(fic) Anything to Thin the Blood (in progress!)

[etherati]

A random prompt on Tumblr asked for Minutemen zombies; I wrote the promised vignette but there seems to have been interest for more? So I started writing more, and wow, I am having so much fun. But I'd like to keep this informal, so, see the comment section below for pieces of this as I finish them!

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part 13b

[etherati]

“Never? Really?” He has to turn his head too far to get Bill in his view; does it anyway. “Because I distinctly remember you being very deer-in-headlights. Wide eyes, fear of death, the whole package.”

“By, I’m not from the city. I’d never even been in a subway or, or had chop suey at that point, much less met anyone like... it surprised the hell out of me.”

“I guarantee you some of the bachelor farmers you knew--”

“Were bachelors for a reason. Yeah. But it wasn’t... no one talked about it, no one thought about it. You can’t blame me for being surprised. How many of them,” he says, gesturing with his head toward the door, the rest of headquarters, “do you think actually know?”

“Pretty sure Nelson has a hunch.”

“Hah,” Bill says. “Fair enough.”

Byron ducks his head, arms tight around his middle. Has to forcefully stop himself from rocking back and forth.

Bill sighs, sets one hand on his back to still him. “Anyway, the point is, it took me a while to get my head around it? And I don’t, I’m not... like that, but it’s not something I was sitting around worrying over or being upset about.”

“You’re a rare kind of person, you know that?”

“And I guess, if someone thinks I’m, uh,” Bill says, fast like he’ll lose his nerve if he doesn’t get it out. “Good-looking, that’s a compliment? So I should just accept it gracefully?” There’s an innocent blush creeping up his cheeks but he’s also laughing, low and guileless.

Byron lets himself join in, and it’s like the first burn of a shot of good gin, loosening his joints and relaxing his hunched body. He falls against the back of the couch, pressing one hand against his eyes as the laughter wrings the tension out of him.

“Oh, god,” he says finally, and he can hear the hysteria in his own voice, “What am I going to do?”

“We’re gonna get you cleaned up,” Bill says, pushing off from the sofa, offering a hand up. “You’ll feel better. Then we’ll figure it out from there.”

*