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“Are you sure that you're okay to drive like this?” Henry questioned as he crawled into the passenger-side seat, unable to miss the blank look he received in return. “We didn't even trust you to drive when you were alive.”
It had been almost an hour since Henry met with the return of his deceased friend. He didn't know how to feel about it at first. He didn't have time to think about it. His escape from the institution he had been held at had been swift, and outside, Patrick awaited him in a stolen car. He knew he shouldn't be as nervous as he was, but it had been decades since he had stepped foot outside the walls of the institution. It had been decades since Patrick had vanished. It had been decades since the last time either of them drove, and there was a reason Patrick wasn't allowed to drive when he was alive. Henry had a reason to be nervous, but he still crawled into the car with his zombified friend nonetheless. He listened to the nonsensical sounds that escaped his friend. His vocal cords were most likely decayed, which prevented proper communication, but Henry never needed verbal communication when it came to Patrick. The two of them had a connection.
“Just don't crash the car.” Henry muttered as he held onto the seat as the car lunged forward, resting his head back against the seat as he spoke again. “Let's find a motel to crash at. I'm sure I can convince them that you're in a realistic zombie costume. I mean, Halloween isn't too far off.”
The drive to the motel was extensive, but in the end the two of them arrived in one piece, which Henry was thankful for. It wasn't hard to rent a room, and while Patrick did receive a few concerned looks from the people at the front desk, Henry's excuse about the Halloween costume proved to be effective. It was easier to believe that it was a costume rather than death itself. Patrick followed Henry upstairs and lingered so close to him that Henry could smell the decomposition and the sewer on him. It made him kind of nauseous, but it was still Patrick. He was certain a shower could fix most of that issue, but even in death Patrick made such a simple task difficult.
“You need a bath.” Henry hissed out as he removed the ruined clothes off his zombified friend, taking notice of how he tried to escape his grasp once he made the realization of what was about to occur. “Hockstetter, you haven't had a bath in decades. You will take one tonight. You smell worse than the damn sewer.”
Henry should have known that Patrick wouldn't cooperate and that the nonsensical sounds of protest that escaped him should have been expected, but it still stood to be an irritation, especially as Patrick continued to struggle within his grasp. Henry had picked up some new clothes for them both at a nearby store alongside a few other necessities to fix up his zombified friend. He wouldn't take no for an answer when it came to this bath, but the further he pushed Patrick to that tub of water, the louder his cries became. It made him wonder if he was more cat than zombie.
“Don't take that tone with me.” Henry threatened as he refused to tolerate the nonverbal refusal he received in return, watching as Patrick’s single eye focused on him, which led him to lay out his ultimatum. “You either take a bath, or you're not sleeping in bed with me.”
Henry knew Patrick didn't care about his ultimatum, but Patrick's hesitation over the comment allowed him room to shove his zombified friend into the tub. From there he scrubbed him down in the same manner one would a rabid animal. He was careful around the sections that looked worse off than others, but once he was done, there was no denial about the fact that he smelled better. Patrick sat still as Henry patted his skin dry and tended to the worst of his wounds afterwards. There wasn't much he could do to correct the damage, but he did cover the open areas. He was almost proud of his work once he was finished. He was certain that once he could get his hands on some proper materials, he could make Patrick some prosthetics that would make him look even more lifelike, but that would have to wait until later on.
“See? That wasn't so bad, now was it?” Henry mused as he assisted Patrick into his new clothes, taking notice of the irritated look he received in return. “You'll be fine.”
From there Henry led Patrick to bed, where he didn't hesitate to make himself comfortable next to him. Henry ordered up some room service for himself as he scanned through the television channels to find something interesting to watch. He settled on some zombie horror flick, which seemed to captivate Patrick's attention, at least for the moment. It wasn't until after room service arrived that he noticed how close Patrick had shuffled to him. He looked starved. He probably was.
“Are you hungry?” Henry questioned as he took a bite of his sandwich, hissing out when his zombified friend took a bite out of his hand instead of his sandwich. “Damnit, Hockstetter—”
The second Henry dropped his half-eaten sandwich, Patrick snatched it up like an animal that hadn't eaten in weeks. He didn't even seem to mind the blood on it. If anything, he acted as if it enhanced the flavor. It was weird to consider that this action of all actions reminded him the most of Patrick when he was still alive, but it did. He was still the same freak he had always known, even if he was now stuck in a permanent state between life and death.
“You're sick.” Henry muttered as he dealt with the wound on his hand, taking another sandwich off his plate as he watched Patrick switch on a new movie. “Seriously? Zombie-Human romance? This better not be a request.”