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We all know Kavinsky is a zombie who invented Badassery. We all know Daftinthehead's zombiverse is MAGIC, like, FRIENDSHIP MAGIC.

But how did Kavinsky become a zombie? Most zombies never simply rise up from the grave and become spiritually linked with a Ferrari like E.T. No, I think he was bitten. Write me a fic detailing that painful experience and perhaps have Sebastian there to witness the horrid transformation.
~~why yes, I AM just posting a request to get the fucking page to load properly, how did you know?~~

“How long will you be gone?”

“Honestly, if I knew I’d tell you.” Sebastian actually had an annoyed look on his face.

It wasn’t that Vincent didn’t trust him. No the trust between him and Sebastian was pretty solid, had been for a good portion of their lives. It was Franck he didn’t really trust. Not that he had little faith in Franck or felt threatened by him it was just…They all knew Franck wasn’t the one in charge, Danger was the one with the final say.

A demon who probably didn’t even speak French had the final word over this man’s life. It was kind of funny in a cruel way.

“Well…You can’t just look for her forever, she might not even be alive.” Vincent reasoned.

“Why can’t I? She’s my mother, Vincent.” Sebastian gave him another look then he sighed.

“We’ve got to stay together, that’s why! Don’t you know that you’re all I’ve got left?” He tells the other man in a low voice. Sebastian looks into his eyes and they hold the look for a few moments. It was something they’d done a few times now…They did it when they first really met Franck, when they picked him up…

Vincent smiled at Sebastian. The slightly younger man was sleeping quite peacefully when he saw a human shape outside the car on Sebastian’s side. The rain was coming down heavy but he could still see him. As he got closer he could see it was a man, not even bothering to try and shield himself from the downpour, just stumbling down the road. Vincent flashed his lights and slowed to a stop, unlocking the Testarossa’s doors. The man opened the passenger door slowly and maneuvered in around the prone Sebastian with unnatural grace. Vincent reached over and closed the door. He was determined to believe chivalry was not dead and how could he look at himself in the mirror the next day knowing he’d allowed this young man to continue on through the cold? The younger looking man sat squarely in the middle, so Vincent could see him in the rear view mirror. As he accelerated again he noticed with some degree of worry that the man’s shirt was seriously torn down the middle, some red noticeable on his chest. What could have attacked the poor guy out here, in some backwater hills of France?

“You alright, friend?” Vincent always did have a friendly nature about him. The man nods and sneezes, water dripping down his face. It’s times like this, when people are most vulnerable that you get an inkling into their true selves. And this man appeared lost, completely lost as if he were still on that muddy wet road. He had dark brown hair and dark hard rings under his eyes. He shivered slightly, rubbing himself with his arms. Vincent removed his letterman jacket and wordlessly handed it back to the wet man.

“Thank you.” He said quietly. Such a quiet, weak voice. It only added to his vulnerable appearance.

“Are you okay? With that gash? Were you out there long?”

“This…this is nothing really. It was just…a disagreement. I don’t really know what I was doing out there…but it happens.” He said as he wrapped himself up in the jacket. Vincent noticed with amusement that the jacket was very loose on him, his small frame easily enveloped by it.

“Do you have multiplicity or were you drunk maybe?”

“Multiplicity…it’s like that…I suppose. But he’s not me. I told you, we just had a disagreement.” The man repeated.

“On what?”

“I didn’t want to but…well…” Vincent figured he should end the questions there. This man seemed troubled, he just wanted to get him back to his own apartment and help him warm up. He grinned, wondering if Sebastian would be okay with that endeavor.

“I passed a car a while back, was that your car?” He asked.

“No…That was the man who picked me up before you.” Vincent raised his eyebrows. That was curious. He wondered briefly how long the man would’ve waited before telling him that.

“Was he still back there?”

“Probably. It’s not like he could’ve walked that far.”

“…Why’s that?”

“Because,” And here the man’s voice dipped, his eyes cast downward. “I cut off his legs.” Sebastian raised his head, eyes wide and he and Vincent briefly shared an “oh fuck” look. “And his arms…And his head. And” He leaned forward, so his face was much closer to Vincent’s. “I don’t want to do the same to you…I hope I won’t, really…Just…Keep driving.” Vincent and Sebastian were quiet for quite some time. They all were, just silently listening to the hum of the Testarossa’s powerful engine. Mixed with the beating rain it really was a peaceful sound and it clashed so strangely with the fear settling in amongst them. He wasn’t sure how but Vincent felt fear coming from their guest as well.

“You.” Vincent coughed before continuing, the fear tightening in his throat. “You honestly look kind of familiar. Have we met?” The man looked thoughtful for a moment.

“I don’t think we have. But I do live in the city we’re coming up to. I’m an art student there.” He said. Vincent realized why he recognized the man. Sometimes he ran in the morning and when he did he would pass by a college, an art studio. Sometimes he would see this dark young man, painting so vigorously either by himself or with other students.

“I have seen you before.” Vincent told him.

“…My name is Franck.” The man said. After a few minutes Sebastian shook, jolted.

“Why.” He said. “Why did you do it?” The air in the car became heavy and choking and Vincent almost felt bad as he saw the young man cast his eyes down again. His voice came out choked and pained.

“I told you. I didn’t want to.” He said shakily. Against all reason Vincent took him back to his apartment and the three laid in his large bed, silent, warm and uneasy.

---

Thereafter they had spent many nights together and Franck somehow became their number three. He would lay beneath them, pliant, needy and vulnerable. Sebastian acknowledged him, Vincent accepted him, and their drives never felt complete without the artist in the back seat. They became three.

And THREE they longed to stay which was why Vincent was so dismayed. Sebastian continued to pack away things he might need, mostly shells water and canned food. Vincent had loaned him the Testarossa and he wanted to go find his mother. Vincent’s parents had passed away much sooner so he did not need to worry about them.

And Franck…Franck never mentioned his family. They didn’t question it for fear of what that might mean…

“Look, how about this. If I’m still looking for her after a month I’ll give it up and come back. Is that good?” Vincent did not like the idea of Sebastian being on his own for so long but he understood the man’s need to find his mother.

“Sure, that’ll work.”

“Take care of yourself. If you get the chance, call us?” Franck didn’t seem too happy to see Sebastian go either and the cop felt a little flattered. He kissed Vincent and patted Franck on the head, the artist smiling a bit at the big brother treatment.

“Don’t worry. I’ve survived this long, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll return as soon as I can.” He got in the car and drove down the street.

Sometime after Franck had come to be their new friend, several people were attacked in one of the poor districts of the city. They couldn’t really describe with great accuracy what had happened only that some really beaten up looking people had attacked them and bitten them. Later several of those people needed to be hospitalized and not long after that they too became rabid and began biting. More and more people fell victim to the bites until the whole continent had a serious emergency on its hands. Everyone was turning into what really could be called nothing else but zombies and all over the word people hailed it as the end of days.

Franck Vincent and Sebastian didn’t really care one way or another what was happening so long as they could stay together and keep their heads above water. And so far they’d done just that.

But now they were two…Vincent looked over at Franck, leery. It was bad enough Sebastian was going to be by himself…The older man did not at all like the idea of being alone with the possessed artist. Franck rubbed the back of his calf with his foot.

“Maybe you should head home and I’ll meet you there. I’m uh, I’m gonna go find us some dinner.” Franck turned without another word and jumped, effortlessly, twenty feet into the air onto a fire escape. He darted away like some kind of comic book hero and Vincent sighed. He and Sebastian had gotten used to their third’s unnatural strength and speed. The younger man was as much a risk factor as he was an advantage. Vincent hefted his assault rifle and headed home.

Vincent jolted up. He didn’t remember falling asleep and grabbed his rifle. These days it was always within arm’s reach. He calmed down immediately when he saw Franck walk in, a brown paper back in each arm.

“Hey baby.” Vincent said, smiling apologetically.

“Our first dinner without Seb. It’s going to be so depressing.” Franck laughed. The pale chain smoker who always dressed like he was going to a funeral had a surprisingly cheering effect on his lovers.

“What did you bring for me?” Vincent asked, approaching the table where Franck was arranging the things.

“A few cuts of beef, pretty nice looking. Some chips…A bottle of wine and some beer.” Franck said triumphantly. Vincent clapped his hands together.

“Excellent.”

Vincent fired up the generator on the roof and before long the two were quietly chewing on bland steak and chips. Warm beer had become common place to them and Vincent shelved the wine away. ‘For Sebastian’s triumphant return.’ He’d said. Franck smiled at the idea.

As Franck undressed for bed Vincent went around a lit a couple of candles throughout his apartment. The generator itself was somewhat of a danger as the loud noise drew zombies in, they’d learned early on. Plus, keeping it going through the night just to keep some lights on was a waste at best and they couldn’t afford to make petrol runs that often. Vincent disrobed and joined his younger friend in the large bed. The quilt was a rich red color and the bed was easily large enough for more than three people. But the spaciousness of it only emphasized Sebastian’s absence and Frack curled around the older man sadly.

---

When they were three they practically lived off of each other’s presence. Just the feel of being together kept them going, consoled them. But now that they were just two they began to really pay attention and pick up on each other. As they needlessly patrolled the streets Vincent’s little quirks and imperfections became more apparent and Franck clandestinely took sharp note of each one.

Like when he was just standing still, waiting for Franck to regroup. Maybe he didn’t even realize it, he acted like he didn’t, but the silver headed man would zip and unzip his jacket lazily. Or tap the barrel of his rifle. And he almost never stood still. He would saunter back and forth halfheartedly if he was just standing and he tended to really kick his feet as he walked if he was bored. When Franck noticed these things he felt light hearted and his view of Vincent just became more heart warming.

However when Vincent took note of Franck’s quirks he just felt more uneasy about the younger man. Like now for instance. As the two walked along the street Franck suddenly broke out into a run and soon into it he got on all fours and crept along lighting fast. It was clear Danger was influencing even his physical movements from deep within the depths of the artist’s mind. Other times when they were confronted by zombies Franck didn’t always rely on his pistols and sometimes just threw himself at his enemies, tearing and clawing wildly, in no way human in nature. It reminded him of when they were intimate, in a quiet warm place, the younger man would dig his finger nails into his back, gnash his teeth and breath so harshly, like something was pushing him even further over the edge.

Worse still, Franck’s face stayed unashamedly blank and he seemed to take no note at all of the blood covering his hands, his face, his mouth…

Vincent can’t believe what he’s been reduced to as he stirs the disgusting white concoction. Sebastian had long ago brought them a brown paper bag full of powdered milk and they occasionally made use of it. As much as Vincent hated the chalky looking and tasting substance he wanted a bowl of cheerios, damn it.

The silver cat made his way back to his couch and stared at his inactive television set. He imagined he might’ve been able to watch the morning news by now, this time of day, if he had enough electricity. He glanced over at Franck sitting on a comfy chair on the other side of the room.

The artist had his feet up on the upholstery-Vincent had lost count of how many times he’d tried to rid the younger man of that habit, he even did it in the car-and a large sketch book on his thighs. He was drawing in deep concentration, his face screwed into a cross look. Sometimes Vincent wondered what his friend drew. Did he draw Danger? Did he perhaps draw things Danger was showing him? Was he even the one drawing? Or maybe he could just be drawing pictures of zombies they’d encountered. Sometimes he’d seen Sebastian steal glances at the pages but he never bothered himself to do the same, even if Franck probably wouldn’t have cared. Again, that subtle fear was there, keeping him away from the book and its secrets. He straightened up when Franck suddenly glanced at him.

“You want to see?” He asked quietly. Vincent spooned up another helping of cheerios.

“I’m good.” And their morning went on.

---

It was in the early afternoon, when he and Franck had gathered up goodies from a convenience store and made their way to the roof to smoke and take pot-shots at zombies that Vincent’s cell phone rang. Franck watched eagerly as he answered it.

“Sebastian? Oh thank God, man it is good to hear your voice!” Vincent smiled and gave the thumbs up to Franck who was also smiling brightly.

“Same love. Listen, I went to my mom’s house in Lyon and there was a note on the front door. If she’s alive, which I believe she is, she’s in England. It might be safer than France so that’s where I’m headed.”

“Good luck. You wanna talk to Franck?” He passed the phone to the younger man who accepted it readily.

“Hey Sebastian.” Franck’s voice was noticeably louder than usually, Sebastian’s call just as uplifting to him as to Vincent apparently.

“I hope you are taking good care of my husband.” Sebastian said, snickering.

“OUR husband, cher.” Franck gave Vincent a sultry look and he heard Sebastian laugh on the other end.

“I’ll be home before you know it so draw something special for me, will you?” He said. Franck nodded.

“Of course.”

The three chatted for a few more minutes but Sebastian hung up and they decided it was time to head home.

“God damn it, I knew we should’ve had another entrance set up…” Vincent muttered. The two were huddled behind a derelict car, just across the street from the entrance to Vincent’s apartment building. Several shambling undead were milling and moaning about. One of them had lost both it’s for arms and, having nothing but jagged bones left to swing with, looked like it could do some serious damage.

“What do we do?” Franck whispered. Large beads of sweat were forming on his brow and he had a sickly pallor. Vincent bit his lip.

“We’ve got to take them down. We can’t go inside with zombies following and trying to get in.” The two jumped up, guns blazing, and started their all out assault, badly out numbered.

“Jesus!” After finishing the horrible fire fight Franck slammed the door behind them. They were now in the downstairs lobby. Vincent clutched his arms and sank into a nearby chair.

“What is it?” Franck’s voice was shrill as he came over to inspect his friend’s injury.

It was their worst nightmare. A bite. A disgusting gash in his forearm, a large chunk of skin gone and blood flowing out.

“W-W-We have to stop the bleeding, get bandages…” Franck said shakily. Vincent leered at him.

“What’s the point?” He snarled. “I’m so fucked.” A sad defeated look came over him as he hanged his head. Franck rubbed his shoulder and tried to coax him up.

“I don’t want you to bleed like that, come on…”

Once again, Vincent was sitting in his living room, on his couch. His cat was nowhere to be found but he didn’t want him to see him like this anyway. Franck was knelt before him, finishing up the wrappings. He’d gently disinfected and cleaned the wound, not that it would do any good, and patched it up tenderly. The job down he sat down next to Vincent and wrapped himself around the other man.

“I can’t stay here…” He said finally. Franck’s grip tightened.

“Bullshit, you’re not leaving me.” He said shrilly.

“I’m a danger to everyone now.” He said. He sighed and put his arms around Franck in return. The two held each other desperately for a moment. “At least lock me up nice and safe. Maybe in the guest room or something?” He muttered. He could feel Franck nodding and heard the other man sob. He kissed the younger man’s forehead.

“I’m sorry, Franck. I’m so sorry.” He didn’t want to leave his younger friend like this. He really didn’t know what else to say.

Soon Vincent ran up a high fever. He started sweating profusely and he could feel his insides churning around. Franck directed him into his bedroom, to the large bed they’d made love on so many times… Franck was crying. He was there with a large bowl, in case Vincent was sick, and a damp cloth, to dab the older man’s forehead with. Vincent’s breath slowed and became haggard as he suffered. He couldn’t stand the sight of his dear friend a sobbing wreck. He struggled to get his hand up in the air to touch the younger’s face. It was as if he was rapidly losing his grip on his own body.

“I love you.” He said in a raspy voice. “Please stop crying.” Franck’s face was the absolute definition of sadness.

“Vincent…Please…”

“Sebastian will come home soon. You won’t be alone for long. You have to leave now.” Vincent could feel bile coming up his throat. The disease would take him soon.

“I love you, Vincent.” Franck said, bringing the other man’s hand to his lips.

“I know you do.”

Franck knew what to do. He wedged the chair firmly beneath the bedroom door. He couldn’t bring himself to sleep now, not as Vincent lay dying in the other room. He went and got his sketch book and furiously scribbled meaningless things until the sun came up. It was very quiet the next day.

Franck spent the next several days holed up in the guest room either sleeping or writing. He hardly ate and his hunger distracted him slightly from his misery. The whole apartment was unnaturally quiet.

Finally he heard the hum of an engine outside and sat up. Soon after the door opened and he heard Sebastian wander in. He jumped up to rush to his friend.

Sebastian dropped the Testarossa’s keys on the counter and turned just in time for Franck to throw himself into the other man’s arms. He smiled and embraced his friend.

“Hey Franck, you missed me. Where’s Vincent?” He frowned sharply when a loud sob was his answer. He lifted Franck’s shoulders and looked the other man in the red, tear soaked eye. “Where is Vincent, Franck?” He asked.

“He…Was bitten.” Franck said shakily. Sebastian’s eyes opened to their classic wide shock look. “A zombie bit him, on his arm. He’s…in the bedroom.” Franck told him. Sebastian left him immediately and all but sprinted over to the bedroom door. Franck watched hesitantly as the police officer unwedged the door and opened it slowly. From where he stood the room appeared empty. He glanced back at Franck before slowly creeping in.

The room was dark and still, it felt as empty as it looked. The comforter had been partially ripped off of the bed as if whoever had been lying there had jumped up in a hurry. Sebastian could see a large body shaped stain there, likely left by sweat and oils. Sebastian heard something behind him and couldn’t hope to turn around in time. Cold, strong arms wrapped around him and held him still. He heard Franck gasp from outside the room and he could smell the familiar, awful smell of undead mixed with the warm scent of his lover, his best friend.

“Vincent…” He said. He had little hope as far as reasoning with the undead behind him would do. He looked up at Franck. The younger man had a shocked look on his face and he was thoroughly frozen in place.

“It’s okay.” The other man’s voice was raspy and deeper than usual. Sebastian untensed slightly in his arms.

“It’s okay, Seb.” He repeated. Sebastian tried to turn his head slightly but when he felt Vincent’s grip loosen he snapped away from the man’s hold. Now he was standing with Franck as he turned to look at Vincent. The other man’s grip had been cool, there was no body heat to him at all. His skin was a sickly pale grey, the color of walking death. But his eyes. Vincent’s eyes were glowing an intense red, like embers in his eye sockets. The bandages had fallen away and the injury on his arm was still there, perhaps it would never fully heal, a disgusting shade of dark purple red.

“Vincent?” Franck asked. He took a step towards him. Vincent spread his arms out.

“I’m freezing, come here! Sebastian I’m so happy you’re alive!” The two younger men ran to their friend and the three held each other for a while. His body was almost cold compared to theirs and he soaked up their warmth.

“Jesus, Vincent you scared the shit out of me! What happened?” Sebastian asked.

“I told you, he was bitten!” Franck said, his face still buried in Vincent’s chest.

“But, this isn’t what happens when you get bit.”

“Then let’s just accept it as a blessing and be happy.” Vincent said sternly. Franck lifted his head and moved to kiss Vincent but the red eyed man moved away.

“No.” He said. Franck and Sebastian gave him quizzical looks. “You don’t know. I might infect you.” Franck looked frightened at this prospect but Sebastian just leered at him.

“If you think that will get me to keep my hands off you, you are very mistaken, Vincent.” He said. After a moment Franck straightened up.

“Yeah. I won’t give up that easy either. And neither should you.”

Sebastian leaned in and their lips nearly met. Vincent whispered but didn’t try to pull away again.

“You saw twenty eight weeks later…a kiss could kill you…” He muttered. Sebastian slapped his head.

“That was a movie for fuck’s sake.” The shorter man kissed his friend. Franck watched, wide eyed and after a moment the two separated again, an abnormally thick line of saliva hanging between them. Sebastian blinked.

“I…I feel fine you guys.” He said unenthusiastically. There was a beat. Then Franck lunged at Vincent, bringing the both of them down onto the mattress.

“I thought you were dead!” He wailed. He kissed Vincent and the other man did his best to console him. “Why didn’t you fucking say something or come out or something?” He punched the man’s chest lightly. Sebastian toed his shoes off and joined them, certainly not wanting to be left out after a month on the road and no sex.

“I was sleeping most of the time. And when I was awake I felt sick and I couldn’t really move.” Vincent laughed as Franck all but tore his clothes off, desperate to touch the cool, sweet smelling flesh. “I think my body must’ve fought pretty hard to keep me from turning completely.” He reasoned. He grinned as he saw Sebastian taking off his own clothes. How badly they’d missed each other, how desperately they longed to be three again. How strong the need was to feel each other and be together again…

“I can never leave you two alone again.” Sebastian sighed.

“GOOD.”

“Keep it that way.” Vincent smirked.

---

Vincent lied content, both his lover’s haphazardly piled on top of him, Franck’s face lying on his chest and Sebastian’s tucked into the crook of his collar. The sweet feeling of afterglow was just what his body needed to recover from all the intense changing it had been doing the past week. He held a hand up in front of his face and noted the red glow on his fingers. It was an amazing feeling…being one of them.

“Did you ever find your mama?” Franck asked quietly. Vincent had thought they were asleep.

“Yeah. She’s in London. Fucking Brits got off easy, most of Britain is fine. And they still have a secure hold on their capital city. Restaurants were open and everything.” Paris had been lost long ago to the undead, as had Madrid. “She almost tried to tell me I couldn’t leave, she’d been so worried.”

“She’s got nothing to worry about. You’re in good hands with us.” Vincent petted his friend and the Sebastian placed a few lazy kisses on his throat.

Yes, the three, in their little family, were truly unstoppable. Afternoon sunlight filtered into the bedroom gently and the three just laid there, enjoying being whole again.
(I said I would post this to LJ eventually ^^; )

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Magic Number 1/?

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