A/N: To satisfy my HINABN fix, I wrote this. I'm like an addict, really.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the amazing Tessa Stone.

Title: Detached

Rating: T

Genre: Romance/General

Pairing: ZombiexHanna

~x~

"Hey! Uh, Cornelius! Your hand is kind of like, detached."

The person in question, or rather zombie, casually summoned a quick glance to his left, where his glowing gaze anchored on a disgruntled looking Hanna. The red head was staring down at his zombie partner's hand, which was currently detached and firmly grasping the rubber handle of a frying pan. Hanna tried to quell the rumbling of his tummy and managed not to lick his lips out of hunger, for there were two eggs and four strips of bacon sizzling away inside the pan, and tried to remain focused on the fact that Razelude hadn't noticed his own rotting hand was no longer connected to his body.

"Oh," Lafayette replied solemnly, settling his gaze on the stub of his wrist, where a hand should have been. Hanna heard him sigh, before Gerald gracefully turned the stove off and unwrapped his fingers from the frying pan's handle. He held his severed hand, inspected it for a millisecond, and placed it on the counter.

"Dude-dude, woah," Hanna started, prodding at the decaying appendage. Hanna craned his head and stared up at his partner with uncertainty scrawled across his face. "How long have you been standing there cooking like that?"

Grayson blinked and shot a glance at his withered-looking hand still settled on the counter top. "For about four minutes."

Hanna stared slack-jawed. "What? Geez, that's sort of a long time to go without realizing something like that. I can fix it for you right now, if you'd like." Hanna bit at his lip and stood on his tiptoes, trying with strain to peer around Jason-- the intoxicating aroma of bacon and eggs had gotten the better of him. Leland noticed this and grasped the handle of the pan with his good hand, where he then brought it over towards a plate placed conveniently atop the linoleum table in the center of the kitchen.

"Eat first Hanna, and then you can fix it," Dylan replied while walking over to a nearby kitchen drawer and plucking a fork from within. He placed the utensil beside the plate of food. Hanna licked his lips hungrily, rubbing small circles over his abdomen with the pads of his fingers. He was awfully hungry. . .

But that could wait. He couldn't let Arnold go around without a hand! That'd be just wrong! And he'd be the epitome of a total douche-bag!

"Nope, let's fix this bitch!" Hanna chirped. He quickly trotted toward his bed and dropped to the ground, where he rummaged his hand underneath the moth-eaten underside of his mattress. His eyes lit up when he grasped the familiar shape of his spindle of black thread and plucked it out from the mattress, jumping to the floor. Hanna twirled around on the balls of his feet and happily waltzed towards the kitchen; spindle of thread in hand and a jolly skip to his feet. Jefferson wondered how Hanna could make trivial situations such as this so…gay, for the lack of a better word. Hanna planted himself right in front of Leonardo and motioned to his neck.

"Do you still have that needle up in there?" Hanna asked, a slight wince to his expression. Reginald nodded and cocked his head, exposing the rotted skin of his neck. Piper then proceeded to plow at the crude stitching of his neckline, decomposing fingernails gouging into the mottled skin. Hanna bit at his lip when Salazar plucked a sharp needle from within his neck and gently offered it to the red head.

"Does that hurt terribly? I mean, I bet it does. Maybe we can find a new hiding place for that thing, yeah? But it's sooooo convenient-- !" Hanna was silenced when Harold placed the tip of his pinky finger on Hanna's lips, further quieting any future bout of rambling that the kid often tended to get himself into. "Oh, right! To the floor! Oh-and grab your hand too!"

Hanna scuttled over towards the carpeted area where his bed resided and quickly dropped himself to the ground, where he then crossed his legs and placed his fidgeting hands within his lap. He flashed Manny a toothy grin and patted the spot next him, knees fluttering like a butterfly's wings.

"You seem eager," Roland commented, taking a seat next to the energetic investigator. Nigel held out his arm and placed the stub of his wrist atop Hanna's knee, already too used to the situation. Hanna cricked his head and puckered his lips, unraveling the spool of thread with the front of his teeth.

"I like stitching ya' up, Lillian!" Hanna convicted, his chest swelling out in pride. Jacob raised an eyebrow at the name; Hanna never ceased to confound him.

"And why is that, Hanna?" Xander asked delicately, handing the needle to Hanna. The red head plucked the needle from Jared's fingers and brought it to his mouth, teeth temporarily holding it in place while he measured a sizeable string of thread.

"Because –mff– it makes me –nn– feel sort of –nrgh– useful," Hanna replied sketchily-he couldn't exactly talk with that needle hanging out his mouth. Damien frowned and arched an eyebrow, leaning in towards the younger male.

"Don't talk with that needle in your mouth Hanna," he cautioned, concern momentarily flashing across his vermilion eyes. "You could accidentally swallow it."

Hanna merely laughed. "You worry too much, Pablo. I can take care of myself too ya' know!"

'I don't quite think so,' thought Andrew. The zombie continued to watch on as Hanna struggled looping the thread through the needle, and nearly leapt out of his skin when Hanna managed to accidentally stab himself.

"Ow, fucking geez!" Hanna muttered, dropping the needle and thread to the ground. He stared crossly down at his index finger, where a pool of blood began to fester and drip down the length of his finger. "Fuck it all! I'm gonna' get blood on the carpet."

"Let me see," Mark motioned, his voice strangely low and heady. Hanna quirked an eyebrow and brought his bleeding finger to his chest.

"You're not gonna' eat it, are you?" the red head asked tenderly, lips forming into a puckered pout. Frederick felt the start of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, idle for so long, but quickly ebbed it away.

"No, I'm not going to eat you Hanna," Edison countered softly, red eyes glowing.

"Then what are you gonna' do?" Hanna asked.

"I'm going to return the favor," Thomas explained, scooting a tad bit closer. "Since you're always patching me up, I suppose I ought to help out as well." Without waiting for a reply, Gallahad gently wrapped his good hand around Hanna's wrist and brought it to his face. The zombie lowered his head, mouth gently grazing over Hanna's oozing finger, and parted his lips.

Hanna gasped when he felt Richard's freezing lips wrap around the injured tip of his finger, reacting not from the sting of the cut, but at the way Patterson began to gently suckle at the wound. Hanna fidgeted and squirmed where he sat, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes and a flushed face.

"You're not. . .-mff- secretly a vampire, a-are you?" Hanna stuttered, gasping softly when Nicholas drew away. Hanna shivered at the sight of his blood smeared around Gregory's lips, much akin to a smudged painting-a withering one. Hanna watched, enthralled, as Preston pressed the pads of his fingers to his green-toned lips, gently rubbing at the blood that had smeared there.

Hanna gulped, and then chuckled nervously, before rummaging the carpet for the needle and thread he had accidentally dropped. Once finding his materials, Hanna piqued his head and managed to catch a glimpse of a single speck of blood still dappling the corner of Atkin's lips.

Hanna licked his own lips.

"Uh, you kinda' missed a spot Emmett," Hanna piped, subconsciously leaning forward. Trent quickly yet tepidly placed his good hand against the one Hanna was using to hold the needle. The zombie promptly plucked the needle from the red head's grasp and chucked it elsewhere, lacing his emaciated fingers tenderly with Hanna's.

"Would you mind getting that for me?" Joseph asked quietly, the tone of his voice low and composed. Arlington pulled at Hanna's wrist and pressed both their hands flush against his chest. Hanna couldn't feel a heartbeat, but he tried to imagine one was there.

"Sure thing, buddy," Hanna squeaked. He continued to lean in, his hand [still laced with Jackson's] pressing further into the zombie's chest. When Hanna was but a few inches away from that gaunt and hollowed face, vermilion eyes glowing headily, Hanna flushed a faint red and made to pull away, however Peter was far too fast and managed to place a chaste kiss to Hanna's lips. Hanna stared at Kensington, lips parted generously and eyebrows hitched nearly to his hairline. "Woah-Matthew--!"

And before Hanna could say anything else, Justin closed the distance and planted yet another kiss, and then another, and yet another one, before Hanna was summoned to his knees and was directed between his zombie's legs, both their chests heaving and pressed together. The kiss was long enough so that Hanna could distinguish a few things: chapped lips, yet somehow soft enough to be pliable and tender and tepid and everything else that could compare to a fucking cloud; and a distinct mossy scent, the scent of the earth-of grass and dirt.

Realizing that Hanna must breath in order to live, Michael gently withdrew from the kiss and held Hanna at an arms' length, lustrous eyes ghosting over the form of the young investigator who was still trying to catch his wits about him. Hanna was flushed and breathless, peach colored lips swollen and plump. His thick-rimmed glasses were slightly skewed about his face, unruly orange hair messily framing his face like a ravaged wild flower.

Hanna puckered his mouth. "Holy shit, I totally forgot about your hand!"

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review!