Reverse
Pairings: Zombie!Hanna/Alive!...
Warnings: None
This is totally, shamelessly inspired by all the other AU fics and fanart for this.
SORRY GUYS. I'm unoriginal. But...it's so d'awww. Also bonus Vampire!Worth dropped in here. Would Veser be a werewolf and Toni be a selkie then?
"What kinda detective can't find his own goddamn name?"
He remembers this sentence, in the place between sleep and waking up, and with it the sneering face of a blonde, pale man, one sharp tooth poking over dry lips. What was the vampire's name…Worth, maybe? Hanna had so many strange acquaintances. The dead man seems to collect them wherever he goes (but he couldn't blame them; he'd fallen under Hanna's spell just as quickly, and ten years was plenty of time to stumble upon odd people) …Hanna. Hanna? Yes, then, after the sentence – blue, glowing eyes, round and bright, flicking upwards to stare intently at Worth.
"The kind with very thorough attackers," Hanna answered softly, in the same, monotonous voice he always uses. He hadn't really expected the zombie to defend him – the reply comes almost out of nowhere. But Hanna's been dead a long time, and surely with those zig-zag scars ripping across his torso, he's thought an awful lot about thorough attackers. But, he supposes, the green boy hit the nail on the head; he woke up from a coma with more scars than even Hanna, with no name, no family, no identity, no records, no nothing. And that, he is sure, took some pretty hard work.
His eyes crack open slightly, the memory of Worth's sneering face and Hanna's serious eyes slipping away to reveal the crummy walls of his miserable apartment. Blue light shifts and reflects around the cracks, and it takes him a moment to remember that Hanna's eyes glow. He sighs, twisting in blankets to fumble for his watch (3AM) and stare at the zombie through heavy eyelids.
The young man, frozen forever as eighteen years old, sits with his back towards the mattress tonight. He shuffles and twitches, eyes darting about the place, light shifting as he does so. Never still, even in death, the living man thinks fondly, and still half-asleep, he starts to wonder if Hanna was one of those people with ADHD or tourettes or something. Maybe he just died during a sugar rush…he's not entirely sure how the whole zombie thing works, honestly.
He's on the edge of falling back asleep when light catches his eye – pink light bouncing off the walls, and a tiny hiss of triumph escapes from Hanna. It takes him a moment to figure out if he's already dreaming, before a green light brightens the room for just a moment, and this time his eyes are wide open.
"Hanna?" he calls, rubbing at his face.
Big, blue eyes turn to stare at him through thick lenses (does he really still need those glasses?), and though Hanna's face is as inexpressive as ever, his eyes seem to be lit with happiness. "I'm sorry I woke you, Holmes," he intones, turning to face the living man properly. It must be something important, if Hanna has gone back to picking detective names for him – he's usually a little more imaginative than that.
"I saw a light," the taller man mumbles, sitting up. "You're not playing with matches or something, are you? 'Cause the landlady would kill me if-"
"No matches," Hanna interrupts – and the zombie never interrupts. The living man takes this as a sign of excitement. The boy scurries closer, huddling up on the mattress uninvited. He's holding a marker pen with his other hand spread wide, palm upwards. "Look."
Hanna scrawls an intricate something on his palm, eyes a little wider than usual, if possible. He stares down at the green hand, covered in tiny stitches and scars, and for a moment, nothing happens…then, slowly, a plume of purple smoke begins to rise from the lines of the drawing, growing brighter until it lights up the two of them. Hanna smiles imperceptibly, the most minute quirk of the corner of his lips, and Holmes has learnt by now that it's the closest thing to laughter the dead man has. The glow fades, as do the black marks on Hanna's hand, and eyes are rolling upwards to stare at him expectantly.
What on earth do you say to that?
"Is this…a zombie thing?" he asks cautiously, taking Hanna's hand to inspect where the black marks have completely disappeared.
Hanna shakes his head. "I remember this," he explains impassively, while his eyes glitter a shade brighter than usual. "It didn't work for a while. I thought maybe dead people couldn't do it."
"But what is it?" the living man demands, taking the pen to make sure it's not some sort of trick – ever the detective.
"Magic," Hanna says simply. The dark-haired man gives him a sceptical look. "Real magic, Houdini." (He's not entirely sure, but with the name and the wicked glint in his glowing eyes, he thinks Hanna might be mocking him).
"Teach me?" he asks – and instantly regrets it when Hanna shrinks away, scuffling off the mattress and holding the magic marker close. The zombie shakes his head, red curls bobbing back and forth. "I…I'm sorry! I didn't mean to…maybe it was special to you in life, or-"
"No," Hanna interrupts for the second time that night, eyes dimming unhappily. "Magic is…bad for you. But," his mouth twists grimly as he gestures to himself, "it doesn't matter so much now."
The living man stares at Hanna for a moment, and while the green face is blank, his dim eyes betray a misery that makes his own chest ache. He wonders if magic was the cause of death (because god knows he can't figure out what made that gaping hole, haphazardly stapled together, in Hanna's scrawny torso). The dead man clutches the magic marker to himself, and he can't help feeling that he's reminded the boy of something awful, painful, said something a step too far – so he simply opens his arms out in invitation and waits.
Hanna peers at him from over the top of his glasses, eyes brightening again, and for someone that can hardly show emotion, he sure likes hugs. In a second he's burrowing against the dark-haired man's pyjamas, pressing himself close like a cat. The zombie is cold, but still, he likes the feeling of Hanna in his arms, the feeling that the small man is safe. He tugs the zombie down with him as he falls back against the pillow, adjusting the blanket to cover both of them.
"Stay here tonight," he says softly, and the tiny smile Hanna gives him is all the answer he needs.