This fic is brought to you by the collaborative effort of authors Hinaku and Sweetbriar, who wanted to write a little bit of AU GenHaya and then somehow turned it into an epic plot itself. We've been hard at work on this, so if you have any interest in zombies, the older generation of Naruto kids, post-apocalyptic wastelands, guns, boys, boys with guns, boy love, or Kotetsu's attempts at cooking/biological warfare, give it a try!

Enjoy!

Chapter One: Defender

Hayate's worn-down sneakers pounded against the wet pavement, making squeaks and squelches as he very nearly slipped, limbs flailing wildly. He was too tired, too hungry to be able to think about anything other than running--run, Hayate, run--running was all he had been doing for what felt like forever. Each sharp gasp caught in the back of his throat, barely even reaching his lungs with the way he half-choked them back out again--panic clogged his throat and head as he skidded around a corner unevenly, ducking into an alley. If he didn't keep running, the--the thing chasing him would catch him and tear him apart and eat him alive and--oh god, the mere thought of what it could do to him made him sick to his stomach. He'd seen what those undead hounds did to people with his own eyes. He wished he could erase the memories.

There hadn't been a single easy day since that time a year and a half ago, when Hayate's world had been turned entirely upside-down, when the infection had hit and the city had been reduced to nothing but a nightmare-infested ruin. His orphanage had been all but destroyed, burned to the ground. For all he knew, he was the only kid who'd survived since then--and only by the skin of his teeth, he knew. And tonight, his heart leaping into his throat as he heard the growling, snarling thing round the corner after him, he knew he was coming much closer than he ever wanted to be to losing what he'd managed to cling to for the past year and a half. A strangled cry escaped his throat as he nearly tripped again--ohgodit'scomingit'sgainingonmeohgod--

Genma was sitting on the lowest level of the fire escape that led into his well-barricaded hideout, the only way in or out a hatch in the wall blocked by two inches of steel and a thick lock, leaning back against the sheet metal coverings of the windows as he affectionately polished his Glock 17. The apartment's windows, like all the others in this particular building, had been soldered shut--the defense system was one of the first things he and his partner in life and crime had put together when they'd set up the camp with the rest of their survival group. Raidou had always been so collected, so fucking sure of himself and so goddamned selfless. Genma was good with his hands and had helped make the real repairs, but the planning had all been Raidou. The thought made Genma grit his teeth.

'Fuck you, Raidou,' he thought to himself darkly as he set his polishing cloth down, hearing the telltale snarls of an undead hound. 'Fuck you and your fucking hero complex. Fuck you for having the fucking gall to take that fucking hit for me. Fuck you for fucking leaving me like that, fuck you for having the goddamned balls to fucking ask me to finish you. And fuck you for thinking I could do it.' Thoughts like that were always running through his mind, had been ever since Raidou had gone down. Biting firmly on the end of the six-inch-long skewer that was ever-present between his lips--a comfort that was an effective close-range weapon--Genma extended his gun arm and slid his finger over the trigger, waiting for the mutt to get within range.

"Motherfucker," he muttered as the creature turned the corner, in pursuit of what appeared to be some kid--a boy, "oh no you fucking don't. The only thing you're eating tonight is lead, pup." With that, almost haphazardly, he fired, the bullet clearing the boy's head by mere inches to embed itself in the dog's skull. It whined once upon impact and then ceased making any sound at all. Genma snorted and rolled his eyes. The zombies were getting slower.

Hayate jumped at the gunshot, lurched forward and fell face-down into the pavement, throwing his arms out in front of his face at the last moment. He felt the wet asphalt dig into his bare skin as he skidded forward with a hiss of pain--his mind was unclear, fogged--ohgodsomeonehasagunthethingit'sgonnagetme--

He landed with a sickened whimper, body trembling violently as he instinctively curled into a ball there on the ground.

Genma shoved the gun into his belt, watching the hound-creature twitch out the last of its life before he jumped down from his fire escape. He glanced over at the quivering mess of boy and shook his head. "You okay, kid?"

Hayate started violently at the voice--the human voice--and he jerked his head up, arms automatically flailing out defensively in front of his body. His dark eyes were wide with fear as he stared up at the man before him, and it was a moment before the actual meaning of Genma's words had settled in; he couldn't seem to come up with an answer at first, but finally Hayate nodded, shakily.

"Y-yeah...yeah, I'm--" He caught sight of the now-dead beast and felt his stomach heave, but nothing came up--there wasn't anything to come up. He swallowed.

"I'm fine." His voice was raspy, dry, and he let out a nasty-sounding cough into his hand. "Did--d-did you kill it?" he stammered, eyes flickering back to Genma.

"Don't worry," Genma reassured the boy, irreverently shoving the steel-plated toe of his boot into the corpse's neck. "It's pretty fucking dead." He proceeded to kick the dog's body aside carelessly (which was the way he did everything now that Raidou was gone) because it seemed to be upsetting Hayate.

"You're okay, kid," he sighed, crouching down and somewhat awkwardly reaching out to cuff Hayate's shoulder in a manner that was hopefully comforting, "but you better get it together. We should get the hell out of the street before anything else hears us." Feeling the boy's bony little shoulder beneath his calloused hand was strange, almost surreal. He hadn't touched anyone that way since--

"Kid, you don't look so hot," he observed before he got too caught up in his thoughts again. "Think you can make it up the ladder or am I gonna have to carry you?"

Hayate was shaking badly, but he resolutely blamed it on the shock--the shock of seeing that dead creature, the shock of another human being who looked at him and talked to him and touched him, the shock of being saved. It hadn't been the first time he'd been chased, not by a long shot--out on his own for a year and half since the incident, he'd learned to be pretty damned fast on his feet. But here he was tired, hadn't eaten in at least two days, felt like he hadn't slept in at least as long...

"I--I'm okay," he said hoarsely, and swallowed, nodding unevenly. "Just...just tired. Running a lot. Hungry..." He shook his head. "I'm okay. I can make it..." He looked up at the fire escape. "D-do you live here?"

"Top floor," Genma confirmed as he stood, offering Hayate a gloved hand to help him up. Even as he pulled the younger boy to his feet, he could hear distant growls and half-formed baying of decayed canine jaws.

"Well, fuck," he muttered, "there's the pack. Better start climbing, kid. I can only feed you if you don't turn into lunch first. Go on. I've got your back." He reached up to grasp the lowest rung of the ladder and yanked it loose to pull it to the ground, his other hand finding its way to the handle of his Glock. He scanned both ends of the alley and saw the hounds coming in from the right, saw them pick up their pace as they caught the scent of living meat. The stench of their rotting flesh set Genma on edge. Everything in the city smelled of decay these days--there was no escaping it--but being so close that it was strong enough to taste was too close for comfort.

"Go," he hissed, and headed up the ladder himself as soon as Hayate cleared it, though he sacrificed speed to climb with only one hand, the other wielding his gun and ready to fire should anything close in on them. Once at the top, he pulled the ladder backup and latched it in place in case something undead with opposable thumbs came calling, then followed Hayate back the rest of the way. Free of any immediate danger, he slid his gun back into his belt and dug a key out from the pocket of his trench coat, gesturing for Hayate to move so he could unlock the heavily-modified safe door he and Raidou had adapted into a functional entryway.

Hayate glanced around with still-wide eyes as he stepped aside, taking in the new surroundings. He clenched his jaw to keep from shaking anymore--it was over now, he told himself, he was fine, he'd been saved by--

He realized, then, that neither of them had introduced themselves yet. Coughing into his hand, he looked back at the young man who'd saved his life. Considering he was about to let Hayate into what could be called his home, Hayate thought that the least he could do himself was offer his name. And his thanks, at that. Hayate had never had his life saved before; he had always imagined that it would feel...bigger. And yet, here he was, standing around listlessly before the front door and feeling decidedly unimpressed and surprisingly calm for someone who had just come that close to having his innards ripped out by an undead hound.

Hayate decided, idly, that it was the shock.

He looked up at Genma and cleared his throat--he only realized now that it felt raw. "I...um...thanks. You saved me, and..." Hayate tipped his head to the side for a second, his coarse bangs falling over his eyes. He shook them away. "My name's Hayate."

"Genma," came the offered response, "Shiranui Genma. Not that things like that mean jack shit anymore."

The apartment was completely dark once Genma shut the door, a kind of dark that felt extremely comforting to him--if even light couldn't make it in, zombies sure as hell weren't about to either. When he flipped a nearby light switch, the layout of the place revealed itself. It was a simple studio apartment, the paint cracking and peeling in places. There was a single futon in one corner of the room, needlessly large for someone living alone; near that was the door to the bathroom, hanging open with a shower stall faintly visible in the yellow lighting. On the other side of the shower was a closet. There was a living room space that only had an overstuffed couch and a cable spool creatively setup as a table, covered with bullet casings and gun parts. Against the wall was a work desk with a scattering of papers and journals on it, collecting dust, as though someone had gotten up to grab a drink and never came back. Sectioned off on the opposite side of the apartment was the kitchen, a simple arrangement of stove, oven, sink, and fridge. There was a pantry, but all of the food was either in the fridge, on the kitchen counters, or in one of the many boxes stacked against the wall--Genma and Raidou had raided more than their fair share of grocery stores for non-perishables for their 'just in case' scenario. The pantry itself was Genma's storage for salvaged weapon parts. The front door was nonexistent, soldered shut like everything else. Live as part of a renegade survival group in a city full of zombies long enough and it was hard not to get a little paranoid. And Raidou had always been a little paranoid anyway. Genma sighed.

"Don't touch the desk or the closet. You're welcome to everything else," he instructed, gesturing for Hayate to follow him into the kitchen. "Now let's get you some food before you pass out or something."

Hayate padded after him compliantly, wet sneakers making quiet squeaking sounds on the hardwood floor. It occurred to him then that he should have offered to take his shoes off--like everything else about him, they were dirty--but then after a moment's thought he realized that Genma probably didn't care. Hayate guessed, mere speculation, that Genma didn't care about much of anything. He had the definite air of a man who had lost everything to live for but his own damn skin.

"Thanks...Genma," Hayate said quietly; the name felt strange on his tongue. His stomach growled loudly, as if to second the sentiment, and Hayate placed a hand over it. Any other time in his life and he would have been embarrassed--but he hadn't eaten in two days, he'd just had the scare of his life, and in the past year and a half he'd been bereft of anything resembling pride or dignity anyway. He thought maybe Genma could understand something like that.

"Sure thing, kid," Genma said with a nod, not intending to use Hayate's name at all. When things had names, they were hard to not get attached to, and Genma was done getting attached to things. He didn't get attached to stray cats and he sure as hell wasn't going to get too fond of this stray kid. He noted with approval, however, the boy's lack of comment or apology for his growling stomach--pride and dignity, like last names, meant very little these days. More than that, pride could get you killed; Hayate was a bright boy for retaining neither.

Genma opened the fridge for them and pushed around the contents, rattling them off to Hayate because while he was certain the boy would eat just about anything, it never hurt to offer a little selection when it was available.

"We've got...peanut butter, cookies, canned fruit, pop, honey, canned soup--shit, what's that doing in the fridge? Yeah, there's also a meal replacement bar I want you to eat because I'd rather you not die in my apartment, but other than that help yourself to whatever's in the fridge or the pantry. Er, well, the cupboard. There are only guns in the pantry."

Hayate stifled a cough, glancing back at Genma once with a bit of uncertainty (and maybe a bit of skepticism--guns in the pantry?) before peering into the fridge. He felt a little weird just...reaching in and taking things, but then--this wasn't a normal situation. He reached into the fridge, shivering a bit as the cold hit his bare hand, and pulled out the meal bar, cookies, and peanut butter--the cap was missing and it was half empty and there was a frigid spoon stuck into it, but somehow it didn't bother Hayate. If anything, it was a strange kind of comfort. It felt more like home than anything he'd touched in a long time.

Hayate carried the food back to the table, putting it down wherever there was space, and sat down. His hands were still shaking now, but only from weakness and exhaustion and hunger, and without another word to Genma, he pulled the spoon from the peanut butter jar and stuck it in his mouth. He tried not to make too much noise as the half-frozen peanut butter started to melt and dissolve on his tongue, but he couldn't help let out a quiet sound of relief and bliss, and he closed his eyes with a small smile. Even after two days of running and hiding and not eating, he hadn't imagined the food could taste this good.

'God damnit,' Genma found himself thinking as he picked up where he had left off cannibalizing a scrapped gun for parts, trying not to watch Hayate eat, 'stop looking so goddamned innocent. Stop it before I forget what a fucking hellhole this whole fucking world is.' He let Hayate enjoy some of the peanut butter because he wasn't heartless, but stopped him before the third bite, reaching over to take the jar and the spoon out of his hands.

"Meal bar first, kid," he all but ordered. "Your body needs it."

Hayate couldn't hide the disappointment at having something so delicious taken away from him so soon, but this was Genma's house and not his, and he reluctantly let Genma take the jar and spoon from him. "Ah...right..." He picked up the meal bar and unwrapped it, biting into it. It was hard from being in the fridge--but he thought it might have been a little stale, too.

"Don't look like I just drowned your kitten, kid," Genma sighed, though not without something almost resembling humor. "After you finish your veggies like a good little boy, you can eat all the cookies and peanut butter you want. Hell, you can dip the cookies in the peanut butter for all I care."

'Goddamnit, tell me what the fuck I'm doing, Rai,' Genma's mind raged, 'I'm supposed to be fucking done with strays, remember? Masa was our last one. I can't fucking do this anymore. Fucking hell, Rai. I'm putting my canned soup in the fridge. I'm sleeping on my ammo. I'm wearing my fucking clothes into the shower.' Unable to sit still and watch Hayate eat anymore, he went to the door to make sure it was closed properly, then hit the pantry. He had lied, just a little. The pantry was full of weapon scraps, but it was also where Genma's alcohol stash went. He felt around the bottom shelf until his hand closed around an opened bottle of whiskey. He had personally stockpiled half the city's alcohol after he'd lost Raidou, because hard liquor was the only thing left in the world to warm his bed at night.

And meanwhile, Hayate nibbled obediently on the meal bar--it didn't taste bad, but it didn't taste all that good, either--with a tiny smile. It was almost undetectable, but it was there. Genma's half-humorous remark had been...it had almost been warm. Brotherly, almost. Hayate hadn't ever had any siblings, just the other kids at the orphanage, but even so...no one had spoken to him like that in such a long time.

But when he finished off the meal bar and discreetly licked the crumbs from his fingers, he looked up to see Genma taking a drink from a bottle of--something alcoholic, Hayate knew that much, even with his limited exposure to anything of the sort. The smile quickly faded from his face. Genma looked like he was drinking with the sole intention of getting drunk enough that he wouldn't even feel his face anymore. That thought was less of a comfort.

Hayate quietly reached for the jar of peanut butter again, his eyes staying fixed on Genma as he watched the older man drink. As he licked the spoon, freshly coated in cold peanut butter, he tried to hold back the question that had been on the tip of his tongue since Genma had offered him food--but then, seeing as Genma didn't look like he'd be sober for much longer, Hayate figured that now was as good of a time as any to ask.

"Are you gonna let me stay, Genma?" It was half-blurted out, and there was an unmasked desperation in his voice that carried no shame but a sick kind of hope. "Or are you gonna make me leave?"

The question made Genma stop mid-swig and wonder if the kid was a telepath or something. Sure it was unlikely and mildly irrational, but rationality was one of the first things to go in the face of a zombie outbreak. He couldn't even tell if Hayate was a really sad kid or just that good an actor. If he was trying to further batter Genma's long-broken heart, it was working.

"Well, you're too sick to send back out there, aren't you?" he asked dismissively in response, as though it were no big deal. When in doubt, make a mockery of your problems--one of Genma's many completely useless defense mechanisms.

"I'd hate to be responsible for giving those fucking mutts indigestion," he said, grinning faintly. "Guess you can couch-surf as long as you feel like it, kid, as long as you don't mind being under house arrest. I only got one key, and you're far from being in shape to go salvaging with me."

"I'm not really all that--" Hayate started off, but then abruptly caught himself and blinked up at Genma with large, dark eyes. "You mean...you'll really let me stay? Here? With you?" Compared to the state most of the city was in right about now, this place may as well have been a mansion-- Hayate couldn't remember the last time he'd slept under an actual roof that wasn't caving in. This place was safe, and most of all, there was someone else here. It didn't really matter what sort of person Genma was--it was just that he was there. This time, a real smile spread over his face, even as subdued as Hayate's expressions generally were--it went beyond just his eyes, tugging at the corners of his lips as he turned his face fully to Genma's.

"Thank you," he said, more sincerely than he could remember saying anything in his life. He put the peanut butter jar back down, spoon and all, and considered standing up to properly thank Genma, but he was tired and the soreness from all the running had finally settled heavily into his legs. "I...thank you, Genma. I haven't had any place to stay since--well--" Hayate just barely stopped himself from babbling, and he decided then that the occasion really did call for standing, whether his legs hurt or not. Ignoring the shakiness in his legs, he pushed himself slowly to his feet and turned to Genma, making as if to walk towards him. "If--if there's anything I can ever do to repay you, just--"

--At which point his legs gave way beneath him entirely, and with a half-startled noise he fell back down onto the hardwood floor in a decidedly undignified manner. The sight made Genma sigh in a near-affectionate, half-exasperated manner and he moved back over, hauling Hayate up by the arm.

"Take it easy, kid." He grinned faintly, coming to realize how precious little he had to smile about these days. Smirk in satisfaction because he'd just redecorated the alley in undead brain matter? Sure. Grin in morbid humor at being cornered by six zombies with five rounds left in his magazine? All the time. But smile because he had found himself a moment of peace in a world where dying was the least of your problems? That was rare. Genma wasn't quite sure if he liked it yet.

"You should get some rest," he continued decisively after a moment's deliberation. "I don't have any spare blankets to offer you, so you can have the bed for now. I'll put bedding on my list of things to get when I go out tomorrow." He paused.

"Now can you walk yourself to the bed or should I sling you over my shoulder?"

Hayate coughed, perhaps a little embarrassedly, but the hand on his arm was a quiet, warm comfort--something he hadn't felt in what must have been forever. It was a shock in itself, but one he liked. Maybe he just wasn't as jaded as Genma, or maybe he was just more desperate--but he wasn't so afraid of getting hurt as to shy away from opening up and wholeheartedly accepting that distant affection.

"No, I...can make it." Hayate sat back down and looked over at the large futon before picking up the peanut butter again. "Can I just have some more peanut butter first?" he asked hopefully. "Um--I mean--if that's okay. I mean, it is yours and all..."

"Go for it, kid," Genma shrugged, taking another good, long swig of whiskey as though he knew no such thing as a need to breathe. "Everything's junk anyway. No sense in saving it for later." He stopped, looked Hayate over thoughtfully, and made a vague gesture toward the bathroom.

"You're welcome to the bed now anyway, but the shower works if you'd like. I seriously doubt any of my pants are gonna fit you within the next decade, but I'm sure I can come up with a shirt." Even as he spoke, he ambled over to the closet he had forbidden Hayate to disturb, sliding the door open with his hip. The clothes inside were arranged oddly, those on the left side pressed tightly together so that there was a break in the middle of the rack while the right side looked like any other closet, the clothes evenly spaced and...color coded? It was the left half that Genma thumbed through until he found a shirt from his school days, back when he'd been all about clubbing. It was plain, black, and fit him tightly, so he figured the kid wouldn't drown in it.

"Try this," he called behind him, voice slightly distorted as he was talking into his bottle of whiskey, taking another drink as he tossed the shirt over his shoulder.

Hayate was too busy licking peanut butter off the spoon to catch it in time, and the shirt landed half on his shoulder. He blinked, a little surprised--he hadn't really expected Genma to clothe him, too.

"Oh, um...thanks." He finished licking the spoon clean and stuck it back into the jar, coughing quietly as he pulled his own shirt over his head. He'd been wearing it for the last few months, when he'd found it by a pure stroke of luck outside of an abandoned department store. It was loose and the collar was too wide, leaving much of his shoulders bare, and it was grimy and ripped but he was rather fond of it. Still, though--fresh clothes for free. Hayate wasn't going to complain.

He dropped his shirt on the floor next to him, shivering lightly as the air hit his bare skin. Hayate had always been kind of a scrawny kid, but in the past year and a half food had been scarce for him, and meals sporadic, and now his ribcage was clearly visible against his pale skin. He reached for the shirt Genma had thrown at him, fingering the stretchy fabric before he pulled it on. It was still a little loose on his thin frame, but it didn't hang off of him. He smiled tiredly at Genma.

"Thanks...but is it okay if I pass on the shower for tonight?" He eyed the futon with unmasked longing--how long had it been since he'd slept on a bed? "I'm really, really tired..."

"Yeah, I'd appreciate it if you didn't pass out in my bathroom. My bedside manner might be better than Haruichi's, but I'm not quite as good as drilling impromptu holes in peoples' heads to fix concussions," Genma replied, nodding, and then blinked at himself. After a moment, he trained a mildly disgruntled look at his whiskey and sighed. Alcohol had a way of making him nostalgic, he was well aware. He'd just never expected having a little company would make his tongue so loose.

"Go on, then. I'm gonna get tired real fast if you insist on asking my permission for everything. It might be my shit, but it's still just shit," he sighed, shaking his head. "Don't break anything and we won't have any problems. Okay?" At having to reiterate for the second time his renouncement of worldly possessions, he found himself glancing at Raidou's desk, at the prayer beads he knew were tucked away in the second drawer from the top.

'It would take someone like you to turn me into a fucking monk, wouldn't it. Bastard. You know crosses look better on gunners.'

Hayate responded with a dutiful 'okay,' but the word was half-slurred by sleepy lips. Utter exhaustion, delayed by fear-induced adrenaline and the driving need to fill his stomach, had finally caught up with him, weighing down every fiber of his body. He didn't place the peanut butter back on the table so much as drop it, making a half-hearted attempt to stand again before he decided that crawling was a better option to clear the short distance to the futon. Forgetting that he was still wearing his wet sneakers, he collapsed on top of it, too tired to even bother with the covers. A small, relaxed smile spread over his face--the futon felt like nothing short of heaven. Unfocused eyes flickered over Genma's form once more before he let out a quiet sigh that could have been another thank you, and then he let sleep overtake him, sprawled out haphazardly over the futon.

Watching the boy out of the corner of his eye, Genma sighed once more and set his drink down, leaving about a fifth of the whiskey he'd started with in the bottle. He put the cookies and what was left of the peanut butter back into the fridge, moved the canned soup to the counter. Sometime between midnight and daybreak, after he'd stripped off his jacket, put his gun on the table next to the whiskey, and folded the covers over Hayate, Genma found himself asleep, sitting up against the couch. The nightmares came for him as they always did; but somehow, he managed not to wake himself calling out Raidou's name, because that would have woken the boy.

He slept until morning.