Title: The 5 Stages of Grief

Rating: PG for violence and bad taste.

Category: crack!fic, drabble series

Slash/Gen: Gen. And believe me, you’ll be grateful.

Warning: Would cause Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross to rise from the dead. She is dead, right? Never mind.

Summary: My sick rebuttal to the recent influx of excellent “Die Starsky Die” fic. That’s right, this is all Audrey, Jojo, Susan, and Kaye’s fault. Especially Kaye. :-)

Beta: Rebelcat, so it’s her fault too. Right?

Feedback/Critique: Yes please, but no biting. :-o

The 5 Stages of Grief

“I think it is good escapist entertainment even though it’s bad.”
Rob Zombie

Stage One: Denial

“Starsky, we need to talk.”

Starsky looked up from his desk. “What’s the matter, Cap?”

“It’s about Hutch.” Dobey paused. “He’s dead.”

“C’mon Cap, he’s just a little hung over.”

“He doesn’t have a pulse, son.”

“Yeah, but–”

“There’s no but! You can’t keep bringing him here.”

“But it makes him happy.” Starsky pointed at Hutch, propped up at his desk.

“Starsky, the other detectives are complaining–”

“Let them!” Starsky shot to his feet. “My partner is the best damn cop in the city.”

“Your partner is a zombie!”

“He’s just – Hutch, no!”

“He just bit me!”

“Gotta go, Cap!”

Stage 2: Anger

“Sometimes I hate this goddam town.” Starsky griped, stuck in a traffic jam.

“Satanists, vampires, witches, psychics. . . nobody looks twice.” He leaned on his horn. “Cop rises from the dead and they treat you like a goddam pariah instead of a miracle.”

Hutch drooled.

“Hey, not on the seats.”

Hutch moaned.

“You just had to eat that desiccated liver from Haiti. Told you that stuff would kill ya, but – Hutch, stop biting the Torino!”

Hutch wrenched open the glove compartment.

“Put the MARS light down now!”

Hutch gnawed on the siren and it began to wail inside the car.


Stage 3: Bargaining

“I said we’re sorry for the trouble we’ve caused,” Starsky said.

“Trouble!” The landlord yelped. “Mr. Hutchinson ate all my tenants!”

“C’mon, they were deadbeats anyway,” Starsky pointed out. “Plus I cleaned up the mess and I’ll pay for the broken windows and doors.”

“I want both of you gone by tomorrow morning or I’m getting a lawyer!”

“Go ahead, Hutch’ll bite him too!” Starsky slammed the door. He crossed the livingroom and slumped onto the couch.

“Hutch, you gotta stop eating the neighbours.”

Hutch gnawed on his guitar.

“We need a break.” Starsky sighed. “Wanna go to The Pits?”

Stage 4: Depression

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate what Blondie’s done for me in the past.” Huggy kept stacking wooden boxes. “But he’s scaring off the customers, y’dig?”

“Whaddya talking about?” Starsky waved his beer at a group of moaning drunks, knocking several empty bottles off the bar.

“Hutch already bit those cats.” His barricade done, Huggy armed himself with a pool cue.

“I’m sorry, Hug.” Starsky blinked back tears. “He’s my bess friend. I juss don’ know what to do.”

“You could start by getting him to bite the bad guys instead of my clientele.”

Starsky grinned. “Thass a great idea!”

Stage 5: Acceptance

“You can’t do this to me!”

“I’m just telling you what’s in your best interests.” Starsky popped a peanut into his mouth. Hutch snapped his teeth.

The perp looked wildly around the interrogation room. “I’ll file a complaint,” he squealed.

“With our Captain? Zombie. Internal Affairs? All zombies. Hell, Hutch bit the District Attorney last month and nobody’s noticed the difference yet.”

Starsky leaned forward. “Now, are you gonna talk, or is my partner gonna take a bite out of crime?”

Afterwards, Starsky led Hutch back to the squad room. “100% closure rate, Hutch. We’re better than ever!”

Hutch groaned.

- end -


Author’s note: While the last drabble contains an anachronism, I prefer to think that Starsky and Hutch invented the phrase. Check it out!

And for more zombie fun, go read Rebelcat's "The 5 Stages of Grief, Redux".