Wow, look what I did instead of working on chapter eight of Night Terrors. It's coming soon, I promise (y'know for any of you who read it?)

So let me get this outta the way, zombie, humanstuck, Dave/John. May have other pairings (will definitely have them implied...)

Rated M mostly for the gore that comes with a zombie au, but who knows, maybe things'll get steamy down the road. (Spoiler alert: Zombie sex, oh yes.)

"Dave? I'm tired." You stare at him, leaning against the wall and holding his hand over the empty socket where his eye used to be. Your stomach drops into your ankles and you let the worst case scenario take over your brain as you move to his side.

"Then get some sleep. I'll be here, I won't let anything get you in your sleep okay?" He kind of nods and his hand moves away form the empty space. The hand is still covered in blood, and it's all over the side of his face. You can't look at him when he's not hiding it, and his overgrown hair has been pulled in front of it to block it out. He managed to stand on his own, but you end up helping him get to the bed on the other side of the room.

He hasn't been able to walk straight for a few weeks now. It's legitimately worrying, but you don't know what you can do about it.

You get him to the bed and he lays on it for a moment in silence. You sit next to it, readying your shotgun for anything that may come this way. "Dave." The silence is broken and you turn to him, his good eye is focused on you and you swallow, asking him what. "I love you." You can't help a sad smile that comes across your face.

A year ago him saying that wouldn't have hurt. A year ago you weren't worried he was going to die. "I love you too, John." You say and he sort of smiles too, closing his eye and drifting off into sleep. You feel like you shouldn't watch him, you should focus but you stare at his chest as it rises and falls slowly. Slower. His breathing is even for a few minutes. It gets slower. Slower. he time between rise and fall becomes too long and you reach toward him, nudging his shoulder a little.

"John?" You call, nudging a little more. He doesn't stir and you continue, as if shaking him like a rag-doll will bring him back to you. You call his name a lot. You don't realize how loud you're screaming for him to wake up until he moves and you fall silent.

He groans a little, swiping a hand across his bloodstained cheek. You pull away, watching him as his eye opens. It's faded, and he stared at the bloody fingers for a moment. Your heart sinks a little when he sniffs at them and doesn't immediately cringe away. "Oh, please don't-" Your words are stopped by a gagging sound as he sucks his index finger clean.

"Sorry." You put your eyes back on him as he continues cleaning the blood from his hand. You feel like you're gonna puke watching him do this but you're trying to figure out why. Is he infected? He can't be, creeps don't talk. Creeps don't feel remorse. Right? You sort of stare at him, dumbstruck for a moment. "What?" He sounds a lot better than he did before he went to sleep, but you're not sure what's going on here. You reach forward with a tentative hand, and when he doesn't attack it you press your index and middle fingers to his throat.

No pulse.

He's dead.

But he's not dead.

What the fuck?