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Tim swung his trusty axe hard, landing it on the zombie’s neck with practiced precision, severing the head in a single stroke. It takes a lot of force to decapitate something with a single axe swing, but Tim has had months of practice, plus years of being a vigilante behind him, building his muscles, honing his body.
It’s why he's alive.
He believed, in his heart of hearts, that the rest of his family was also alive, out there, somewhere. They’d gotten separated very early during the spread of the disease, the entire Bat team running to the ends of the earth, trying to stop the spread, or collect information to try to find a cure. Tim’s last trip had been to Wisconsin, where he’d been attempting to reach a supposed enclave of non-infected humans to try to evacuate them. But when he’d gotten there, the enclave had fallen. Everyone was zombies. The resulting mob had destroyed his motorcycle, leaving him with no transportation, no way back, and no way to communicate.
By the time he’d set up a stronghold for himself and gotten a radio working, there was no one left in Gotham to respond.
He knew they weren’t dead. If he was alive, so were the other Bats. They had just gone to ground, as he had, in an effort to stay alive and regroup.
In the meantime, he fought for his life every day. He heard the familiar moan behind him and turned lightening-quick, his axe plunging into the neck of the next zombie. This one was a lot juicier. Blood and bodily fluids squirted across his face and chest. He took two seconds to wipe his eyes, ignored the rest, and went back to swinging.
Half an hour later, and he finally killed the last of this mob. He panted, bending over, resting his hands on his knees. He was dripping with viscera. He didn’t care. He was used to it. The grossness didn’t matter. What mattered were vegetables.
He’d found the dilapidated grocery store months ago, and had already cleaned out every single piece of canned or preserved food available. Sometimes he went back looking for things he could use as tools (old shopping carts were EXTREMELY useful for that). Last time he’d checked, all the produce had either been ransacked by animals or rotten.
But now, months later, the seeds of what had been rotting were starting to grow. He found apple tree saplings, cucumber vines, green bean sprouts, corn stalks. Not all of it was useful (it would take too long to try to grow a fucking apple tree), but a lot of these would grow well in his indoor garden, where he could grow vegetables off-season to try to have food year-round.
He needed it. He was providing food for two mouths, now.
As he pushed the shopping cart full of young vegetable plants down the deserted road, he thought about his new pet. Well, he was more than a pet, now. A zombie, but not, there was something different about him that made him almost seem to have a mind, on some days. And then not on other days. Tim hadn’t figured the mystery out yet, but he would.
Danny was indeed a mystery. The way Tim figured it, he had been a meta of some kind, and then had gotten bitten. His meta genes were somehow partially fighting off the infection, but every day was a battle. On some days, Danny seemed almost human. He never spoke, but he’d seem to understand Tim, following his verbal commands, even going so far as to look him in the eyes and gesture. On those days, his body looked fresher. His skin less grey, almost with a hint of color to it. Thicker hair. His body parts would stay attached.
On other days, he was much, much more rotted and decomposed. Sometimes, it was really bad. Sometimes an arm or a leg would rot right off, just fall onto the floor, and Danny wouldn’t even notice. He seemed to not understand a word Tim said, or even be able to comprehend language at all. But even then, even on those days, he wasn’t fully a zombie.
He ate food, for one thing, not human flesh. That part never changed, no matter how zombie-like he became. Which was an incredible blessing, because if he ever started craving flesh, he’d be a danger to Tim. But it never happened. In fact, Danny never got violent with Tim. Not once. Sometimes he’d get very upset and would thrash in general, screaming and moaning, but it wasn’t at Tim. It was just rage and frustration, directed at whatever object was nearest, and honestly, Tim completely understood. The situation was shit. Sometimes you just needed to scream and throw things.
He also slept. He didn’t sleep every day- he definitely needed less sleep than Tim did- but he did sleep. It was how Tim had caught him in the first place, actually. During a mob fight, Tim was swinging his axe with deadly precision like usual, when one of the zombies ducked.
Zombies did not duck. They had no sense of self-preservation. They had no thought. Ducking was a reaction to the environment- it showed thought. And then when Tim had tried to approach him, he ran.
Tim had tracked him for days. Watching. Observing. Seeing him rummage through old dumpsters and trash cans and pull out rotten food and eat it. Watched him lean down to a puddle and drink water. The water did nothing for him, as it just leaked out of the holes in his throat, but the fact that he was doing it at all told Tim this zombie wasn’t fully lost.
And so Tim had captured him and taken him home.
It had taken months to build up trust between the two of them. At first, Danny kept running away. Tim tried to explain to him that he could help him. Provide food for him. Give him somewhere safe to sleep. But he didn’t seem to understand, at first.
But now?
Now he understood.
Now, they knew each other. Danny trusted Tim. Stayed in Tim’s bunker voluntarily. Never wandered far. Always came back at night. Ate the food Tim provided for him. And Tim trusted Danny in return. Trusted Danny not to hurt him. Not to try to eat him, or bite him, or attack him.
Tim pushed the shopping cart up to the front door of the bunker and typed in the six-digit code. It beeped an acknowledgement and the door slid open. He dragged the cart inside and set it in the corner at the top of the stairs, too tired to deal with that right now. He’d plant it all in the morning.
His feet ached as he walked down the stairs into the subterranean lab that he’d found to use as a stronghold.
“Nnnnnnuhhh,” a familiar voice said from the dark shadows in the corner.
“Glad to see you too, Danny,” Tim said, removing his makeshift axe holster and letting it plonk down beside the stairwell. He stood up straight and cracked his back, relieved to not have to be carrying it anymore. He walked over to the light switch and turned it on, bathing the bunker in light.
It revealed the abandoned lab that Tim had turned into his stronghold. Subterranean, steel-lined walls and an array of odd but useful equipment had made it the perfect place to set up shop. While he didn’t have what he needed here to work on a cure, there was plenty of equipment to create weapons and other survival tools with. He’d even managed to create a functioning radio- but as of yet, hadn’t picked up any other signals.
The other bonus of this place was the weird, glowing green power source. It wasn’t a generator. It seemed to be some kind of radiation, but it didn’t register on a Geiger counter. It was contained within a steel tank with incredibly thick glass walls, and Tim had only realized it was a power source because some old equipment had still been hooked up to it. It wasn’t normal, not in the least, and so it had taken him quite a lot of tinkering to figure out how to use it. But now, at least, he had powered lights, a powered door with a magnetic seal lock, and a few kitchen gadgets he’d scrounged up so that he could actually cook without having to go outside and build a fire.
He was starving, and also parched. He’d been out a lot longer than he’d intended (running into two zombie mobs tended to slow you down). He was also itching from all the dried blood and flesh bits sticking to his skin. He didn’t know what physical need to take care of first.
In the end, exhaustion won out, and he collapsed into a lab chair.
“Uuuuuunnngh?”
“Tired, buddy,” Tim said, lifting his hand to his forehead. “So fucking thirsty,” he added, tilting his head to rest on the back of the chair.
He heard Danny shuffling, and out of the corner of his eye, watch him shamble towards the water distiller. Tim had it hooked up to a basin he’d set up outside, then drilled a pipe through the ceiling where the rainwater collected and purified. He cocked his head as he watched Danny’s rotting hand pick up a cup and hold it beneath where he knew the water came out. He grunted in frustration as he couldn’t figure out how to turn the valve.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Tim said, forcing himself to his feet despite the exhaustion. “That’s really sweet, that you wanted to get water for me.”
Tim stood beside Danny and gently wrapped his hand around the cup in his hand, his fingers careful not to scrape the delicate gray skin on Danny’s rotting flesh. He didn’t yank the cup out of Danny’s hand, either, but instead just helped him steady it. He reached over with his other one, and took his other hand, which today was just bones. He gently lifted it towards the valve and guided Danny through how to turn it, probably for the thirtieth time. Danny’s smile when water came out was priceless, and worth the effort. He triumphantly held the cup up, forgetting to turn off the stream, making water pour all over the floor. Tim quickly shut the valve off. He didn’t make a fuss. Danny was the brightest thing in his life right now, and he would never, ever yell at him for trying. Even if it meant Tim’s shoes were wet. Well, wetter. They were already soaked in blood.
Danny looked up at him and held out the cup, smiling. Tim looked into his eyes and couldn’t help being absolutely endeared by them. He had two of them today; one milky white, and the other crystal clear and blue.
Tim’s heart gave a thump when he looked into Danny’s one healthy eye. In it, he could see the intelligence buried in there, constantly trying to claw its way to the surface, fighting against the zombie infection. It was because of good days like this that Tim knew Danny’s eyes were blue. Some days, they were white. Some days, they were missing. Exactly once, they had both been blue. That had been the best day of their lives, so far. Danny had been so healthy. His skin had actually had some color to it, rather than the usual ashen grey. His black hair had grown in so much Tim couldn’t even see his scalp. And it was the only time his mind had ever been there enough to talk.
“Tim,” he’d said. Just that.
Tim’s heart had leapt into his throat. He dropped his project immediately, losing hours of work, and ran to Danny’s side.
“Tim.”
“Yes! Yes, I’m here. I’m listening. What is it?”
Danny had looked at him with both of his blue eyes and smiled.
“I’m Danny,” he’d said.
And that was all.
Oh, but it had been the most precious two words Tim had ever heard in his life. For one, he confirmed that Danny spoke English, or used to, back when he could speak.
And two, Tim now knew his name.
That was the moment, Tim realized. That was the moment he’d stopped considering Danny to be his pet, and began thinking of him as his companion. Even though the next day he’d rotted so badly two of his limbs fell off, it didn’t matter- Tim saw him as a person, now. A person with a name.
Tim still didn’t know what caused Danny’s state to fluctuate like that. It seemed to go in some sort of cycle, though Tim had yet to figure out a pattern. He kept a detailed log of Danny’s daily condition, as well as a list of all the activities he’d done that day, trying to figure it out. Trying to see a pattern. But so far, it seemed random. One day, he’d be sporting real eyes and fingers so healthy Tim could see his fingerprints on the tips of them, and the next, he’d be half skeleton. It was infuriating.
His mind’s condition echoed his body’s. On days like this, Danny was there enough to hear Tim say “I’m thirsty”, make the connection to the thought “he needs water”, then even remember how to get water (mostly). On other days, Danny was little more than a moaning corpse in the corner, and Tim had to coax him just to eat.
Tim drank the water Danny handed him, and his heart lurched as he watched how happy his face was that Tim had taken his gift.
He looked at that innocent smile and couldn’t deny him. He held out the cup, giving it back to him.
“Another one?” he said.
Danny beamed. He turned towards the spigot and lifted his bony hand, remembering how to operate the valve for the moment, since Tim had just shown him. He’d even remembered to turn it off, and with a triumphant grin, handed the cup to Tim.
Tim had to force himself not to get teary-eyed as he drank the second cup.
“Thanks, buddy,” he said, handing the cup back to Danny. Danny went to pour more water.
“I don’t need another one.”
Danny poured the cup anyway, and Tim sighed. Well, it wouldn’t hurt him to drink a third…
Danny lifted the cup to his own mouth and tried to drink it. But he didn’t really have lips today. The water sloshed out between his exposed teeth and fell out of his cheek, dribbling down his neck.
“Nnnnnuuh!” Danny grunted in exasperation, slamming the cup down on the counter.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Tim said, taking both of Danny’s hands into his. Months ago, he would have called that action insane, to take the hands of an infected zombie into his own bare hands, unprotected by gloves or armor. But he trusted Danny not to scratch him or bite him. Ever. No matter how lost his mind sometimes became, he knew not to do that.
“Hey, are you thirsty? I can get the tube,” Tim said. Danny nodded.
Tim’s exhaustion was fading now. It always did, whenever he focused on taking care of Danny instead of himself. He reached behind to a hook on the wall and pulled out a plastic tube that they used for feeding Danny on days when his throat was too rotten to swallow.
“Sit,” Tim said, pointing at the chair. Danny plopped down, and without needed to be told, tilted his head back and opened his mouth.
Tim came over and slid the plastic tube down into his throat. No matter how many times they did this, Tim always felt…weird about it. Something about shoving something deep in another guy’s throat was, well. He didn’t want to think about it. He filled the cup and held the tube up, pouring the water into the funnel at the top. He watched it slide down the tube, past the rotting hole in Danny’s cheek, and saw him swallow.
“Nguuuuh,” Danny said, making the sign for more. So he was with it enough today to remember signs. Wow, he was really there, then.
Tim nodded, and did it again. Then a third time. He thought he saw a bit of color come back to Danny’s cheeks. Just a tiny hint of red blush. It was encouraging. He smiled, and gently pulled the tube out.
Danny looked up at him with eyes made of stars. Like Tim was his whole universe. Like he was in love.
Tim swallowed thickly and quickly turned away.
It wasn’t the first time Danny had looked at him like that.
It made perfect sense, considering that he relied on him for his entire existence, and in addition to that, they had no one else.
But thoughts like that weren’t helpful, and Tim shoved them aside.
After that, he started to cook some dinner (he really was starving), and then went to work. His whole body itched from dried zombie juices, but he would deal with that later. Right now, he had to work on the irrigation system for the indoor greenhouse, so he could plant the seedlings before they dried up and died.
Later that night, his head was buried in his work when he heard rustling behind him.
“Mmmmaaaa.”
It had been awhile since Danny had said anything, so Tim paused in his work and turned around. He saw him curled up in his “bed”, which was little more than a nest of blankets on the floor, all covered in blood and ooze and decomposition liquid. Tim’s own “bed” was a few feet away from it, a pile of couch cushions with a slightly cleaner blanket on top. He desperately wished he could wash Danny’s bedding for him, but they didn’t have nearly enough water for that.
Danny twitched in his sleep and let out a yelp. Tim immediately dropped what he was working on and ran over to him. He knelt at his side and looked down. His face was twisted in an expression of distress, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched tight. His three fingers (which were all he had on his left hand now) clutched at the blanket, while his skeleton hand was curled tight in a fist.
“Nnnnnnn!” he cried in his sleep.
Tim reached out his hand and gently brushed it through Danny’s hair. Strands fell out between his fingers, but he didn’t care. They would grow back on another good day.
“Shhhhh,” Tim said, “Hey, hey. Danny. Danny, it’s okay.”
Danny’s eyes flew open, but they couldn’t see. They darted left and right, but his good eye was rotten now, and his bad one looked like it was about to fall out. He was devolving at the moment. Tim couldn’t even begin to imagine what that must have felt like; to constantly, repeatedly be rotting, then healing, then rotting again. It had to be hell.
“Shhh, I’m here. It’s Tim. It’s Tim. You’re safe.”
Danny calmed, his heaving breaths slowing as Tim pet his hair, and he reached out with his hands to clasp at Tim. Tim knelt to the ground so he could reach him, and Danny pulled him roughly into his arms, wrapping them all the way around Tim’s back.
Tim let him. He had no other way of comforting him, so if his presence could make this transition easier, he would. He lay down in the nest of blankets and felt Danny curl into him, pressing his face against Tim’s chest, while both of them wrapped their arms tightly around each other.
“Shhhh, I got you,” he said, holding onto him as tightly as he could, not caring about the stench, not caring that a piece of Danny’s face came off when his fingers brushed it. “I got you,” he said even softer. “You’re safe.”
“Mmmmm,” Danny said, his moan content now, and he closed his eyes. A moment later he was asleep, his fingers still desperately clinging to Tim’s shirt, and there was nothing in the universe that would make him move.