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They fucked up. Bad. Who would’ve thought that after everything they went through, they would end up like this? The mighty Dude, the one who always managed to kill everyone and everything without even batting an eye, now reduced to a husk of his former self, forced to wander the empty streets of Paradise, shooting zombies in the head for a living. The Bitch won, he didn’t even manage to get his dog back, rotting bodies inhabited the ghost town and he? He was stuck, tied to one. Never would he have thought he’d feel bad about leaving his annoying “evil twin” behind, but here we are. Dude managed to escape that evil woman’s layer, his life barely holding on a string, and he was alone for a while, his only plan being to keep himself alive for as long as possible, and then ditch this place, but his plans were changed when, from the shattered window of the house he used as a safe place, the familiar sight of a brown trench coat caught his eye. The other man seemed battered up, his light blue jeans and coat drenched in dried-up blood, but he seemed to be doing well, standing up straight. That sparked some hope inside P2’s heart, hoping to finally see a familiar face after the solitude he was forced into. He hurriedly grabbed his shovel, but as he was about to get up, the man outside turned around, revealing that half of his face was eaten by rot and maggots. The Dude was not the type to be fazed by blood or guts; he liked to think of himself as a tough man, but the sight of his so-called “friend” turned his stomach upside down. It wasn’t something pleasant to see. The Other Dude’s side of his face had been ripped off down to his bone, his lower lip barely hanging onto what was left of his mouth. His right arm had been covered by the long sleeves of his trench coat, but now it was noticeable that his fingers were chewed off to the bone, some blood still painting the ground beneath him, as his body swayed left and right. P2 felt the vomit rise in his throat, but just swallowed in an attempt to muffle his body’s need to throw up whatever spoiled fast food he managed to gather for breakfast that day. He watched the monster look around. It seemed confused about its surroundings. Were the zombies getting smarter? Not possible. For P3, it was a different story. He had no recognition of what had previously happened. Yes, his head felt a little fuzzy, but other than that, he felt fine. Perhaps a bit rough around the edges, but fine nonetheless. He had gotten split up with the other man, that’s what he remembered, and that was the only plan he had, to find his friend. Must’ve taken a bad hit to the head since he couldn’t think of anything else. He knew who he was, he knew he had to find P2, but other than that? Blank. Not that it was uncommon, probably he had blacked out drunk again. That would explain his brain fog. But brain fog usually goes away after a day, right? He couldn’t remember how many days had passed. He doesn’t feel tired or hungry, he just has a plan to follow. He didn’t even get that far, thinking about his next step before he got knocked out cold.
Even dead this fucking man weighed more than a tank, you would’ve thought that with how many maggots had chewed his flesh he would be easier to carry by now. P2 huffed as he dragged the zombie back to his hideout, resting him against a wall. He took a good look at the damage, now with more pity than disgust. Searching his pockets, he took out any weapon that he could find before using P3’s own handcuffs to keep his hands together. No matter how much affection he had for this guy, he couldn’t let a zombie be around him unmuzzled, so one of Champ's old dog muzzles came in handy, covering P3’s mouth. He couldn’t take any chances, so P2 also tied his legs together before taking a few steps back and waiting for the corpse to regain whatever consciousness he had. When P3 finally regained his consciousness, he instantly recognized the pair of green eyes staring into his soul, if he even had one at that point. In his head, he screamed with happiness, he had finally found him! He wasn’t alone anymore! He tried to get up, run to him, anything, but he found his hands and legs tied. That was weird, but the need for closure, stabbing the back of his head kept pushing, so he tried his best to crawl closer, begging for the other to untie him. At least he heard himself speak. To P2, all the words he so carefully chose to express his happiness at seeing him came out as gurgled moans and groans. The same noises that Dude had heard from all the other zombies. Seeing P3 struggle against his restraints, trying desperately to get closer, he just lifted his gun, pointing the barrel of the shotgun straight at the other redhead's head. That seemed to do the job, as the zombie stopped fighting back and just cowered. Maybe these things were indeed evolving. In P3’s mind, nothing made sense. Why was the shotgun pointed at his head? What did he do? Did his words come out as threatening? He didn’t mean that. He murmured a small ‘sorry’, but to P2 it only came out as a low growl.
For the next couple of days, P3 did everything to prove that it was him, that he could be trusted, but it seemed like P2 only ignored him, paying no mind to whatever he had to say. At least the psycho was kind enough to throw him some hamburgers from time to time. He didn’t feel hungry, but he still ate them, pushing small pieces in between his muzzle bars. He didn’t understand why he had to wear it, but he couldn’t reach to pull it off either, the handcuffs around his arms keeping him in check. Every day, P2 went out and cleaned Paradise inch by inch, killing every zombie in sight. But resources were beginning to run low, now that he had to feed his “boyfriend” as well. But he couldn’t just leave, let P3 behind, he just found him again, albeit he wasn’t the same, but he needed any type of company to keep himself from going insane and shooting his brains out. So he decided to just take the zombie with him as well.
To P3, this all felt like some type of sick prank. His cuffs and leg ties were removed, but his freedom was short-lived as rope was tied to his hands again. After days of his legs being tied together, his ankles felt weak, surely it wasn’t his nerves slowly rotting away. P2 seemed to notice that, taking it to his advantage, leaving him around 1 meter of rope between them before tying the end to his belt. The zombie couldn’t walk as fast as him, so this was the perfect arrangement, just dragging P3 after himself on a leash like he was some type of pet. For the next couple of days on the road, everything sailed smoothly. As most of the zombies were already eradicated by Dude, the roads were just empty. At first, it didn’t bother P3 that he was being pulled and pushed around. The only thing that bothered him was the way P2 ignored him. A gun was always pointed at him if he began speaking. Or at least whatever his parasite-infested brain thought was speaking. P3 could hear himself loud and clear, but to the other redhead, it was only pathetic wheezes. Not even the gurgles were there anymore; P3’s vocal cords had rotted, and he was not making any noise in reality. But the zombie seemed content, after the 3rd day on the road, P2 shortened the leash between them, trying to see if P3 had any intention of attacking him, which he didn’t. Maybe it was due to all the hamburgers he had been feeding him. All the radioactive materials in them must’ve made him docile. He was really turning into a pet. Whenever Dude stopped to look at his map, P3 closed the distance between them, resting his chin on the other's shoulder. Small steps, but they were getting there. Hell, maybe he could even find a cure!
It was their 5th day on the road, and exhaustion was getting to the both of them, as P3 seemed to wheeze and groan more than usual. Maybe it was time for a break. Finding an abandoned building, P2 led the way, till they found a room he deemed safe enough, a room with no windows and only 1 door which he could barricade. P3 knew the deal; whenever they had to spend the night somewhere, he was expected to sit in the farthest corner of the room, so he pressed himself tiredly against the wall, sliding down. His legs felt more tired than usual. Either he was getting old, or all the skin on his knees had been eaten off by worms. He huffed, waiting for his daily hamburger to be tossed at him as usual, but instead, P2 just slid down next to him. It was surprising for the man to even consider getting this close. It made P3 question if the other dude was still as sane as he tried to seem. His vision had been getting blurry recently, but he could still tell P2’s piercing green eyes were staring him down just like the night they had found each other. No words were spoken, or at least P3 didn’t hear them. He didn’t need to. He was too infatuated staring at the other man to care. He didn’t even realize he was slowly leaning forward before a bony finger was firmly pressed against his forehead, stopping him in his tracks. The red head thought he saw the other's mouth move, but he didn’t hear anything, so it probably wasn’t important, so he just nodded weakly. That seemed to be the right answer, as the blurriness of the other's face got closer, and he could swear the other pressed his lips against the cold metal muzzle he was wearing, before dropping his hamburger dinner in his lap, and getting up to start the fire. P3 froze, he didn’t even realize his hands were untied until after a couple more minutes of staring at P2 start a little fire. The night set, and he was left in darkness, wondering if he could possibly feel human again. P3 fidgeted with his now free hands, just staring at the far corner in which P2 slept, holding his shotgun close. The fire flickered a couple more times before the whole room went dark. But in P3’s head, everything was bright. He pressed his fingers against the cold steel of the muzzle and slowly traced the bars up to the leather buckle behind his head. Slowly, he pulled the dog muzzle off and placed it on the ground in front of himself. He felt hungry. Not for flesh or blood, but to feel another person. To wrap his arms around another. He got up from his corner and carefully made his way closer to where P2 was sleeping, crawling next to him. His lungs were long gone, he didn’t need to hold his breath anymore, and yet he still did. He pressed his whole body painfully slow against the other man, his arms wrapping around P2’s waist in a desperate attempt to feel something. But he didn’t. Maybe he wasn’t close enough, he was still human! He was! He pressed his nose-or whatever was left of it-into the other’s hair, trying to no avail to capture the feeling of something he used to have but lost along the way. He just couldn’t press his finger on it. His presence had definitely woken P2 up, the red head shifting slightly, but he didn’t pull away, but instead pushed his body closer to the other, intertwining his fingers with P3’s bony mess of flesh and muscle that was left behind. For a second there, they were one, a warm body pressed against a cold mass of bones and rotting muscle. But they didn’t care, they had their moment of peace. The hunger kept scratching at the back of P3’s head; he felt like he was getting edged, like he could almost scratch it. How could he wrap this up? A kiss? Just like it has started? That seemed to make sense. Pulling his face out of the other's hair, he lowered his face so he could reach the back of his neck and pressed whatever was left of his lips against it, leaving a small trail of kisses behind. P2’s grip on his hand tightened as he twitched for a couple of seconds, but he went back to being calm in no time. The itch was gone, P3 was happy, he could finally close his eyes and rest. He didn’t even notice the sweet taste in his mouth. P2’s death was as painless as it could’ve possibly been. P3's parasite-infested mind made him think his kisses were soft and gentle, but his teeth dug deep into P2’s throat, ripping it open, warm blood spilling all over the dirty floor, staining both his and the other man's trench coats. His end came quickly, at least. He hadn’t died afraid as he was held tightly, and he hadn’t died upset, as he knew it was none of their fault. They both had met their fate that night. P3’s parasite reached its last stage, his whole body shutting down.
When the next survivors that came found the cluster of mushrooms that grew over their bodies, it took them weeks to separate their skeletons for research, as even in death, their souls reached for one another, the cover of fungus knitting them as one till the end of time.