained on doesn't put anybody in a good mood. Only Matt seems to enjoy splashing in all the puddles, but he stops after Tom scolds him for getting muddy water all over everyone else, and now he plods along despondently with his head hanging. Tord is the only one who doesn't seem to have any opinion one way or the other about the rain, a blank look on his face like he's bored. Lightning flashes, and both Tom and Matt flinch when the thunder following it rattles through their bones.

"Ugh," Tom growls, pulling his shoulders up by his ears, the movement exposing the headphones he put beneath his jacket earlier to try and keep them from getting soaked, "we to get out of the rain." He quickly tucks the headphones back into his jacket.

"I know," Matt whines, "My hair's getting !"

Edd glances over, frowning. "All the stores we've passed have had their windows smashed in," he replies. "Where are we gonna find a place that's still dry?"

"I think maybe if we go to the of a store, it'll be dry...er." Tord offers, looking a bit uncertain. He shrugs when Tom gives him an irritated glance, not really in the mood to start another fight, but Tom is far too crabby to just let that go.

" idea, Tord. Let's spend the night in a building with no windows and shattered glass all over the floor, while there's a raging storm going on! There's no way could go wrong!" He answers bitingly, and Tord's brow furrows, anger flickering in his eyes.

"Tom," Edd butts in, his own patience wearing thin; the man with black eyes glances over, surprised to see his green-clad friend grimacing at him, snarling like an angry dog: "."

Tom flinches, too stunned to reply, as Edd turns back to the pavement ahead of them. Tord and Matt gape, looking from Tom to Edd and back again, shocked; Edd is determined not to look at any of them, and Tom slowly twists to stare at the stores they're passing on his right, pulling his flask from the large pocket of his hoodie and taking several gulps from it. The two at the back of the group exchange worried glances; Tom and Tord fighting is normal and boring, but friction between Tom and Edd? That's a frightful occurrence, and neither of the two know how to deal with it, so they just let an uncomfortable, tense silence settle over them like a stifling wool blanket in the dead of summer. The rain doesn't show any signs of stopping, but no one dares whine about it anymore, suffering in silence, their clothes getting more and more soaked to the point where the rain isn't even doing much of anything to them. It isn't bad until the wind picks up, beginning to drive the rain sideways into their eyes, whipping across their vulnerable water-soaked bodies and chilling them right to the bone. Tom is the first to start shivering, lanky and thin as he is, but he simply takes one last gulp from his flask and stuffs it back in his pocket, keeping his hands there alongside it and tucking his arms closer to his chest, grinding his teeth together in an angry scowl to keep them from chattering. Matt is next, folding his arms across his chest as he quivers, looking around a bit more desperately for a storefront with its doors still intact; surprisingly it's Tord who notices Matt's trembling.

"Iiiiii think we might have to just settle for the least-destroyed-looking store," he says, casting concerned eyes over to Matt. Edd shrugs without replying, clearly still in some sort of bitter funk, and Tord frowns, then straightens up fully for the second time today, looking around in an almost suspicious manner. His eyes land on a store that only seems to have one window shattered, and the doors only broken, with one hanging partway open. "That one," he points, and Edd finally lifts his head, stopping to glare over at the store Tord is gesturing to, which brings the whole group to a grinding halt.

"Hmph," Edd grunts, shrugging again, "whatever."

" are you so mad about?" Matt suddenly blurts, frustrated, and Edd grits his teeth, going mute again.

"Matt, ," Tord hisses, not-too-quietly. "We're... Just . We all need some sleep, that's all it is." Tom snorts, and Tord shoots him a glare, but the black-eyed man is way too drunk to pick up on that. "Anything you'd care to , Tom?"

"Only that you ," Tom replies, turning to leer at the Norwegian. Just as Tord is about to reply with something equally immature, Edd shakes his head, chuckling softly; that catches everyone's attention, and the words die in Tord's throat.

"Shut up, both of you." He snaps coldly, and all three of his friends shut their mouths at the same time, even though Matt wasn't the one getting scolded for once. Turning away from the others, Edd moves to cross the street, headed for the store Tord pointed at. Tom follows without any hesitation, with Matt in tow, and after a heartbeat Tord plods along at the back of the quartet. Edd shoves the broken door open with no trouble, not bothering to hold it for anyone else, and Tom just sort of lets it hit him in the face, continuing to walk like it didn't just almost break his nose. Matt quickly extends an arm to push the door back, and Tom stumbles inside; the ginger Brit sighs a bit sadly, then lets Tord pass beneath his outstretched arm.

The store has been completely ransacked. There might be a single pair of pants left in a corner somewhere, or a shirt wadded up beneath an overturned display rack, but other than that, it's completely bare. The clothes-racks and tables have been strewn about sloppily, shattered glass littering the floor near the one broken window and water damage evident on the hardwood flooring and plaster walls. Their footsteps echo loudly in the small space, squeaking noisily, the water dripping off them even louder. Edd immediately shrugs off his hoodie, revealing a slightly-less-damp grey t-shirt with the words "SMEG HEAD" emblazoned in black on the chest. He kicks over a few racks in his way, muttering something about maybe being able to clear a space out to sleep; Tom has stopped dead in his tracks, squinting up at the ceiling. The other three ignore him, Tord and Matt joining Edd in rearranging the store's furniture.

"D'you think we'll be able to make a fire?" Tord asks, glancing over at the still-shivering Matt.

"Maybe if we had something to ," Edd answers dryly, "and if there were something to keep the floor from catching fire too." He slings his jacket over a nearby twisted metal something-or-other, then sits down heavily on the floor, exhausted. Matt starts to pull off his jacket, as Edd did, getting it about halfway over his head before he suddenly stops with a slight squeak. Tord wordlessly reaches over and helps him get the neck of the hoodie over his head; with a gasp, Matt finally yanks it off, a bit red-faced, then thanks Tord wholeheartedly as he drops the jacket on the floor. The Norwegian shakes his head, pulling off his own jacket and carefully wringing it out while Matt joins Edd on the floor, choosing to lie down rather than sit. The brown-haired man looks around the room, worry slowly leaking into tired eyes as he straightens up to peer over the top of some upended clothes-racks, concern quickly morphing into alarm. "Hang on, where's Tom?" Out of his sight, Tord curls his lip, rolling his eyes; Matt, however, seems equally moved by the grumpy drunk's absence, and quickly scrambles to his feet. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, footsteps sound from the ceiling and their heads snap up, eyes wide with fright and bewilderment.

"Hey, guys," a faint yet recognizably drunk voice calls from above, and their fear melts away, replaced with a different apprehension. "I think I found something we can burn!" A drunk Tom with an idea is a terrible combination, and everyone, including Tom at this point, knows it.

"What?" Edd shouts back; there's a bit of thumping, then a sudden crash and loud swearing. Eyes widen as the trio exchange a glance, then Edd is on his feet and thundering towards the darker corner of the store, where he assumes the door to the stairs must be, since nobody can see anything. "Tom?!" He yells, fumbling along the wall for a doorknob until his hand just shoots straight through the doorway; he stumbles a little, spooked, then darts up the rickety stairs before him. Footsteps sound behind him, signaling Matt and/or Tord following him, but he's not particularly concerned about them right now. Flinging the door at the top of the stairs open, the brown-haired man thunders into a large attic-like expanse, with broken furniture and a few spare clothes left behind on large wooden shelving units, one of which has been overturned. "Tom!" Edd screeches as he sees a familiar dark-blue figure dragging itself out from underneath the wrecked shelving. Darting over, he grabs hold of the shelves on top of his friend, trying not to slip on whatever was on the floor—Edd hopes to it isn't blood—as he lifts the unit up. Behind him, Matt and Tord finally crest the top of the stairs, identical worried expressions on their faces, with Tord behind Matt. "Guys, help me out!" Edd calls as Tom continues to try and crawl his way out of harm's way.

"Mmmbroke 'em," Tom slurs, sending panic through all three of them.

" 'em? Broke what?" Matt demands, gently grabbing hold of Tom's arms while Edd balances the shelving unit, with Tord hovering anxiously over his shoulder, ready to catch it should Edd slip.

"The bottles," Tom mumbles, rolling onto his back, and his headphones are somehow still around his neck; Matt hefts him up easily, looping one arm awkwardly around the smaller man's torso, and Tom automatically drapes his left arm lazily over Matt's shoulder—at least, what he can reach of Matt's shoulders. Once the shelves have been righted and are stable again, Tord turns round and takes Tom's other side, and Edd sighs heavily, wiping sweat off his brow.

"What do you mean, bottles?" Tord finally asks, confused.

"He kept some bottles from the restaurant," Edd answers for Tom, and as if to emphasize his point, the moment he takes a step glass crunches beneath his feet. Tord and Matt both wince as Edd grinds his teeth, trying to keep his temper in check. "What made you think that would be a , Tom?"

"Dunno," Tom turns his head to one side, avoiding eye contact, one earphone squashing into his cheek. "It wouldn't all fit innn m' , so—"

"Edd, I think he's ." Matt suddenly interrupts, alarm in his voice, and Edd swears, both angry and sick with worry.

"God, Tom," he snarls, shaking his head. "You two carry him downstairs and figure out how bad the damage is; I'll turn this into firewood for us." Tord and Matt nod in unison, shuffling over to the door and starting to work out a way to get down the narrow staircase. Edd starts working on pulling the shelves out of the unit, growling and grumbling softly to himself about how irresponsible his friend is.

"Okay, just a bit further—" Matt murmurs, glancing between Tom and the stairs beneath them, trying to keep from falling down. There's only a few steps left to go, but the sun has already set, plunging them into pitch-black darkness. Today has hardly been a good day for them; tired and hungry, soaked to the bone, legs and feet sore from walking for days on end, and now Tom's gone and gotten himself hurt to boot. Tord isn't too terribly happy to have an arm around his worst enemy, and it shows on his face, eyes narrowed and lip curled in distaste. If Tom weren't so drunk (well, plus the possible concussion), he'd probably be snarling at Tord and demanding 'a little space.' For once, Matt is grateful for his eyeless friend's alcohol habit.

Matt and Tord finally manage to maneuver their way down the stairs entirely, and set Tom down with a bit of difficulty; he groans, looking pained, and Matt's brow creases with worry. Tord steps back, runs a hand through his hair, then pulls a box of cigars from his pocket, plucking one from it, then carefully resealing the package and jamming it back into his jacket in favor of the lighter; once the cigar is burning, he keeps the lighter in one hand, starting to chew on the end of the cigar in his mouth. As he does all this, Matt kneels beside Tom, squinting in the darkness, trying to see their injured friend, fraught with concern. Is he bleeding? Who could tell? Matt only knows Tom's looking up at him because the drunk man's blackened eyes are the darkest thing in the room.

"Relax, Matt, I'm fine," he slurs with a crooked attempt at a smile. "Jusss a li'l bruised."

"I hope you're right," Matt replies, sitting back and looking over at Tord, whose cigar is the only light in the room. The Norwegian is rather pointedly looking in the polar opposite direction, arms crossed, one hand inside his sleeve and scratching at his arm. Footsteps sound on the stairs, and Tord's head snaps around to face the doorway just as Edd grumbles his way into sight with cracked and broken wood in his hands, enough to make a decent-sized fire and keep it going for a few hours.

"Matt," he growls, and the ginger Brit snaps to attention immediately—Edd is overtired, worn out, and quite frankly, done with dealing with other people for the day. It's best to obey him or else he might get angry. "Put some metal shelves and things on the floors, clear a space for the fire." Matt quickly scrambles to his feet, grabbing everything metal nearby and dropping it to the ground a decent ways away from Tom, rapidly arranging it into a makeshift firepit. Tord steps neatly to one side, letting Edd stomp past, staying well out of his way, and Matt shuffles backwards to let Edd dump the firewood on the floor. He kneels down, piling some of the wood in the middle of the metal plating, keeping a stack seperate for use throughout the night. Tord steps over Tom, who's staring at the ceiling lazily, wincing every time he tries to move; the Norwegian doesn't take notice, simply extending his lighter to Edd, who takes it. "Someone get his hoodie off him, let's see how bad the damage is." He strikes the light once, twice, three times, then holds the weak flame onto the wood planks, but nothing happens. Matt scoots around Tord and Edd, trying to lift Tom into a more seated position, but he lets out a yelp of pain.

"Tord," Matt turns to face the apathetic Norwegian, worry painted across his freckled face, and reddish eyes casually slide over to focus on him. "Can you help me lift him?"

"Keep that dammmmed Commie ' from me," Tom growls, and Tord's eyes fill with murder.

"Like I'd go out of my way to get anywhere near , Jehovah's Witne—"

"SHUT UP!" Edd erupts, almost smacking Tord, who ducks out of the way with fright etched in every pore. Matt flinches too, stunned, as Edd continues, "Do what Matt says, you jackass. I don't care that you two don't get along, don't want him to die, so ."

Silence follows, with Edd still trying to light the fire, until Tom laughs aloud. "Hah! He told ," he starts, but cuts off when Edd growls his name in a warning tone. "Right, s'rry," Tom mumbles, cautiously reaching into his pocket for his flask. "'Ey, listen, start the fire wi'h this," he shoves it at his tired friend; Tord takes this momentary distraction for an excuse to distance himself from the others, silently slinking off into a different corner in an attempt to enjoy his cigar peacefully.

"Thanks, Tom," Edd answers sincerely, pouring it over the broken planks, then setting it down carefully. The second the little lighter's flame touches a soaked log, it erupts into life, fire sparking into life pleasantly and casting an orange glow across the room. Sitting back with a sigh, Edd stuffs the lighter into his pocket, turning to look at his friends. Tord is looking out the shattered window, cigar smoke drifting lazily out of his lungs, clouding his eyes, hands in his pockets and an odd stiffness in his slouched posture. Matt holds Tom's head in his lap, hands under his armpits from where he tried to pull Tom upright, and now the two can properly see the damage. Blood leaks from a gouge on Tom's forehead, dripping into his void-like eyes which hang half shut and sleepy. The broken glass most definitely cut into his stomach—though, obviously, not deep enough to kill him, thank God, only deep enough to draw blood. His deep blue jacket is stained with crimson blood, and Edd feels cold fear run up his spine at the sight. "Okay, Tom... You to sit up."

"Noooo," the drunk whines, but Matt is already trying to lift him again; Edd scuffles over, lending a helping hand where needed. To his credit, though, Tom doesn't squirm, and even lifts his arms above his head when Edd starts to tug on the end of his jacket; it slips off pretty easily in one swift motion, revealing a dark grey shirt with some band's design emblazoned on it in cracked white screen-print, and arms with scars younger than Tom's friends would like them to be. The shirt is half-shredded, glass pieces still sticking out of it; Matt helps prop Tom up while Edd takes a shuddering breath, gingerly rolling the shirt up a bit and plucking a few glass shards from it as he does.

"Damn," Matt mutters, speaking up for the first time in a while. Tom starts to chuckle, then freezes up with a cry of pain that sends shivers down everyone's spines. This is bad. This is really, really bad, but none of them dare to say that out loud, as if speaking it would make it more real.

"Wow, Tom," Edd tries to keep it lighthearted as he glances from the wounds to Tom's tired, pained face, then back again. "You did a number on yourself, way to go."

Tom smirks lazily, giving a halfhearted shrug. "Only me, I guess..."

"Edd," Matt interrupts gently, "I think we need to focus on getting the glass shards out of him."

"Right," Edd replies, pretending his stomach isn't doing flips right now. This is going to hurt. This is really going to hurt, and Edd doesn't particularly want to hear his best friend screaming in pain; neither does Matt, for that matter. As for Tord...well, that's questionable, but given how far away he's standing, it's obvious he doesn't intend to , at least. The light of the fire makes Tom's blood seem redder than normal, painting everything a gruesome crimson, seeming to increase the extent of his injuries. Undaunted, Edd carefully sets about plucking the largest slices out of Tom's stomach, wincing when he hears air whistle past Tom's teeth. To his credit, the man is trying his hardest not to scream, and doing pretty well at it; after about the fifth shard, footsteps sound behind them, and Matt looks up.