Summary: Travis knows all about corpses: they're mindless, emotionless monsters who exist only to eat humans. Then a corpse saves his life, and Travis realizes that everything he thought he knew was wrong. Wesvis. Warm Bodies AU.
Warnings: Wesvis. Warm Bodies AU. Zombie!Wes. Post-apocalypse. Zombies. Zombie tropes. Mild gore. Death. Undeath. Love conquers all. Some swearing. Switching Tenses. Switching POV.
Disclaimer: I neither own nor am affiliated with Common Law in any way.
Because Zombies.
OOOO
Sky Blue: Beginning
"You said everyone you know one day will surely die
but everything that dies in some way returns."
—Matthew & The Atlas, "Everything That Dies"
XXXX
Above all else, death is cold.
Life is vibrant, and full of fire. It is heat and passion and emotion. Without that, there is nothing. There is an empty coldness that burrows deeper and deeper until you are so hungry for warmth you'll devour anything in your path to get it.
I was alive, once. I was warm, once.
I don't know what happened. I don't remember how it happened. War, maybe, or plague. A lab experiment that went wrong, perhaps.
Whatever it was, it killed most of the world. Humanity holed up in great walled cities, and the rest of us…
The rest of us just died.
I don't remember much from before. It happens, when you're dead. You lose things. Memories, motor function. Feelings.
I remember grass, green beneath my fingers. I don't remember what it felt like, or smelled like, but I remember the color, bright and vibrant and alive.
And I remember blue, clear and beautiful, the sky over my head.
The sky isn't blue anymore. Now it's just a dull grey.
Or maybe that's just me.
XXXX
Travis was old enough he still remembered what it was like, before the world ended. He remembered cars clogging the streets and airplanes flying overhead, remembered going to work every day with nothing more to worry about than being in an accident and popping by the grocery store on the way home if he wanted coffee and chocolate.
Now…now the world was in shambles, the dead walked the streets, and the surviving humans eked out a living in a protected settlement behind a massive wall.
Some days—most days, actually, if he wasn't out on a raid—when he was done with his work, he would climb up the scaffolding to the highest part of the wall, staring out at the ruined city beyond. He could still remember when it was gleaming, miles of shiny skyscrapers and lines of cars and people swarming the roads. On those days, if he'd tilted his head towards the sky, he could see a perfect California blue sky, with puffy white clouds floating lazily along.
He never looked up much, back then. Never saw a reason to. It had never seemed important.
Now…
The sky was a pale, watery blue-grey, like even the atmosphere had given up with the rest of the world. The only clouds he ever saw were fat grey rain clouds, spitting lightning and booming thunder, sweeping across the ruined metropolis to try and wash everything clean.
It never worked. The rain stopped and the clouds cleared and the city was still the same dingy, ruined place it had been for almost a decade.
Sitting atop the wall, legs dangling towards the ground far below him, Travis tilted his head to the sky and closed his eyes, and he remembered.
XXXX
Green grass, bright as a jewel.
Dark, rich brown soil churning through my fingers, staining my nail beds.
The bright red shell of a ladybug, perched delicately on a sunny yellow dandelion, and I wait until it flies off before ripping the weed from the ground.
The sky, endless and vast above me, a beautiful, glorious blue, spreading on forever, from one edge of the world to the other.
These are the things I remember. The only clear memories I have, the only ones I can hold on to. Colors, so bright and full of life, filling the world to the brim until it's bursting.
Now there are drab greys and browns and blacks, an endless parade of the dead wandering through a dead world.
I think, if I could ever touch that sharp green, or if I could reach out and grasp that blue, so beautiful it makes me ache…
I think I would clutch it tight and never let it go.
XXXX
The first time Travis saw him was in the middle of a raid. It was a noisy mess, guns going off, people screaming, corpses growling and snarling. The fuckers moved fast when they were hungry, across the room in a second, and there was barely enough time to pull the trigger. Headshots, if you were lucky. Body shots to buy a moment, push them back just a second.
And in the midst of it all, there was this guy in a tattered grey suit, spinning and whirling and moving with a fluid grace Travis had never seen in corpses before. Most of them were lumbering, lurching bodies, even when they were hunting. This one was just fucking graceful.
Then Travis got distracted by a corpse coming up on his left, and by the time he turned around again, the corpse in the grey suit was gone.
Travis didn't forget. Even as he moved among the survivors of the raid, checking for bite marks and pulling aside those who'd been bitten, he couldn't get the image of that spinning, graceful figure out of his head.
He forced himself to forget about it, to put it out of his mind and focus on the mission.
It was hard to forget.
XXXX
There's not much to do when you're dead. Shuffle around. Bump into stuff. Shuffle around some more.
Sometimes we eat. Shuffle out until we find people, and then…
It's not like I want to eat people. I don't want to hurt anyone. I just get hungry.
I try to ignore it, best I can. Push it aside and don't think about it. The hunger is always there, a raw gnawing inside me. There are some who keep going, always hunting, always searching, always looking for something to fill the emptiness.
I've made my peace with it. I'll never be full. Never not be hungry. So instead, I push it away, don't think about it until I get too starved to think. The rest of the time…
Well, most of the time, there's nothing to do. Just walk around.
I used to have hobbies, I'm sure. I don't remember what they were, but I must have. Who doesn't have hobbies?
Now? Now I walk. It's all I can do, really.
I like to walk in the cities. It's dangerous. There are humans all the time, and humans don't ask questions. They shoot first, and don't stop to think.
But I like the city. I like the buildings, and the cars. The posters and graffiti on the wall.
I like the memory of what the world used to be.
And I think, if one of them shot me…
Well, this is no life to lead. I don't think I'd mind dying.
Again, I mean.
XXXX
The second time Travis saw him was on patrol.
They patrolled in pairs, but Phil was an idiot who moved on without checking and clearing doorways first. It was going to get him killed one of these days. Travis couldn't honestly bring himself to care too much.
He was walking, Phil a good ten feet ahead, chattering on about something Travis didn't care about. And Travis looked to his left and saw him, at the end of an alley. The corpse in the grey suit. Just standing there, head tilted back.
Travis should have called for Phil, but it was an easy shot, so he just raised his gun—
He couldn't pull the trigger.
There was no real reason. He just looked at the corpse, at the back of his head tilted up to the sky, and Travis couldn't do it. Couldn't shoot an unarmed man in the back.
Even though he knew what this guy was, knew what kind of damage the corpses had wrought on the world, he couldn't do it. Couldn't kill him.
And then he looked up through the sight, following the corpse's gaze, and Travis's breath caught in his throat.
On the wall at the end of the alley was an angel. Someone, probably back before the end of the world, had painted an angel on the wall, ten feet high. Draped in blue with huge white wings and arms outspread, and a beauteous smile on her face. And the corpse was just standing there, staring at it.
Corpses don't feel, Captain always said. Corpses don't think. They just attack, and kill.
But this corpse was staring at an angel on the wall, in a dead-end alley with no humans in sight. Nothing to eat.
It wasn't the action of a typical corpse. Travis didn't understand.
He must have made some sound, some slight noise, because when he looked back down, the corpse was staring at him. Travis tensed, finger on the trigger, but the corpse didn't move. He stared at Travis, with eyes so cold a blue it almost hurt.
The corpse didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stared.
Travis lowered the gun.
The corpse tilted his head, watching him. For a second, it was like the world stopped, all sound ceasing, like the earth itself was holding its breath.
And then he moved, and Travis whipped his gun back up, but he wasn't moving toward him. Wasn't attacking.
Just slowly lifted his arms to his side.
Like the angel on the wall.
Travis could shoot, could pull the trigger and take one more corpse out, rid the world of one more pest.
"Travis!" Phil's voice was loud in the still city, echoing off buildings. "What're you doing? Everything alright?"
Travis stared at the corpse, at that piercing ice blue gaze watching him, and lowered his gun to his side.
"Yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming." He nodded at the corpse. Turned his back. It wasn't something you were supposed to do, turn your back. You shot first, before they had a chance to attack.
The corpse in the grey suit didn't attack.
Travis felt his gaze on the back of his neck until he was out of sight.
XXXX
I remember holding hands.
I remember someone—a woman?—someone with dark hair and a wide smile. And holding hands, matching rings glinting in the sunlight.
The feel of warmth, and connection. The comfort of companionship.
The soft glow in my chest.
Walking through the green, holding hands, laughing brightly like birds floating in the sky.
I don't remember how to laugh anymore.
I haven't held hands in a long time.
I bring my hands together, try to wrap stiff dead fingers together. It's not the same. Cold, dead flesh against cold dead flesh. None of the warmth of life.
You are alive, with eyes so blue and a fire in your heart. I could see it.
Fire, fire, burning bright, but not so bright it consumes everything.
You didn't shoot. I wonder why.
Are you different? I'm different. I think I am.
Your eyes were so blue. Blue like the sky.
So alive.
XXXX
The third time Travis saw him, Travis thought for sure he was about to die.
The raid had gone horribly wrong. Phil didn't clear the room properly before leading them inside, and everything exploded into chaos and screams. Travis did his best, managed to shoot a corpse before it took a chunk out of Randi, but he twisted his ankle in the process, went down hard. He was pretty sure Phil was a lost cause, and Morgan too, and Travis couldn't see Ellen anywhere.
And then he was there, the corpse in the grey suit, rising off the ground like a panther. Even with blood on his teeth, dripping down his chin, he was beautiful, the way tigers and lions were beautiful. Dangerous, exotic, more than capable of ripping your throat out but it'd be gorgeous to watch.
That didn't keep him from pulling the trigger when the corpse moved toward him.
The gun jammed.
Travis scooted back, hitting a counter. He fumbled with the gun, but he knew there'd be no way to get it fixed in time, no way to avoid getting bitten, no way to grab the backup pistol in his ankle holster before the corpse was on him—
The corpse loomed, and Travis closed his eyes, expecting any second to feel teeth on his skin. Expecting death.
He didn't expect cold fingers to press against his face. He could feel blood smearing on his skin, clumsy hands pushing awkwardly at his flesh.
And a noise, soft against the background screams and gunshots, breathy and floundering.
"Buuuh…"
Like someone trying to talk, after having long forgotten the words.
Travis opened his eyes.
The corpse was less than an inch away, ice blue eyes staring into his own. Travis was surprised by what he saw. Not emptiness, not the blankness of death, but intelligence. There was a mind in there, trapped in a dead body and trying to get out.
Bloodstained lips moved again. "Buuuh…" Fingers pressed at Travis's temples, and the corpse didn't look away.
"Buuuh…loo…"
It took a minute to understand. And when he did, Travis's stomach dropped, and if he weren't already sitting his knees would have given out.
Blue.
Corpses weren't supposed to be able to talk.
XXXX
Blue.
Blue like the sky, burning with the passion of fire.
I remember you.
XXXX
And then it was over, no more screaming or gunfire, and Travis knew he was the only one alive in a room full of the dead. His breath hitched, and he looked over the corpse's shoulder, watching the others milling about. Slow and lumbering now, but they would move like lightning as soon as they figured it out—
The corpse patted his cheek, drew his gaze. Travis looked into those icy eyes and saw…understanding. Like the corpse actually knew what Travis was feeling.
"Shhh…" the corpse wheezed, running a hand down Travis's shirt. Blood smeared on the fabric, not the bright red blood of a human, but a dark, reddish-black ooze. Travis spotted the hole in the corpse's jacket, the fabric sullied by the same black ooze, and swallowed.
"Why are you doing this?" Corpses have only one reason for what they do, the Captain said, to kill and eat humans, but Travis was sure of it, he knew that this one was different. This one was saving him.
The corpse blinked, slow and mechanical, and struggled for words, Travis could see it on his face. "Buh-loo," he breathed, soft as though he were afraid the other corpses would overhear. Maybe he was. "Sss…afe."
Travis gaped. "Safe?"
A nod, like a jerk of a puppet. "K-keep…you sss…afe."
Travis was too stunned to respond. Too stunned to do anything but sit there.
The corpse stepped back, trailing his hand down Travis's arm. Cold fingers found his hand, wrapped stiff digits around his own, and gently tugged at him. In shock, Travis followed the motion, tried to rise. His ankle crumpled beneath him, a sharp lance of pain when he put weight on it, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Couldn't draw attention to himself, couldn't…
The corpse watched him, head tilted to the side. It was a little unnerving, that cold gaze trained on him. The guy didn't even blink.
He reached out, poked at Travis's ankle with a stiff finger, and Travis made a sound. The man in the grey suit snapped his head up, and he went still, like a—like a corpse.
"Shhhhh," he hissed, a thin release of air through his teeth. Travis swallowed, nodded.
He didn't understand what was happening here. Didn't know why this guy was…was saving him. That's not what corpses did.
But if it was a choice between being saved by a corpse or being eaten, Travis would definitely take the former.
This time, when the corpse tugged at him, Travis managed to get upright without making a sound, though he almost bit through his lip doing it. Still holding his hand, the corpse shuffled towards the door. Travis…well, there's wasn't much else he could do. He certainly couldn't run away. He kept his head down and hobbled after the corpse, holding his breath when they passed by other corpses.
Travis didn't know what was going to happen, but he had a feeling in his gut that it would be safer to be with this corpse than left to on own, especially with a wounded leg.
The corpse led him to the door. Travis saw Randi, covered in gore, huddled under a counter with her hand over her mouth. He met her eyes, and saw the fear and the question there, but there was nothing he could say.
Nothing he could do except slowly shuffle out, following the dead man in the grey suit.
XXXX
Blue. Blue and fire I remember you so alive, so warm and passionate and burning. When I touched you my fingers tingled.
I want you. Want your warmth, want your life, want to keep you safe. Keep you safe, have to keep you safe, keep your fire burning, alive alive alive stay alive need you to stay alive.
I can feel it spreading in me, the longer I hold your hands. Feel the warmth in my fingers, the tingle in my chest.
I don't remember being alive but I think it was something like this.
keep you safe warm fire alive BLUE BLUE BLUE
Home. I'll take you home. Keep you safe.
BURN blue flame stay alive keep you safe
Let's go home.
XXXX
The corpse didn't change his pace. Didn't speed up or slow down, just kept going at the same ungainly shuffle. It was nothing like the speed and ferocity of a hunting corpse—this was barely above walking pace, and Travis could easily keep up, even if his ankle kept sending little warning signs up his leg with every step.
By the time the corpse led him to a building, Travis had settled into a sort of numb state of shock. He wished he could have taken the chance to break free, run away until he found somewhere safe to hide. Just curl up until he could get back to the wall and the settlement. Randi had probably already told them he'd been taken off by a corpse. No doubt they thought he was dead; he was due for a warm welcome when he returned.
But he couldn't leave, not yet. With a bum ankle he was a walking target, and he didn't have any way to defend himself. If he could find someplace to wait it out, stay until his ankle healed and he could make his way home…
Mind spinning in tired circles, he shuffled in the corpse's footsteps, not even paying attention to where he was going. He stumbled over steps and through doorways without looking, content to follow the firmly gentle pressure on his hand until… Hell, he didn't know. This was all so surreal, he didn't know what was happening anymore.
Maybe the corpse was going to eat him anyway, take him to his lair and gobble him up. It was nothing Travis had heard of before, but hell, this whole situation was like nothing he'd ever heard of before.
He didn't snap out of it until cold fingers slipped out of his own, and he found himself standing in the middle of a hotel room. The corpse stood there, looking…mildly expectant. Travis blinked, stared, and frowned?
"What the hell?"
The corpse shifted, a hand jerkily sweeping the room. "H...h-ome."
Travis gaped.
The corpse shuffled to the bed, patting the comforter. A layer of dust floated into the air, slowly settling down. He did it a few more times, which did nothing at all but move the dust around.
"S…eep," the corpse groaned, lips twisting in a rictus that Travis eventually realized was a smile. He pointed at the bathroom door hanging off its hinges. "Www…ter." He turned down the bed like he was running a bed and breakfast. "St…ay. Here. Sss-afe."
Travis gaped some more.
The corpse shuffled his feet, frowned. Moved forward, hand outstretched. Despite himself, Travis staggered back. He didn't know what he was doing, had no idea what was going on, and he couldn't believe what was happening here.
The corpse's face didn't so much as flicker, but something in his eyes seemed to go sad. He stepped back towards the bed, patting the pillow in another cloud of dust. "Sss…eep," he ordered.
Travis looked at the bed. He looked at the corpse, all awkward, undead eagerness. He looked around the hotel room.
Home. Stay. Keep you safe.
Oh.
"You want me to stay here?"
Against that puppet string nod and that twisted smile, and the corpse took a step toward him again. Travis shook his head, hopping back.
"No, I…look, I appreciate you saving me before, I really do, but I can't stay here. I have a home, a life. Friends. I need to go back."
"No." Never before had Travis heard a word so soft sound so vehement. The corpse crowded close, looming, piercing gaze cutting right through Travis. "St-ay. Keep you sss-afe." He pointed outside, beyond the hotel room and the world outside. "N-not sss-afe."
Travis stared, lost for words, searching for some answer in those icy eyes. "Why?" he whispered, feeling lost. "Why me?"
The corpse's hand came up, brushing the side of his head. "Buh-loo."
"Yeah, you said that. A few times."
"Buh-loo. Br—iiight. L-like…the…s—ky."
"Really?" Travis couldn't help it, he lifted his eyebrows. "Because I've always been told it's more of an ocean blue—" He cut himself off at the not-expression on the corpse's face. Right. Don't annoy your undead captor. "But, you know, sky blue works too. My favorite color, sky blue."
The corpse blinked, one corner of his mouth twitching. "Keep you sss-afe." He moved past Travis, shuffling to the door. In the doorway he turned, glaring at Travis, and pointed. "St-ay. S-eep."
Then he was gone, shuffling down the hall, the door left just an inch ajar.
Travis just stared at the closed door.
"What the hell?"
XXXX
I feel so stupid. I shouldn't have brought you home. It's such a mess. Look at this place. The mold on the walls and the dirt all over the floor. I should have cleaned up. I should have kept it clean in the first place. You're going to think I'm a slob.
Oh god, look at my suit. When did I rip that knee out? And where did all this blood come from? Mirror. I need a mirror. I think there's one in the lobby.
Oh.
Oh my god.
Look at me. I'm a mess. My hair is all over the place, and look at all this blood on my face and my clothes. No wonder you were so scared.
Rubbing doesn't make it go away. How do humans get clean? Water? Would water help? Or…that stuff. The stuff in the bottles that rubbed on the hands and made things clean. I don't remember what it's called but I remember it. Flicker glimmer flash, pumping the stuff on my hands and spreading it all over, cool and clean and making things not dirty.
If I find the stuff and clean the blood off, you won't be so scared and you'll stay.
Perfect. I'll get the stuff and then everything will be fine.
XXXX
Travis wasn't stupid. He didn't stay. This was a corpse's hotel room in the middle of a city full of corpses. For all he knew, the other rooms in this hotel were full of corpses too.
Besides, he didn't know why the corpse had saved him in the first place. Keep you safe, he'd said, and that was all well and good, but keep Travis safe for what? To eat him later, a little takeout to go? No way, Travis wasn't about to let that happen. He was quite attached to his life, thankyou very much.
He was going to get home, and he was going to talk to the captain about what happened, but he wasn't going to stay here.
"Not safe my ass," Travis grumbled, taking his gun apart and laying the pieces out on the bed. Probably not the best place to disassemble his weapon, but it wasn't like there was anything else in the room he could spread out on. There was a rotted dresser and a table with three legs. The only other option was the floor, and Travis had no idea what was on this floor. No way was he doing this there.
The corpse called this place his home. Why would a corpse have a home? They didn't have families, they didn't need to sleep or rest or curl up somewhere with a good book. And judging by the dust in the room, it wasn't like the corpse was living here, pun intended. So what was it? Some remnant of humanity lingering behind, even after everything else had gone?
Honestly, when Travis got back to the settlement, he had no fucking clue how he was going to explain this. He barely understood it himself.
On automatic, he cleared out the jam and grimaced when he checked his bullet count. Four bullets left. Well, that was just fucking great, wasn't it? He didn't know where he was, exactly, but the raid had been at least a mile from the settlement, and he knew they hadn't walked towards the wall.
Over a mile in a corpse-infested city with four bullets and six shots in his backup pistol. It would be a suicide run.
Travis was willing to try.
He tore a few strips from the sheets, wrapping them as tight as he could around his ankle. Not an ideal solution, but it was just temporary, just until he got home. Then he could be on bedrest for a few weeks, which after all this sounded like a positively wonderful idea.
Gun in hand, he cracked open the door, peering down the hall. No corpses in either direction, and his friendly neighborhood weirdo was out of sight. Travis didn't know if he'd get another chance. He had to move now.
He made it out of the silent hotel unscathed, but immediately outside were two female corpses, hovering and staring at each other. One wore a stained floral dress, and would have been cute before she got dead. The other wore a tattered doctor's coat over a discolored pantsuit.
They both looked his way when he opened the front door.
Travis reflexively brought his gun up, finger on the trigger. The second one of them moved—
But neither did. They just stood there, watching him, something all too knowing in their gazes. Travis swallowed, looking from one corpse to the other.
He looked, and he saw, behind the hazel eyes of the doctor and the brown eyes of the young woman, the same sort of trapped intelligence in his rescuer.
Travis swallowed and mustered up a weak smile. "Hi there."
The two corpses looked at each other, faces blank. Then they looked at Travis again, staring with those unnerving eyes, and the doctor grunted.
Travis took a step back into the hotel. "Alright. I'm just gonna…go back inside, then."
Neither of them moved to stop him. He retreated.
Okay, he decided, back in the hotel room with the door firmly closed and his gun in his lap. So maybe he would just stay here. Maybe for a bit.
It was just getting weird out there, and Travis didn't know what to think. He couldn't shoot the corpses if he thought every single one was going to be vaguely human. But he couldn't afford to take the time and see if they were all humanish. Not with only ten bullets.
No, he'd just stay here and wait for a better opportunity, that's all.
XXXX
I find the stuff and clean my face and feel better. The stuff doesn't do anything for my hair and I can't fix my suit, but the blood is gone so you'll like me more and you'll stay. I want you to like me.
If you stay, you'll have to eat, won't you? What do humans eat? I eat, but I doubt you eat humans. Otherwise there wouldn't be any more humans.
What do living people eat?
Trying to remember is hard. Sometimes I have flashes, but most of the time it's just the now and the here. I remember yesterday and the day before that and an endless stream of days spent shuffling from one place to another, but remembering before is like trying to walk through a wall. It doesn't work unless you find a spot that's rotted through, and even then you might not find what you're looking for.
Humans…what do humans eat…
flickering candleflame and hands clasped on the table
a smile on her face as she brushes her hair away
plates of pasta and vegetables, sauce red as blood
"This is wonderful," she says and she laughs
Okay. Food. Human food. I can do that. I can feed you and you'll stay and everything will be better.
I shuffle down the aisles of the store I found the stuff and look for the food. I don't know how long it takes but it feels long, long enough that you might leave, might be so hungry you left my home and tried to go outside. Not safe, not safe notsafe keepyousafe
I shove the food and the stuff in a bag and shuffle back as quickly as I can. Have to keep you safe.
The doctor is in front of the hotel. I don't know why she keeps coming back, lingering and waiting. There's nothing to wait for, not anymore. And there's another one, I haven't seen her here before but I recognize her from my walks, and they turn and look as I come up.
The doctor points to the hotel and groans, and I pause.
"Lll…" she says, pointing. "Lll…ive. Uuh…lll-ive."
Alive. I clutch my stuff—groceries, they're called, I remember, going out to get the groceries—and shake my head.
She points again. "A-lllive!"
"N-o." I slide past her, watching them both. "Mmmine. K-keep sss-afe." I won't let them have you. You're mine, I'll keep you safe, and I'll stand between anyone who tries to take you away.
The doctor's hand drops, and she watches, looking like she knows so much more than I do. "Wwwarm," she purrs, and I clench my hand. Yes. You're so warm, vibrant and full of fire and alive, and it makes me greedy, makes me want to hold you close and cut you open and put you inside me so I'll always have you with me. Mine mine mine.
"Mmmine!"
The other one shakes her head, limp curls flopping. Her lips curl in a parody of a smile. That's all we are, all we can do. Parody, mimick, pretend. We're not alive. Maybe we never were, maybe we just made up memories because we were so cold and we wanted so badly to be warm.
The other one's hand floats up, pointing at me, at my chest. "Wwwarm," she repeats.
I don't understand.
So I leave. I turn and walk home.
The door is closed. I bump against it a few times, scrabble at the doorknob. My fingers refuse to work, refuse to grasp and turn and push.
So I simply slam my shoulder against the door, and the weak wood splinters open. You're still there, curled in the chair and watching the door. I ignore the gun. If you wanted to shoot me, I'd let you.
I hold out the stuff. You flinch, but you slowly stand, and I envy the way you move so easily. Life. It's amazing. It makes you fluid, makes you smooth and perfect and wonderful.
i want it give it to me stay alive keep you safe
Our fingers brush as you take the bag, and I feel warm.
XXXX
Whatever Travis expected when he took the bag from the corpse's hand, it wasn't what he found. He stared.
"Really?" He didn't know if he sounded more incredulous or amused. "That's…seriously? Dry noodles, a can of tomato sauce, and Purell? That's…" He glanced up, saw the look on that expressionless face, and swallowed. "That's…sweet. Thank you."
The corpse made gave him that death-grin smile. Travis tried not to shudder and hugged the bag to his chest.
"Look, as nice as this was, I can't…do anything with it."
Swear to god, the corpse's face fell.
"I mean, not here. I'd need a kitchen. Water. Pans and stuff." Travis wasn't the best cook in the world, but he could manage to make some noodles and sauce if he had to. And since apparently that was his only option…
The corpse stared at him. Travis tried again. "You know, kitchen? Cooking? What am I thinking, you eat your food raw." He sighed. "Look, just…come with me?" He moved towards the door.
And the corpse moved with that inhuman deadly grace Travis had only seen while the guy was hunting, and Travis tensed, hand going to his gun. The corpse stared at him, hands flat against his chest.
"N-not—"
"Safe, yeah, I know." Travis rolled his eyes. "But look, if you're going to feed me I have to cook it. And I can't cook it here. You can come with me." He gave the corpse an encouraging smile. "How not safe can it be if you're with me?"
Travis wished he could understand what the corpse was thinking. Travis was good with people, yes, but those were living humans, people whose faces flickered and changed with their thoughts and emotions. This was like looking at a brick wall. Travis could see thoughts moving behind those blue eyes, but beyond that, there was nothing, no facial tics or tiny clues to help him understand what the corpse was thinking.
To his surprise, the corpse dropped his hands and turned to the broken door. Travis took that to mean the corpse was coming with. Okay. That worked.
Corpses can be reasoned with, he thought, following down the hall. Who knew.
No one. I'm the only one who knows.
He made a silent vow to get out of here. The others had to know.
Everything they'd thought was wrong. They had to know.
XXXX
I remember as we go to the kitchen.
kitchen, gleaming steel and smooth countertops
steam rising from pans on the stove
she smiles and kisses my cheek
"I have the best chef in the world"
Sometimes memories only hurt.
XXXX
The kitchen was in just as decrepit a state as the rest of the hotel, but one of the stoves still worked and the water ran. Travis supposed that had to be good enough.
He washed one of the pans in the sink and filled it, setting it to boil. The corpse brought another pan over, dropped it, picked it up, and set it on the stove. And it was funny until he picked up the sauce can like he was going to try and open it and pour it in.
"No, no, hey, let me do that." No way did Travis want sauce in a pan that hadn't been washed. There was a layer of grime in the surface; he could barely see themetal below. He took the pan and sauce from the corpse's hands. "We're good. Just…stand over there and let me work." He pushed the corpse out of the way and went to work.
It occurred to him, as he was washing the second pan, that this was very strange. If anyone else had been taken like this, they wouldn't simply be standing here making spaghetti in an old hotel kitchen. They would have fought their way out or died trying. He even knew a few people who would have eaten one of those precious bullets, rather than risk becoming a corpse.
But Travis had always been good about adapting to his situation, surviving one day after another until he found himself somewhere safe. That's all this was. Adapting. One day at a time. One step in front of the other, until he was behind the wall and could sleep easily once more.
The corpse hadn't eaten him yet. Travis would just be on guard.
It took a bit of digging before he gave up on finding a can opener and cut a slit in the tomato sauce can with a knife. By the time the water for the pasta was boiling, he had the sauce warmed up and ready to go.
The corpse lingered, watching, and Travis sighed. "Look, go find a plate or something, alright? Stop hovering like that. It's making me nervous."
The corpse stared, then shuffled off. Travis sighed and stirred the noodles.
There were at least three separate crashes from the other side of the kitchen. By the time the corpse returned with a relatively unbroken plate, the noodles had finished cooking and Travis had found some silverware and a glass. He washed them all, served the pasta and sauce, filled the glass from the tap, and hopped up on the counter to eat. The corpse just stood there, silent and pensive, watching and watching and watching and jesus, Travis just couldn't take it.
"So, what's your name?" he asked, shoving a forkful of pasta into his mouth.
The corpse blinked.
"You know. A name. Something I can call you. Do you even have a name?"
More blinking, then that slow processing in blue eyes Travis was beginning to recognize. Travis waited. And ate. And waited some more while the rusty gears in the corpse's head moved.
"…don't…re…mem…ber."
That was practically a complete sentence. Impressive.
"Don't remember? That sucks. What do you remember?"
The corpse blinked, tilted his head. Travis knew a dog that did that, once, like maybe turning his head would show things in a whole new light. Travis wondered what the corpse was seeing.
"Buh-loo. S—ky."
"Right. Yes. Blue sky." Travis shoved another bite of pasta in his mouth. God, this was good. Raiding parties never ventured out this far into the city, and the areas around the settlement were pretty picked clean. Travis hadn't had pasta in ages.
"Well, I can't just call you 'corpse'. You need a name. Hmm…" Travis tapped the end of his fork against his chin thoughtfully. "You kind of remind me of an old teacher I had. Mr. Wessert. Wore a suit and tie every day. He was kind of an asshole."
The corpse stared at him.
"How about Wes? I could see you as a Wes."
The corpse's head tilted to the side again. Travis could almost see the rusty gears turning.
After a minute, the edges of the corpse's mouth turned up, that same awful rictus he'd given before, but his eyes were alight, and he nodded jerkily.
Travis continued to be surprised by this guy.
"Alright. Wes it is. I'm Travis, by the way. Nice to meet you."
The blank face tilted to the side like a bird. "Trrr…a…vs."
Travis felt the corner of his mouth curling up. "Yeah, close enough."
XXXX
How about Wes?
Wes.
A name. Names are important. Humans have names.
I don't remember my name. It might have started with a W, but maybe it didn't. Maybe it was something else. I don't know.
Humans have names that label them, that mark them as unique. As special. Like Travis, with eyes like the sky and the flame inside your soul, burning bright and shining through your eyes.
Special. Precious.
keep you safe
Wes.
Now I'm special too.
XXXX
Travis finished the whole pan of pasta. To be fair, he hadn't eaten since early this morning, before the raid, and he was starving. Still, he should have saved some. It'd be nice to have something to eat tomorrow. The corpse—Wes, he had a name now—took hours to come back with the pasta. Guess he couldn't move with purpose when he wasn't hunting (not thinking about it shut up brain).
By the time he'd finished eating, it was almost dark outside. Even Travis knew better than to go outside in the dark. That was when the corpses came out in force. Maybe they were nocturnal. Maybe they just didn't like the sun. Whatever, Travis was pretty sure that not even his undead host and any amount of corpse-blood could keep him safe if he ventured out at night.
So they shuffled back to the hotel room, playing an odd dance where they each tried to maneuver behind each other. No way was Travis walking with a corpse at his back, even a strange one like this. And the corpse…hell, Travis had no idea what his motivations where. Keeping the blue safe, whatever. Still not enough reason to walk with an undead brain-eater behind him.
The bed was just as dusty as he recalled, plumes spiraling into the air when he patted it. Well, no worries. He'd slept upright before. He could handle it.
"I'll crash here," he announced, dropping into the chair with his gun in his lap. "And tomorrow we'll talk about getting me home."
"No," Wes grumbled, standing at the foot of the bed. "Stay here. K-keep you safe."
"We'll see." In a battle of wills, Travis wasn't sure who'd win, himself or the guy who'd continued to function long after he was dead. They'd see in the morning. Yawning, he slouched in the chair, gun in his lap. "Honestly, I doubt I'll get any sleep. You are not exactly conducive to a good night's rest, man." Still, he closed his eyes, because he needed to rest and gather his strength, and if Wes changed his mind and decided to eat him during the night, well, at least it would be quick. "Try not to wake me unless corpses bust the door down, alright?"
It had been an exhausting day.
He dropped off within a minute.
XXXX
The dead don't sleep. The closest we have to dreaming are the memories, flashes of before that cross our eyes. But those fade, the longer we linger, and eventually they disappear until there's nothing left.
It should be boring, watching you sleep, but I'm dead. There's not much else to do, and I don't get bored.
And you aren't boring. You twitch, did you know that? You twitch and you mumble and you react to things I can't see.
It's not boring to watch you at all.
XXXX
Travis grunted awake and had his gun pointed at the corpse before he remembered where he was. Right. The corpse's hotel room in the abandoned hotel.
Damn. Yesterday hadn't been a dream after all.
Travis rubbed a hand over his eyes, yawning. "You know, it's really fucking creepy to have someone stare at you all night."
Wes didn't stop staring. Well, of course not.
With a groan, Travis stood, stretching his arms above his head. Oh, that felt good. He closed his eyes in pleasure, twisting his hips and hearing his back crack. He could sleep in chairs. That did not mean it was in any way comfortable.
Wes groaned, and Travis opened his eyes to find the corpse leaning forward, watching him, a dark look in his eyes, almost…
…hungry.
Travis froze, hands above his head. "Wes? Buddy, you okay?"
The corpse made a sound, halfway between a grumble and a growl. "A-lllive."
"Yeah, I know I'm alive. That's my biggest selling feature." Travis took a wary step backwards. "You, uh…you haven't changed your mind about eating me, have you?"
The corpse stepped forward, one hand outstretched. "Wwwant. In-siiide."
Fuck. Fuckity fuck.
"Hey, man, I thought we had a good thing going here. You know, the one where you don't eat me and I don't shoot you…" Travis shuffled back a few more steps, pulling his gun from his belt. "You haven't changed your mind, now have you?"
Wes paused, and he frowned, sort of—his brows drew in, and his mouth turned down a little. "N-not eat. No…" Travis supposed he couldn't remember the words, because he just made a sort of chompy motion with his teeth. "Sss-afe."
"Well. Good. That's…good. Cuz I really don't want to be inside you, man."
"No. It's…" The corpse's hands jerk through the air, and Travis tensed again, but then he realized that the corpse was gesticulating, agitated hand motions to convey his frustration.
This guy was seeming more and more human by the minute.
"Wwwarm," Wes groaned, a shaky hand patting his own chest. "H-here. Fffire. A-lllive."
Travis just shook his head helplessly. "I don't understand what you're saying."
XXXX
I know what I want to say. The words are there, inside my head, lined up in neat orderly rows. If I could just get them out, you would understand and you wouldn't leave.
I need you. You have to stay. I can feel the warmth of your fire, burning inside me, burning the cold away. You make me feel alive again. Keep you safe.
But when I try to say them, the words get lost in the darkness.
I don't understand what you're saying, you tell me, and I hate it. I hate being dead, I hate not being able to tell you what I mean. If I could make the words come out right, you would understand, and then you'd stay.
Instead you're cradling your gun, edging towards the door. Saying, "I need to get back," and, "It's been fun, let's do this again sometimes," and, "I'm really grateful for the save, okay," and you're heading for the door and you can't! You can't leave! I need you!
"No!"
I grab you, pull you back. "No! Stay. Safe!"
You're scared. You bring your gun up, and I can smell the fear on you. You don't understand. I need you. You bring the warmth back. I don't want to be dead, I don't want to hurt people. I want to live again. You give me that. I can feel it, your fire, flickering up my arms where I grabbed you, and I need you here because if you go the fire will die and I'll go back to before and I'm so tired of being cold and dead and nothing.
I need the words.
"Stay. N-need. Fire wwarm. Stay safe. A-lllive!"
You swallow, and I can see you trying to fight your fear. It's brave, so brave, and again I'm reminded how special you are. The others, they would have shot. They wouldn't have hesitated. You don't. You listen, and I can see you don't understand, but you're trying.
"O-okay," you say, and your voice shakes. You let go of your gun. "Okay. I'll stay."
It's not enough. You still don't understand. I still don't have the words.
But for right now, it'll have to do.
XXXX
For a moment, Travis had been sure it was all over. That Wes had snapped and gone back to being one the corpses everyone knew. The ones that killed people with no other thought than to feed, and Travis was going to be next on the list.
Instead, Travis got nonsensical ramblings and fervent exhortations to stay, that he'd keep him safe.
So Travis stayed. It wasn't like he could do anything else. His ankle was still aching, and if Wes wasn't going to let him go there was no way Travis could make it past him alone. Travis probably wouldn't even make it to the street before Wes caught him and either dragged him back or gave it up and just ate him.
And that wasn't even taking into account the other corpses wandering around, like the doctor and the brunette in the flowered dress. Who knew how many were out there between him and the settlement?
No. The best thing to do was just sit tight and wait for his leg to heal. As soon as he could run, he could make a break for it, but until then…
If he tried to leave now, there was no way he'd make it. But if he stayed, he just might survive this.
Travis was adaptable. He could make this work. He'd just be on his guard, and if it looked like Wes was going to turn on him, he'd take that shot.
"Alright." Travis dropped onto the end of the bed, sending up a cloud of dust into the air. He sneezed; Wes didn't.
"Alright," he said again, looking around. An empty, dirty hotel room with a corpse standing guard at the door.
Travis groaned and ran his hands over his face, feeling caked corpse-blood under his fingers.
Oh boy, this was gonna be fun.
XXXX
I watch you. You are so expressive, so intense, even in the smallest of things. I watch you, and I long to reach out, to reach inside of you and find what makes you so alive and make it my own. There is a sense of loss, of emptiness, a cold ache so deep inside I cannot name it. There is a hunger, a greed. You are fascinating even when you are doing nothing, when you merely lay there and breathe.
So alive, so vibrant, so warm.
I watch you, and I cannot look away.
XXXX
The first thing he did was wash his face. There was water in the bathroom. It was ice cold and he didn't dare use a lot in case this was all there was. But there was enough to get the worst of the grime and black-red blood off his face. When he dried himself off and looked in the cracked, dirty mirror, he actually recognized the person staring back.
The second thing he did was search the room. Twice. He wasn't looking for anything in particular—he was just looking for something to do. Even a moldy paperback in a drawer would be a pleasant surprise. But there was nothing, just empty drawers and dust.
The third thing he did was sit down, because his ankle was really starting to put up a fight. Too much moving around today, and yesterday certainly hadn't done him any favors. He could actually feel it throbbing, though when he pulled off his boot there was only a little swelling and bruising. Still, when he stood up experimentally there was an alarming moment when he wasn't sure his ankle would hold him up, so he decided trying to escape was not on the scorecard today.
The fourth thing he did was slump in the chair and look at Wes. Wes stared steadily back, not moving, not blinking, not breathing. It was really creepy, actually. Like being stared at by a statue, except the statue could think and move and possibly eat him if it got peckish.
He sighed. "That's all you're gonna do, man? Just…stand there, watching me?" Wes didn't respond; Travis sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "No, yeah, that—that's fine, that's cool. Not creepy at all."
Wes's head tilted, like a dog. Could corpses even understand sarcasm?
Travis fidgeted, gaze roaming the room, before settling once more on the corpse at the door. "Seriously, do—do you have to stare? Cuz you're not even blinking and it—it's really weird, man."
Wes, very slowly, blinked.
"Oh, haha, very cute. That's very clever. How long did it take to come up with that one?" He fidgeted some more, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. "Will you at least sit down? I don't like you looming."
Wes's head slowly tilted to the other side. He blinked again.
"Sit down." Travis motioned at the bed. "You know. Bend your knees and sit." When Wes made no move, Travis helpfully gesticulated. "You. Bed. Sit."
Wes looked at the bed.
Wes looked at Travis.
"Please sit down?"
Jerkily, like he was put together with puppet strings, Wes moved to the bed and sat. Another billow of dust flurried up at the sudden weight. Wes didn't so much as blink, his icy gaze fixed right on Travis.
No less creepy, but at least Wes was sitting now, which made Travis relax. It was stupid and illogical, probably his knee-jerk reaction to authority figures (which Wes sort of looked like, suit and tie and all) combined with a perfectly normal revulsion for corpses in all shapes and sizes, resulting in an all-too-human need to have Wes at his eyesight, not looming over him.
Or maybe he just didn't like having people standing over him when he was injured and unable to probably move. Could be anything, really—he had his issues and he knew it. (They all did, in this clusterfuck the world had turned into.)
And it was ridiculous to relax, dangerous to relax, when he knew first-hand exactly how fast the corpses could move when they were motivated. Sitting wouldn't be a deterrent at all if Wes decided Travis looked like a munchy crunchy snack.
Still, he couldn't help himself: some of the tension bled out of his shoulders, and he relaxed into the chair.
XXXX
You do not sit still. The dead, we have turned stillness into an art form—even when we are moving, there is a lack, because we do not live, and so much of movement has to do with life itself. But you do not, cannot sit still, crossing and uncrossing your legs, tapping your fingers on the chair, continually shifting in your seat.
Were I alive, perhaps I would find this…annoying, the word comes to me, wafting up from the depths where my memories of before lie. Perhaps, if my living energy combated yours for space, your restless, nervous movement would annoy me.
But I am dead, and instead I feel fascinated, enraptured by your movement, and a yearning, quiet ache deep inside.
"Man," you say in a great, explosive breath, "This is not my style." You rise—I move to follow. You mustn't go outside. But you wave your hand. "Oh, don't get your panties in a wad, I'm not going anywhere."
As I watch, you grab the arm of the chair and drag it across the floor, turning it so you can see out the window.
You are sitting so I am not out of your sight, but you are not watching me. You are staring out the window, watching the world outside.
As you watch the world, I watch you.
XXXX
If anyone had asked Travis what corpses did when they weren't trying to eat people, he would have honestly said he hadn't thought about it much. There were two modes of action in his life—times when he dealt with corpses, and times when he didn't. Times when he dealt with corpses were usually spent shooting like his life depended on it, because, really, it did. Times when he wasn't dealing with corpses…well, there were a thousand other things to do in the settlement, and not a moment to spare on useless speculation.
Sometimes, when he sat on the wall, looking out at the ruined metropolis, he could see them, shambling in the streets, aimless and purposeless. If he had given any thought to what corpses did, he'd have probably said that. They just…walked, without purpose, mindless and instinctual.
He was rapidly changing his opinion. Wes, of course, was the biggest factor in that, but it was more, too. As he sat there, staring out the dingy, rotted curtains, he could see other corpses on the street. There was some shambling going on, certainly. But it didn't look mindless.
No, it didn't look mindless at all.
There was one couple that kept drawing his eye. They were both older corpses—age-wise, not rotting-body-wise. Probably would have been in their fifties or sixties, back before they were turned. They were just sitting on a bench in front of Dumont Hardware—not even at the same ends of the bench. They weren't looking at each other, weren't even so much as glancing at each other, but Travis had played that game before, sitting near some pretty young thing and acting like he wasn't interested even though he was.
They were corpses. They shouldn't be interested. But there was something in the way they sat there that evoked images of innocent young tweens who didn't quite know how to asked for what they wanted, and it made Travis's heart ache in his chest.
There was just…so much they'd never wondered about before, and he was starting to think that was a very, very big mistake.
XXXX
Time is meaningless to the dead. It passes, but we do not move through it—we are merely observers to the roll of minutes and hours and days. Time does not affect us, so it drags on endlessly.
I could watch you forever and it would feel like moments.
You spend the majority of your time staring out the window. At times you will shift, mutter to yourself, ask inane questions that do not require an answer. I cannot tear my eyes away.
At some point, you fall asleep, slumped in the chair. I long ago stopped counting the passage of time, but even if hours have passed, it still feels like mere seconds.
I spend a few more moments watching you sleep. Even the rise and fall of your chest is fascinating, the influx of air followed by the steady exhalation. Ceaseless, endless. Beautiful.
Were I to lay down and close my eyes, I would look simply like—like a dead body. No one would ever mistake me for being alive.
No one could possibly mistake you for anything but.
When I am certain you are deeply asleep, I rise, make my way out of the room. Perhaps the one advantage to being dead—we make no sound, give away no sign of our presence when we move unless we walk into something. You do not even stir as I leave.
There are more of them waiting outside. The doctor is there, a continual presence, and the one in the flowered dress, but others, too, two men who stare with the same avid longing in their eyes.
No. They can't have you.
The doctor moves forward, hand outstretched. "Wwwarm," she purrs, reaching, grabbing, aching for it, for the heat of your life, you energy, everything that makes you so much more than we could ever be.
I move to intercept her, stand between you and the rest of them. "No," I say, sharp and fierce, not just to her but to the rest of them as well. "Mmine."
Her hand stops, blocked by my chest, fingers splayed wide. "Uh-lllive," she moans, staring with eyes that ache with need. "Wwwarm."
"Mine," I snarl, glaring at her, baring my teeth. I would fight them, if I had to, to keep you. I will not let any of them take you from me.
She watches, lips curling up in a facsimile of a smile, and her fingers clutch at the fabric of my suit.
"Wwwarm," she says again, staring right into my eyes.
XXXX
Travis jerked awake with a start, hand going for the gun in his lap. He didn't know what woke him—everything was the same as it was when he'd fallen asleep, far as he could tell. The old couple was still sitting on the bench outside, Wes was still sitting on the bed doing his creeper act, there was a bag on the table—
Travis stared at the bag, running a hand over his mouth. "Okay, this is just… I am getting way too complacent here." He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but the last time Wes went out for food it took him at least two hours to get back. Travis hadn't even noticed him leave this time.
His ankle felt better, stronger when he stood and moved to the table. "In the settlement I wake up if someone three doors down coughs," he complained, pulling open the bag. A can of peaches, and more noodles. Well, he certainly wasn't combining those two.
"But here I am," he ranted, pulling out the can of peaches. Now, he was certain he'd grabbed that knife from the kitchen last night… "Here I am, falling asleep in front of a corpse, completely exposed and vulnerable, ready to be eaten. What is wrong with me?" Ah, there was the knife. He stabbed it into the lid of the can, cutting off the top. "Not that you're not a perfectly nice corpse, but it's the principle of the thing, you know?"
Wes blinked, slow and steady, his normal conversant self.
Travis stabbed a peach with the tip of the knife and held it over the can, letting syrup drip down. "Ah, well," he mused, sitting back in the chair. "At least you got me food. Thanks for that, by the way."
It was still rather unnerving, Wes sitting there still as stone, staring and staring and not saying anything.
Travis was getting used to it.
(Adapt and survive, that's all this was. All he'd ever done.)
He finished off the peaches in quick order. To be fair, it wasn't a very large can, and this was the first thing he'd eaten since last night. And it wasn't like he could save any leftovers. He was just being expedient here. The noodles he would save for later, whenever he needed them.
He gave the knife a quick rinse in the bathroom, waving it around to let it dry. He wasn't going to risk wiping it on any of the towels in there—he could literally see the edges where pieces of terrycloth had rotted off.
"Okay," he chirped brightly, emerging from the bathroom. Wes stared at him. Travis grinned and put his hands on his hips. "So what do you do for fun around here?"
XXXX
Fun.
I don't…
bright green grass, dark brown soil staining my fingers, and oh, the bright, bright green grass
Is that fun? I don't remember. But there's a sense of…of…I don't know the words, can't describe it. It's like standing in warm sunshine, like tender, unfettered smiles, like joy and peace and life.
"Gr-een," I get out. I can remember the color, so bright against my hands, and this…
This is the closest thing I have to what you want.
You sighs, rub your face. "Green. There we go with the colors again." You pause, mutters to yourself, "Don't know what I was thinking, asking a corpse…"
You shake your head and look up, eyes burning bright. "Right. That's fine. We can make our own fun." You get your gun, your stuff, and move towards the door. The smile you make is so blindingly bright, full of energy and—fun.
"We're gonna go exploring."
OOOO