Chapter Text
Mike takes a few cautious, slow steps down the aisle towards the man at the end of it that is currently trapped under the knocked over shelves on top of him. He’s struggling, pulling on his leg and pushing on the stuff around him to try and get up and out but with no luck as he stares at Mike with wide eyes.
Mike had heard the commotion coming from the mini mart as he was passing by and with really nowhere to be, nor self-preservation instinct left, had decided to check it out. Boredom was easy to come by nowadays and anything to alleviate it, even for a moment, usually had Mike going in that direction and upon arriving here he could only be relived he decided to as this person looked like they could use some help.
Mike takes another step closer, trying to keep things calm and not get the man worked up even more.
Or at least if it wasn’t his luck because upon seeing him do this, the man starts taking all the cans now on the floor around him from the shelf atop him and chucking them at him.
See he would probably think Mike has good intentions.
If they weren’t in the middle of a fucking zombie apocalypse. Because his life wasn’t complicated enough before this. And while this man looked healthy and alive, skin perhaps a shade paler from the situation he was in, Mike looked, for all intents and purposes, dead.
Not that he was really an oddity nowadays. If anything, this person was the lower statistic.
The world around him was filled with the dead, with zombies. And though he didn’t quite fit the term – dead long before the apocalypse even happened, it was the creatures he most resembled what with his purple mottled skin, face torn to reveal the teeth inside, and patches of rot and decay covering him.
Okay he lies.
Not all zombie were purple. He was just special that way. He has a clue the reason but that’s still a bit of a mystery even to him and he’s getting off track now.
Back to the man in front of him.
Who’s currently looking up at him with fear filled eyes because as he just mentioned, he currently looks like the creatures this man was probably trying to avoid.
“Back! Back!” the person shouts, fling can after can of… is that clam chowder? Oh now we got some raviolis, and shit this person has good aim.
Yeah his life, or unlife, definitely sucks. Were one of those to break open on him, he would not be having a fun next week as hey, apocalypse. Plumbing really doesn’t work and new flash! They live in basically a fucking desert. They might get the occasional thunderstorm but there was no water really sitting around for easy access. Wet wipes and the occasional bottle of water was the best they got.
The cans continue to pelt him in either the arm, leg, torso, whoa okay that one was right at the face, luckily he manages to avoid that one.
Fortunately, along with being dead, his nerves were too so all they leave him feeling is a small thump as he takes a few more steps forwards, arms out in front of him to try and block the oncoming cans. And none of them explode which is also a bonus.
He considers moaning a little. Just to freak the guy out. But the guy looks plenty freaked out already so he decides against it.
He doesn’t let the cans being hurled at him bother him at first but as he continues to try and get closer, he gets put up with it. He really should have put on his mask to hide his condition before entering here. This encounter would be going a lot more smoothly if he did.
He pauses in his tracks, staring the man down and exasperatedly comment, “If you’re done.”
The man does stop. Arm raise in the air with the next can at the ready, staring at him in shock.
And the screams, yelling something about a talking zombie and starts chucking the cans even harder.
Michael sighs in deep annoyance as another can hits his chest. He should have just passed by. But there was reason, other than boredom, that he stopped in here just in case, an approaching one.
Steeling himself, he hopes the man will maybe just take a second to listen if he speaks calm and purposefully. He always back up a step, hoping to quell some of the man’s worries that he’s only here in order to get to him. “Listen I’m trying to help you.”
The guy pauses his attack on Mike again, his shouting going silent as well as he stares at Mike curiously before deeming, “See that’s something someone who is trying to eat my brain would say.”
Mike rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to eat you.”
He looks like he doesn’t quite believe him. That Mike only knew how to talk in order to get humans to trust him. But he answers him all the same. “Then why are you here?”
Hey look at that, they were making progress. Ten seconds and no can thrown.
“I’m trying to help you, you idiot.” Hey, he never claimed to be nice. Or have much patience.
The man frowns, looking taken aback. “Don’t call me and idiot. … Idiot.”
Mike huffs. He’s about two yards away from him. Close enough to see the part of the fallen shelve currently keeping the man pinned down. The shelf looks a bit heavy and Mike isn’t sure how he’s not in pain right now as most the weigh looks to be on the one leg. Perhaps it was adrenaline.
“Listen,” he says, completely serious this time, letting a bit of his own urgency into his voice. He shifts his backpack of his shoulder and sets it on the ground. If he was going to move this shelf, it would only get in the way. In the dimmed light of the mart as the only light coming in is from the front glass windows, Mike’s glowing eyes meet his and the man flinches a little. He looks away from Mike to the floor. “There’s a hoard not far from here and with the way you are yelling, you’ll draw them right here. It got me here. So either you let me help you, or I watch you get torn apart which I really don’t want to do.”
The man doesn’t say anything and Mike hopes that means he’s taking his words to heart. He’s seen enough death in his life as it is and he’s not excited to add random stranger 102 to the list if he doesn’t let him help him.
The stranger’s eyes move back and forth in trying to make a decision as the arm holding the can slowly lowers and the hand holding the can opens to drop it with a thud on the floor where it goes rolling for a second before coming to a stop.
“Fine.” The stranger’s eyes meet his, unwavering. “But if you even sniff me-“
“I can’t smell anyways.”
Content with the reluctant, but accepted invitation to let him help, Mike looks around for a board. Or even a mop. Something to prop under the shelf because there’s no way he’s lifting it by himself.
The man watches him suspiciously the whole time but what Mike said about the hoard must have made him nervous as he doesn’t say another word other than to point and mumble an, “Over there,” towards a stack of broken wooden pallet in the corner. Looking around the shelves, Mike sees what he’s pointing to.
That’ll have to do.
Stepping around the shelf and the man under it, he picks his way around the cans and other garbage on the floor. Reaching the corner, he leans down and grabs the longest board in the best condition before returning.
When he gets closer to him, the man flinches back a little, but then helps Mike position the board under the shelves and on the count of three, they both push down hard and fast enough for him to shift his leg out from under it. The shelf drops with a clang as they both let go of the board at the same time.
Mike immediately backs away now that his mission is complete. He’s learned in the past not to trust people too quickly, especially when they were free to move as they please. The man has his bag next to him and while he hasn’t drawn a gun yet there was no guarantee he wouldn’t. Bullets were a pain in the ass - both figurative and literally - to dig out of his skin and he’d rather not have to deal with that today. He’d avoided the clams, he’s hoping to avoid the shells as well. He’s hoping his luck holds out for that.
He goes back to his standing about two yards away, wanting to at least make sure this person could walk before he himself would book it out of here. He’s traveled with hoards before but for the most part, at least to him, the were kind of annoying and he wasn’t quite in the mood for a run in with them.
Using the shelf that a moment ago he was pinned under, the man pulls himself up with a grimace and then stands there, though Mike can tell most his weight is on his other leg. He doesn’t know how hurt it is and at the very least, hopes it isn’t broken as Mike was no doctor. He could set a leg alright. He carried around a few medical books for tips on treating his own condition. He was quite the pro at stitches now if he does say so himself, but he’d read up on some other things that were in there in some way to pass the days and boredom by. But that didn’t make him an expert. And working on a living human was a lot different than his rotting body.
Neither of them move, both just staring at each other as if both forgetting the urgency they were both feeling moments prior.
Mystery Man speaks first. “Thanks. Uh..”
“Michael. Or Mike, whatever you prefer.”
“Mike.” The man nods his head and oh, that’s a nod Michael knows well. It’s on that says ‘this might as well be happening.’ Michael is very familiar with that one. “Uh no offense but.. aren’t you dead?”
Yeah.
“Like one of them?”
Nope, not quite.
“What the hell are you doing helping me?”
He was a little rude at times, not a complete asshole.
And not a murderous one. Not for a long time now. Not since his brother. And how much one can call the actions behind an accident murderous he’s not sure, but the ending of someone’s life wasn’t something he planned on contribution to anymore. Not if there was a chance to help instead.
He ignores the first questions in order of answering the last one. “Just… passing by I guess?”
The man seems to study him for a moment, his eyes moving up and down as he does.
Michael didn’t get nervous over his looks anymore. Not when the world was the way it was and to find a corpse in worse condition than his, all one had to do was look around. He thinks he takes pretty good care of his, all things considered, but the way this person looks at him make him feel self-conscious. Not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way that Mike wants to impress him.
Shifting his weight, the man makes what sound like a pained step forwards if his grunt is anything to go by and extends a hand to Michael. “I’m Jeremy.”
Mike looks with surprise at the hand and a sort of shock at the name. No one offered him their name anymore. Not without his mask on. Most didn’t use his, usually calling him some offensive term or if they did reluctantly accept his help, ‘zombie’ seemed the furthest they were willing to go.
Mike reaches his own hand forwards, accepting both the hand and name offered to him. And despite his ice cold hands with missing skin and black spots of rot, Jeremy doesn’t flinch or try and pull away the moment Michael’s hand is in his own.
And Michael, oddly, enjoys the moment. He never used to like touch when he was alive. But with the gesture in front of him the kindest one he’s had in a while, Mike finds himself clinging onto it, not wanting it to end. Maybe, just maybe, he could forgive the guy for throwing cans at him not five minutes earlier.
Jeremy looks like he’s about to say something else, his mouth already opening, but a noise catches Mike’s attention and he whips his head to the side to focus on it.
“Quiet.” He harshly whispers, his hand slipping from Jeremy and halting further conversation as a noise to the front of the store indicates something entering.
Mike motions to Jeremy to stay here, then, creeping slowly, he makes his way to the end of the aisle and peaks around the corner. Sure enough, there one is, standing twitching in the front of the store as if trying to pick up a scent.
Jeremy must have come in through the back as otherwise this thing would surely already be on him. They didn’t’ have the best eyesight as the eyes were usually decayed out of their face. He himself could only see thanks to some supernatural shit to do with the reason he was still here. His eyes were just as gone as theirs, replaced instead with small pinpricks even he didn’t spend that long looking at as they freaked him out. But unlike his own unsmelling nose, zombies could pick up a scent. Though he wonders if his smell from coming in the front door is confusing it. It obviously smells the human in here but can’t quite figure out where it is.
He knows he doesn’t smell good. He won’t lie to himself on that regards. But because of that, they never came after him, usually mistaking him for one of their own. And probably covering Jeremy’s smell right now. Hopefully it lasted a little longer. At least long enough for them to get out of here.
Shifting himself forwards carefully as he didn’t know how much vision this one had and even if they might ignore him, he didn’t want to catch it’s attention, he looks out the window.
And oh shit. Yeah, time to go. This place was about to be crawling. Already he can see at least twenty outside in the parking lot and more would probably be arriving soon.
He turns around and sees Jeremy at the end of the aisle with a questioning look on his face.
Michael takes a moment longer to survey the store area around him, spotting the back exit, before crouching down and silently making his way back over, scooping up his backpack off the floor as he does. Jeremy also has his around his shoulder again as well.
He gets closer than Jeremy would probably like but he can’t risk being heard. These things senses from worst to best usually went touch, sight, taste, hearing, and then smell. So while scent was what they relied on, they would also go for noise.
In his raspy voice, both from his vocal cords being partly shredded and his lungs being no better, Mike mutters, “There’s one in here already and more on the way.”
Despite how close their faces are, Jeremy’s eyes shift to meet his. “How many?”
“Couple dozen.”
Jeremy inhales like he’s about to sigh but just holds the breath to Mike’s relief. Or maybe he was about to panic. Neither was a good option right now.
He goes to put his leg down again but his face twist in pain before he’s quickly picking it back up.
“There’s a back exit.” Mike says, noticing the slight panic to Jeremy’s movement and wanting to help as best he can. “I’ll.. I’ll explain later if you want me to. About my situation. But for now we need to get out of here. You especially.”
Jeremy observes him for another moment but then, nods and shifts his body in the direction of the exit while starting a slow shuffle there, using the surrounding shelves as support. Mike follows behind him.
No objections yet. Okay, time to try and find out a little more. He doesn’t know where Jeremy came from but they’d need somewhere to head to after they got out of here.
“You have some place to go?”
Oh there it is. The look. One Jeremy’s head turns to give him and Mike spots that distrust from earlier back on his face.
“No way am I showing you my hide out.”
Michael pauses at that and stands there, feeling the familiar feeling of ‘seriously?’ run through him as he mentally gives Jeremy a deadpan stare. He really hopes Jeremy’s a mind reader or something so he can see it.
Jeremy reaches the end of the aisle and Michael watches him try to walk without support, but the felled shelf must’ve got his leg pretty good and he takes a step and stumbles. His foot his right next to a can but luckily it doesn’t hit it or anything else in the area that would alert their fellow store goer to their location in aisle A1 according to the sign.
Yeah there’s no way Jeremy’s getting out of here by himself and no way is Michael watching him die. The nightmares were already bad enough. He didn’t need one more face he failed staring out at him every night after he closed his eyes.
He starts forward to go help but stop when Jeremy flinches away from him. Mike can see the building fear there now, both in his eyes and in the tightness of his shoulder. Fear that he might not be getting out of here.
Michael knew that fear. Except his had been correct and four robots had combined and crawled their way into his skin.
Okay, maybe he should give the guy a break. He knew his social skills weren’t the best, they never were and weeks spent alone didn’t help, and he hasn’t been exactly soft coming with the guy.
Mike decides then he has to get this person out of here. To not have someone else feel the fear he did and have it confirmed. He’s tried over the years to help who he could since the undead never bothered or came after him, but usually, he never got very far seeing as he looked how he did and them denying his help. But he wouldn’t let this stranger that had showed that ounce of kindness to him die. Kindness was a rare thing in this world and Jeremy had already given him much more than others had afforded Mike.
“Jeremy.” The name feels weird in his mouth as it’s been a while since he’s used another’s name. Jeremy pauses and turns to look at him. “Listen. I don’t want to watch you die. So either I manhandle you out of here or you come willingly.” He leaves no room for argument and that whether Jeremy liked it or not, he would be coming with as he probably was his only way out unless he was prepared to crawl.
Jeremy’s hand grips the shelf but seems to accept the situation as it relaxes, the fingers unfurling and white knuckles from how tight he’s holding it disappearing. “Fine. Fine. Trusting a zombie. What would .. say now.”
Michael doesn’t quit hear the name since Jeremy’s muttering and Mike himself is already moving forwards to come stand next to Jeremy. He lifts his arm up and over his shoulder and confident that he has a good hold on Jeremy, starts forwards, allowing Jeremy to half walk while using him as a bit of a crutch.
“You smell.”
“Are you going to complain the entire time I’m saving you?” Michael mumbles, trying to remember his promise to himself of being nicer to the man.
Jeremy keeps his voice low as he answers, “Yes. Most of you just groan at me so at least I know you can actually hear my complaints.”
“I’m not a zombie. I just look like one.” He helps Jeremy maneuver around some of the clutter on the floor.
“Oh that clarifies a lot.”
“Sorry.” He’s not sure Jeremy meant it to be rude or not and chalks the comment up to stress instead. But as they walk by an endcap that has some perfumes, Michael reaches out and grab the first bottle his hand touches and shoves it in his pocket. He has a feeling he’ll be following Jeremy to wherever he was currently holed up and he didn’t need to make his being there more unpleasant for all involved.
With Mike’s help, they make good time and make it to the hallways leading to the back door in less than a minute, the rummaging sounds and jangle of the doors as other zombies begin to enter the building fading as they do. Mike sees the red exit sign glowing in the dark and they continue to make their way towards it, now finding a pretty good rhythm.
He didn’t have any transportation but no one really did these days. Cars and other motorized vehicles only attracted them. He found that out the hard way. Turns out even if they didn’t want to eat his brain, they still absolutely would cause roadblocks leaving him with a wonderful headache.
Bicycles did work great. If you were alive. Unfortunately his knees didn’t quite like to move that smoothly anymore leaving bikes out of the question for him.
All he was left with was his feet, and even though his joints didn’t move the greatest, on the bright side, he never actually got physically tired. He slept sure. But more out of habit and lack of anything else to do rather than a need to.
He was a wanderer. He went wherever he wanted as zombies didn’t bother him and the living usually ran away. Sure he ran into trouble sometimes. There was a few extra holes in him other than the one the Funtimes put there, but for the most part, he just existed. Helping where he could and avoiding those that made it clear they didn’t.
But that didn’t work for Jeremy. He needed some way to move him as their current system while efficient, was a slow one. He’s thankful that zombies weren’t that smart and as long as they didn’t pick up a scent, would spend a long time just milling around. There was just so damn many of them was the problem.
“So where am I taking you?” He tries again. Maybe if he knew how close or far he had to go it would be better. He knew this town as it was the one he grew up in. Hurricane.
“The old Freddy’s.”
Michael nearly stops – scratch that, he nearly trips over his own two fucking feet - but only falters a second after making sure his brain processed that right.
“Why the hell are you guys camped out in that place?”
Together they push the exit door open and Mike’s vision is immediately assaulted with light and he squints out into it. There’s no direct sunlight, clouds instead covering the sky leaving just a canvas of light gray but it’s still blinding after being inside the building. There’s also no zombies here leading Mike to believe they were all approaching from the front.
“You know it?” There’s a note of surprise in Jeremy’s voice. As he hangs off Michael, his hand shifts to be laying over Michael’s chest and he swears if he had a heartbeat it would be pounding right now. Not because of the exertion. But because he’s starting to realize how cute Jeremy looks now that they’re out in proper lighting. His longer brown hair – curly he might add – is pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands of it falling into his face. He has long, dark lashes that frame his hazel eyes that seem to shine every shade of green, blue, and brown in the sunlight and when those lashes lift to reveal the eyes looking at him Michael swears they steal a breath he didn’t even have in the first place.
He curses himself for his gay thoughts. They always made appearance at the worst times. He should not be thinking the man with the possibly broken leg is cute. And with the way he himself looked, it was foolish to entertain the thoughts anyways. Plus they lived in fucking Utah so even if he looked perfectly like a living human, the chance of Jeremy liking guys like he did wasn’t great.
He brushes the thoughts aside turns his attention back to Jeremy. “Yeah. Did a shift or two back in the day.”
Summer jobs. Gotta love em.
“Really?” Jeremy looks like he doesn’t quite believe him but can’t quite dispute Mike. “Well, I was working there when it all happened. Me and a coworker got stuck there and.. I don’t know. Kind of never left. They seem to avoid the place so figured that was enough.”
“They?”
“The zombies.”
“Oh.” That’s odd, he’s never heard of them avoiding a place necessarily. Sure there was places they frequented more than others but never avoided as he didn’t think they had the mental capacity to decide to do so. “Is there a specific reason?”
“Well…” Jeremy trails off, looking unsure and it’s then Michael spots a grocery cart then in the back lot, pulling him from the conversation as he gets an idea.
Thankfully, Jeremy catches on to what he’s doing.
He leaves Jeremy standing by himself long enough for him to go grab it and give it a few test pushes, making sure the wheels work and don’t squeak too much. Then bringing it back over, he helps Jeremy into it, acting as a stabilizer while for the most part, Jeremy lift himself up an into it.
Once he’s in, they start off towards the direction Michael knows the Freddy’s to be in.
It’s silent for a while as they walk down the street adjacent to the minimart. And Michael would almost be worried that in that silence, they would be able to hear the slight rattle of the cart over the pavement. But the winds are starting to pick up, rustling the leaves on the trees above them along with miscellaneous garbage and items laying on the street covering their own noise well enough.
Michael thinks it might rain. At the very least, his joints ache like its going to.
“Sorry I threw ravioli at you,” comes Jeremy’s voice from the cart as they walk down the middle of the road, store windows around them busted and various door slamming open and closed in the wind giving the area quite the eerie feeling. “I really do appreciate the help.”
Mike shrugs, maneuvering the cart around a way wards car. “Honestly you were a calm one. Better than getting shot that’s for sure.”
“You’ve been shot?” Jeremy sounds surprised, if not a little taken aback, twisting in the cart to try and see Mike’s face.
“A few times. Even got an arrow once.” That had been an interesting Tuesday. If it was Tuesday. Who the fuck knew anymore.
“I take it none of those were just in the leg?”
“I mean, they’ve been everywhere. But no,” he knows what Jeremy’s insinuating, what information he’s looking for, if Mike was alive in some way, “most of them have been in the chest. On the bright side, all of them so far have missed my head. Don’t really know how I would go about fixing that up.”
“So what’s your deal?” Jeremy sounds both curious and a bit frustrated. Like sure the world went to shit but now he was used to it and here was this new thing popping up after he just thought he finally understood. “You’re dead right? I mean, you look like you are that’s for sure. You got bit or something but can still think?”
Mike shakes his head. “No I was like this before this all started.” He glances around them to places that either human or zombie could be hiding but nothing jumps out at them.
“What? How?” Comes the questions in quick succession of each other. The cart jostles as Michael’s too late to avoid a small pothole but Jeremy doesn’t say anything.
“Long story.”
“Longer than it’s going to take to get back to the Freddy’s?” They were still a few blocks away.
Mike guesses not. Looks like Jeremy wins that one. “Got killed but just kind of stood back up. Death didn’t quite agree with me I guess. Or more, I didn’t agree with it.”
Jeremy hangs his hands over the side of the cart and his finger tap it’s edges. “What if you were like patient zero or whatever?”
Before the apocalypse, Mike vaguely remembered the term from some of the zombie movies he used to watch. But at this point, with the way the news and radios had panicked and started theorizing over everything in the beginning, there’s probably not a person out here unfamiliar with the term.
“Seeing as I’ve been dead for three years now and this only started two years ago, I highly doubt that’s the case. Plus, I have a pretty good idea why I’m not dead and it has nothing to do with a zombie bite.”
More like a giant metal contraption shoving its why into him. He wasn’t entirely sure the exact reason, why he stood back up after the metal previously keeping him standing vacated him, but with all the strange that was going on down there in Circus Baby’s, he’s sure it’s something to do with that and nothing surface wise. Definitely nothing apocalypse wise. That right there was just a bonus to his already shitty life.
Plus, he’d been back down there. It took him a long time – over a year in fact – but with the top side going to hell and not much left to do other than wander and wonder, he’d ended up back at the place he, for all intents and purposes, died.
And now there was a journal his father wrote and a vial of something that glowed with the faintest bit a purple in his bag. He didn’t know what he found, but the man who could tell him, hell anyone that could have maybe helped him figure it out, was either MIA or dead just as the rest of the world was.
He finds it a little unfair. There he was two years ago, looking for all the world dead, and just went he thought he got it under control, knew how to appear human again, everyone goes and copies his look.
Honestly, he doesn’t know if it would have been better or worse to wake up after what the Funtimes did to a world of everyone undead like him. He wouldn’t have had to spend many restless nights wondering how he was going to hide, but at the same time, he’d enjoyed the comfort of his favorite show and running water for a little bit. Those were both two things he doesn’t know if he could have started to feel alive again without – TV for his mind, for distraction, and water to keep himself clean, keep the feelings of disgust and contamination away as long as he could for when the feeling of being dirty came, so did the one of the wires, of them, pulling under his skin.
The feelings were better now. More manageable. Time had eased those thoughts and he no longer had a near breakdown every time he would even attempt to think about the event or whenever he started to feel grimy after too many nights of sleeping in alleyways.
Hell, with the way the world was now, he might even count himself one of the lucky ones. Maybe what happened to him had been a blessing. For he was in some sense, alive, had a sense of self, unlike his fellow corpses around him. Because if he had just been normal what chance would he have had against the apocalypse, against becoming just like them?
Jeremy doesn’t say anything else and in a few more silence filled minutes later, they are coming up to the front of the Freddy’s, the title and characters leering down at Mike from their place on the sign in a way that that Mike doesn’t know if he should feel like he is being welcomed, or leave him wishing he never stopped at the minimart in the first place.