Kage and I are still writing stories together, but this fic is one I just sort of wrote on the side.

A week ago, this whole moving thing was just a headache. Pack a few things, say a few awkward good-byes to some friends and a girl he maybe had a fling with but hadn't really agreed whether or not they were really dating, but the good part was supposed to be flipping his dad the bird once he got his bike loaded up and ready to move to California to stay with gramps for a few months.

Today though, pulling into the front yard, what was going to be a headache ended up being a bad dream instead. The last five days leading up to their road trip had been a bad dream, actually. Mom got the call about the old man having a bit of a scare on a trip to visit some ailing widow, got a bit sick, and that was it.

So this was it. Parents divorced. Grandpa's service tomorrow. A weird garage packed with enough bones and grinning little beasties to give Freddy Krueger nightmares. At this rate, Michael was pretty sure this would be the shittiest summer of his life.

"As soon as we settle in," Lucy called out from the kitchen, "maybe I'll find a nice job. You never know!" Even though she was in another room, Michael and Sam knew their mom well enough to picture the broken expression she was probably wearing. Her cracking voice was evidence enough.

Yeah, maybe grandpa never came to visit, except maybe Christmas. Every other year. It didn't mean she wasn't on the phone with him without fail each and every Saturday for as long as they could remember.

"This sucks," Sam mumbled, scratching at his wrist just above the dirty work gloves he'd found in an old toolbox. They didn't need to work on anything today. To put anything away. Tidy up. Still, what else could they do? It didn't seem right to go to the boardwalk they'd passed through, check out the stores, buy a few cheap necklaces or bits of googly-eyed shells they couldn't afford, when mom seemed intent on keeping herself locked up in the house until well after grandpa's funeral.

"Yeah, it sucks," Michael agreed, eyeing a nasty pile of antlers and twisted bones against the wall. It was just waiting for some innocent klutz like Sam to trip and turn himself into another weird dead animal project.

"Hey, you think maybe when mom gets a job, we can buy a tv?" Sam poked his brother's shoulder, wrinkling his nose as he glared at a cross-eyed stuffed skunk he held in his free hand.

"Sam, we're flat broke," Michael told him, edging towards the pile of horns and examining them to see if maybe there was some way he could dismantle the mess without a pair of pliers or something more heavy-duty. Didn't look like it was held together by wire or anything, but then again, he didn't know much about taxidermy. "Why don't you get a paper route, huh?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "right, yeah, maybe I'll be able to afford a tv when I'm fifty."

Michael gave his brother an exasperated look, "why don't you go help mom in the kitchen, huh? I bet Nanook could use a walk or something."

"Why?" Sam poked him again, this time using the skunk's head to do it, wielding the stuffed carcass like a rapier. "You got a nudey mag tucked away somewhere, Mike?"

"Sam," Michael stressed his name, slapping the skunk out of his little brother's grasp and sending it flying to the ground with a weird, hollow-sounding 'thunk'.

"You killed it!" Sam stared down at the skunk, feigning horror.

This, of course, left Michael with no other option but to grab his brother by the scruff of the neck and pull him in for a vicious, scalp-scorching noogie.

"Miiiiike!" Sam shouted, or really, whined. "Stop it!" He tried to punch at Michael's arm to break free from his hold, but there was nothing doing until he was good and ready to let his little brother go.

"Asshole," Sam rubbed at his head, fairly certain he was going to have a bald spot when he looked in the mirror.

Michael grinned at him, unapologetic as he began his first attempt to dismantle the pile of ghastly bones and antlers. "Dork."

Pickings had been pretty slim lately. Maybe a security guard here or a tourist there, but how long had it been since anyone threw a real party? Something they could sink their teeth into?

David flicked his cigarette, scannings passersby. A familiar flurry of blonde hair being led by a muscle-bound idiot caught his eye. Maybe later on he'd finish up that little game he and the boys had been playing on the merry-go-round. They'd all earned it. One kill between the four of them this week did not stretch very far.

"Looks like he's hunting again," Paul remarked out of the blue, nudging his shoulder.

David looked over at the video shop with little interest. No bites tonight. No divorcees or sexually frustrated housewives hunting for twice-used copies of 'The Blue Lagoon'. Just teenagers. Parents with little kids. Two categories of women Max thankfully never pursued for anything more than a snack. The boys would have a hell of a lot more trouble dealing with the aftermath if he did. At least when the master vampire tried to turn the older women, they were easy to get rid of. So far, none of them had turned out sane once Max's blood was done turning them, and their first kill over with.

David and his boys had been lucky. They took to their changes easily. So, they all had a few quirks, it could be a lot worse. Max's last attempt to make a mother for them had very nearly gotten them all ashed.

"Any bites?" David looked over at Dwayne, who generally did most of the Max-watching. Better eye.

"Not tonight," Dwayne shrugged. "Seems like he's trying harder than usual, though."

Marko broke into one of his secretive smiles, nudging Paul beside him, "we could go bug him. Throw him off his game."

Flicking his cigarette again, David scowled at the dwindling remains and took one more pull, "can't throw him off his game if there's nothing to throw off. Where's Star?" It suddenly struck him that their shining gem wasn't with them. She'd taken the kid off somewhere, either moping or something 'unthinkable.' Hunting.

Nah, she'd never do it. David debated some nights whether he really wanted her to go through with a kill or not. She didn't have any edge, any flicker of viciousness in her. That was usually a pretty good indicator of whether someone could take to the change without snapping. Not that it really mattered. Star had sought them out first, and Max had given them the go ahead.

As for the kid, well, that was all Max. Sort of. His last attempt to find a wife had landed them with Laddie. The woman didn't make it.

"There's a concert tonight," Marko interrupted David's thoughts, "maybe she's finally gonna do something." They all seriously doubted it. Even after multiple veiled threats disguised behind half-smirks and pretty words. David was an expert at saying one thing with two very clear meanings. It was dangerous to have Laddie and Star sleeping out in the middle of the hotel lobby, day after day. If anyone found them, got them good and scared, they'd find the boys easy. Not a lot you could do to defend yourself when you were dead to the world.

None of them liked feeling vulnerable. They were predator, not prey. Star still didn't seem to quite grasp that yet.

Still, she was good for one thing. When they had nothing else going on, no misguided Surf Nazis around to pick a fight, or security guards to make a point with. No tourists. No vagrants with enough stubble and B.O. to make even Paul want to put off eating for a couple more nights. When there was nothing else, Star was very good at reeling in starry-eyed Romeos. Kids, really, the same age David and his pack members may have been long before the sun faded behind them for the last time. Then, when she brought them in, because she never seemed hungry enough for the pay-off...they ate. They ate well. Maybe tonight, she'd bring in an extra dish, a dessert to follow their entree a la Surf Nazi and Nazette. Maybe.

"You know what, boys?" David grinned, looking around at the rest of his pack, sensing a growing impatience with their casual lounging and crowd-gazing, "let's go bug the old bastard anyway. Keep him on his toes." Pass the time until their meal tonight was nice and far from the boardwalk. Far enough, at least, to catch them in the act. Nothing better than that look of arousal fading into terror like flipping a light. Yeah.

Tonight was going to be a good one. With or without Star.

She might as well have been floating, the way her skirt never seemed to catch at her bare ankles tonight, or the music just barely kept her grounded. If she didn't think anyone was watching, Star would let the ocean air lift her above the crowds, above the stage and testosterone-powered sax player, the sweat and the screams, into nothing. The only thing she still liked about the night.

Star danced, while Laddie stood beside her. A baby bird. Laddie never flew. He nestled under Star's wing, or clung to Dwayne's bike. Once in awhile, he was a child, but mostly, just a ghost. Just like Star. Trapped and waiting, fighting the night. Fighting the creature clawing at his stomach in his waking, and sometimes even his sleeping hours.

While she moved, swayed, just barely kept her toes pressed to the wood and sand, Star let her eyes scan the crowd. She would find someone tonight. She had to. Maybe, just a bite would do. Just a sip, or a little more. Just enough to keep herself together, enough to keep David satisfied that she was trying. Star wouldn't kill, though. She refused. She couldn't.

It was easy, to catch an eye. She felt it before she saw him, an older man in the crowd. The kind of guy with a wife at home, a mortgage, and entirely too much money he was probably willing to spend on a piece like her. That was the impression she got, anyway, stretching towards his mind with the little power she seemed to have. David told her it would get better when she killed, but she didn't need it. All she needed was a small taste. She'd lead him from the crowd with Laddie at her side still, until the little boy caught a signal from the boys and skipped towards Dwayne's bike.

She exchanged a flirtatious flip of her hair and a word or two. Didn't hear much about what he said. Money didn't matter. The only thing he seemed to be worth was the life pumping sluggishly in his veins. Not fast. Not healthy. He probably didn't have much time left. That was what a hard life brought, and this man was no stranger to it.

"Star," he shouted out her name, and she felt dry fingers tugging at her hair, desperate breath on her neck. Just a bite, she told herself, catching David's eye and skipping off towards the darkened beach instead.

"Star," the man repeated, following. A dog on a leash. A walking corpse.

Just a bite, she told herself again. A bite.

If David had any doubts she would make the kill tonight, he needn't have worried. Rough hands tearing at her shirt, cutting the flirtation short, cruel lips trying to force her tongue into a strange, awful dance…

Then he was dead. He was dead, and there was nothing but hunger left, still.

David had been right about one thing. Star did snap. She snapped, and she liked it.

Sam did not like Santa Carla. Well, alright, Santa Carla was okay, but it wasn't like he'd gotten to see much of it since they arrived a couple of days ago. Mom just wanted to clean and talk about grandpa. Mike just wanted to work out and box up that creepy junk in the old man's nightmare garage.

He liked grandpa. He really did. Sam just wasn't very good at being bored. A kid could only sort through his comic books so many times, or call his dad to tell him what a jerk he was before mom started scolding him about long distance charges. No MTV. No friends, besides Nanook that is.

"Mmmmmgghhhh!" Sam groaned into his pillow, punching it and rolling onto his back. Napping wasn't working either. He hated to think he'd spend the whole stupid summer break waiting for it to end, just go to to some weird school with a bunch of people he'd never met. Mike probably wouldn't even be around, either, the way he was going on last night at dinner about dropping out.

There was a soft knock on his bedroom door, "hey," Lucy called out as she pushed it open, smiling at her youngest with that same, fragile look she'd had since they got the news. At least it wasn't as bad as the funeral. Her eyes weren't puffy anymore. Sam suddenly felt a pang of guilt.

"Yeah, mom?" Sam sat up, while his husky beside him in his bed perked up at the same time, as if she'd come to address them both over some important matter, like the status of an impending steak dinner.

"Listen," she edged into the room, keeping her arms crossed to protect herself from some imagined chill, "I was thinking about going to the boardwalk today. See if we can spend some time together, maybe drop off a few resumes. Michael said he'd meet us there later, but does that sound like something you'd like to do?"

Sam perked up, "yeah. That's-" he paused, "can we maybe see if there's a comic shop there or something?"

Lucy nodded, her smile becoming just a little less fragile, warming up to her youngest son's sudden good mood. "Just remember, we're on a tight budget right now, so you might just have to window shop."

"I don't think most of those places have win-" Sam began, trying to use his persuasive pout to change her mind, but cutting himself off. "Yeah, alright. Window shop." He could always pester Mike for money. Probably still had a couple of bucks from his part time job back in Phoenix. Probably. If he hadn't blown it on something stupid like the gross crap he put in his protein smoothies or Van Halen tapes.

Edgar Frog wasn't sure exactly when he and Alan began to suspect there was more to Santa Carla than just sand-blasted perms, neon shirts, cheap drugs, and a murder rate that would make the Manson family tremble. Maybe it was back in elementary school, when their dad showed up one night with a bad hickey and mom spent a solid month force-feeding him garlic. Could've been when they both binge-watched every low budget bloodsucker video they could get their hands on after their parents splurged on the VCR. If they had any doubts, seeing a homeless guy burst into flames last summer when they were opening up shop just after sunrise pretty much had the Frogs completely convinced.

It only made sense, then, that Edgar and Alan Frog use their vast knowledge of the undead gained from several hours worth of horror comics and mindless shelf-stocking to rid the city of evil as best they could. So far, literally, no bites, but they were pretty sure any day (or night) that their side business would pick up. Yes, business. After all, stakes and crosses didn't always come cheap, and they weren't exactly making a lot of money helping their parents run the store. A hunter's gotta eat.

"Hey, Ed," Alan called out to his brother, scooping up his beat-up price gun and pointing it at a customer at the front of the shop. Just before sundown, cotton candy sticky on his fingers, a little boy began to pick through the discount rack.

Edgar nodded, stiffening his shoulders and striding slowly through the shelves, eyes trained on the kid. Where were his folks? Didn't they know how dangerous it was to let your brat walk around in Santa Carla without a leash?

"You gonna buy something?" Edgar growled out, using his deepest, most intimidating man-voice he'd perfected over the last year.

The little boy jumped, dropping an issue of Groo the Wanderer and sticking his fingers into his mouth guiltily, "I wafn't doing nuffin," he defended himself with criminally large doe eyes to back him up.

Alan edged in on the other side of the rack, both hands wrapped around the handle of his price gun as if at any moment he'd have to use it to protect himself. It was always good to have back-up.

"Santa Carla's a dangerous place," Edgar went on, glaring at the kid and crossing his arms, "where's your mom?"

Helpless, the little boy gave him a lazy shrug, pulling his spit-covered fingers from his mouth and wiping them on the front of his shirt, "I dunno. Somewhere."

Exchanging a look, the Frog brothers knew what had to be done.

"Here," Edgar reached into his back pocket to pull out one of his trusty business cards. Of course, not really a card, just a copy of vampires everywhere with their names and phone number written on the back with bright red permanent marker, "your folks may need this. If you have any problems, just call," he shoved the comic at the kid, who happily took it from him and dodged out of the store with his prize.

Another day, another customer served. It'd be better if he actually bought something, but Edgar was convinced eventually this approach was going to pay off. "Hey, Alan, we got any more business cards?"

"Check under the counter," Alan told him, returning to his way less important job of pricing trade-ins. Eventually the hunting gig was going to pay off. Pretty soon, they just knew their phone would be ringing off the hook.

It had been a pretty slow day for the beginning of summer. Tourists hadn't really begun to properly roll into Santa Carla yet, so for the most part Edgar and Alan were just stuck dealing with regulars and grazers. The people you didn't really have to pay too much attention to, but also rarely bought anything more expensive than five bucks at a time. All the more reason for Edgar and Alan to do to their best to spread the word about vampires as much as possible while school was out.

Then, they saw him. Typical yuppie offspring. Popped collar, pastel striped shirt, high-top sneakers, and enough hairspray to suffocate any innocent birds flying overhead for miles. He immediately zeroed in on the Superman comics, bobbing his head mindlessly to the generic rock music blasting outside.

They could try to see if squeezing every cent out of the guy by overcharging for a couple of comics, or they could try to push their side business. Edgar privately debated which option he should pick, while Alan stared at the kid as he swiftly stickered multiple comics on a row lined up in front of him.

There really was only one logical choice here. Ed snatched up another issue of Vampires Everywhere from underneath the register counter, and stalked towards the fashion victim.

It wasn't hard to find his mom's car in the parking lot, safely illuminated beneath a streetlight. Lucy Emerson always liked to park in well-lit places. Michael parked his bike a lot closer to the boardwalk, just about where sand met wood. He didn't plan to spend too much time here tonight, he was just going to find his family and maybe grab dinner or something. Cleaning out the garage all week had him kinda beat. Not that he really wanted to do it. Michael would've been way happier just catching a concert or maybe checking out any local gyms. He couldn't leave mom to do it all, though, and the longer they left grandpa's things lying around, the longer she'd have to wake up every morning and be reminded about him.

He needed to find a job, too, but it was way too late to swing by anywhere to check out who was hiring. He didn't doubt he looked too tired anyway to make much of an impression. Michael was pretty healthy, fit, took care of himself, but he'd pretty much been cleaning and packing all day. That could take a lot out of anyone.

A girlfriend. That would be a nice distraction. Michael caught the eyes of a smiling girl picking out shark tooth necklaces from a jewelry stall. Then Sam had to go and ruin it by popping up in the crowd, bobbing and weaving like he was lost. No sign of mom in sight. Michael let out an agitated sigh. So much for flirting.

He left his bike and tried to catch Sam's attention with a whistle and a wave, but there was nothing doing. The dork was lost in his own world. Some douche seemed to pick up on it too, because he looked like he was trailing Sam a little too closely. Skinhead with a muscle shirt, three rings through his nose, probably not looking to invite Michael's little brother to the local church.

"Damn it, Sam," Michael cursed under his breath, leaving his bike and quickly jogging to catch up to the pair.

Then, of course, Sam decided to try to find a shortcut between two stores, and wouldn't you know it, the skinhead dodged after him.

A fist magnet. Seriously. Back in Phoenix, Michael's little brother always seemed to attract the bullies at school. The creeper down the street in their old neighborhood. Even a grifter at one of the gas stations mom had stopped at on their way to Santa Carla.

Mom would kill him if he left his little brother to get mugged for his empty wallet, or worse. Michael would probably beat himself up later if something worse happened under some misguided attempt to let Sam learn a lesson about dodging into alleys at night in unfamiliar places. So Michael picked up the pace, very nearly knocking a few people over in his desperation to get to Sam and the skinhead in time.

True to form, by the time he finally managed to get there, Sam was actually trying to talk his way out of a mugging.

"Listen, I'm broke, you're probably broke too, and I mean-" Sam's breath hitched when a bit of light shining from one of the boardwalk lamps caught and glimmered on a small knife in the skinhead's hand. "-I-I-I m-mean, c'mon, there's lots of better things you could be doing than wasting your time with me!"

"Gimme your wallet, you little f-"

Michael's fist came crashing into the asshole's jaw before he could finish his threat, catching him off guard. Stupid dick-head should've been watching his back. Not that getting the jump on him made Michael immune to knives, or a somewhat clumsy elbow to the face.

Sam yelped and started shouting for help, which was just as well, because it took a hell of a lot more to disarm his brother's opponent than a few good shin kicks and a violent slam against the wall. He got plenty of shots in at Michael, too, but the knife was already on the ground by then. At that point, the jerk decided to cut his losses and hobbled out of the alley, shoving Sam aside with his head ducked low so nobody could get a good look at his face.

"Shit!" Sam squeaked, running back to his brother to help him when he noticed blood dripping from Michael's right hand. The slice wasn't deep, but it hurt like a bitch, and it wasn't a papercut either.

"Mike, you alright? Mike?" Sam tried to reach for Michael's hand, but the older Emerson shrugged him away, cradling it away from his chest.

"I'm fine, Sam," he hissed out between his teeth, "why the hell were you wandering around like that, huh? Where's mom?" Sam had gotten lucky. They both had. Michael could fight dirty, and he had a few times trying to keep his brother safe at school, but he'd never gone up against a mugger, and his heart was beating a mile a minute right now. His hand was a little numb now too, but the pain would show up in full force pretty soon once he was calm enough to feel it.

"Here," Sam dug into his front pocket and pulled out a handkerchief he'd folded there for decoration, reaching for Michael's hand again before he could pull it back, and clumsily tying the cloth around his bleeding palm.

"Too tight," Michael complained, trying to tug at the handkerchief, but Sam had already knotted it, and he didn't want to bother yanking the thing off just to get more blood on his shoes and start over.

"I'm sorry, Mike," Sam apologized in a soft voice, "I was being kinda stupid. I was just trying to find mom, and I think she's on the other side of this block here, and-"

"It's fine," Michael clapped his good hand around his brother's shoulder and led him back out into the open, crowded boardwalk. "I'll just tell mom I cut myself on a-" he paused thoughtfully, "bear claw or something. I'll be fine, I'm just glad you're okay."

Sam grinned, "so can you loan me a couple bucks?"

"Don't push it."

Blood on the boardwalk. Rich. Fresh. David flicked his cigarette to the sand, nodding over at Paul and Dwayne, "go ahead, we'll catch up later." They were tracking Star. She'd only turned a few nights ago, and already she was leaving a trail of bodies behind her so long that they might as well have plastered neon signs around the whole damn boardwalk, flashing 'hunters welcome, all you can stake' in big, bold letters. If Max didn't pick a new 'wife' soon to adopt the ankle-biter back at the hotel, they'd probably have another insane fledgling on their hands too.

Marko hopped behind David, slapping hands on his shoulders and immediately jumping back at a warning growl from the blond leader, "where we going, huh?"

"I dunno," David shrugged, narrowing his eyes, "let's find out." It wasn't very far. The blood. Smelled so fucking good. Even with the cloying, sticky odors of hundreds of sweaty bodies baking in the summer night air, David easily picked up the trail and let the blood lead him.

Even when the scent brought them to a dead halt in front of a dingy seafood shack, and it no longer fought the smell of sweat or bodies, but over-salted prawns and crabcakes. Didn't matter. David had an itch now, and there was no way he'd lose it.

"All we can eat?" Marko asked hopefully, knowing full well they were far too close to the crowds to even think about it.

"We're on a diet," David drawled, yanking the door open and stepping inside. He couldn't hold back the easygoing, but still very dangerous smirk playing on his lips when a few pairs of nervous eyes looked in their direction. Marko skipped behind him, reveling in the attention. The little imp.

"Michael, sweetheart, just let me look at it," a very soft voice urged from a booth at the opposite end of the restaurant. David didn't bother waiting to be seated, which was just as well. None of the waiters looked too happy to help him.

"I'm fine, my scissors just slipped when I was cleaning."

"I'm not sure I understand why you were using scissors to clean the garage."

"Well, I mean, I was-"

"Relax, mom. He was just cutting something. Right, Mike?"

It was a fairly innocuous conversation. As casual as the trio seemed to be when David and Marko sat at a table right beside the booth they were tucked away into, they clearly weren't from around here.

Marko hopped up to hail down an innocent waitress, while David watched the group at the table as they talked. He'd stopped paying much attention to the words. He kept his chin in a gloved hand, his arm propped up beneath him. Michael. He liked the sound of that name. It was clear whose blood David had been following, judging by the handkerchief tied around the teenager's hand, and the fact that the scent was so close now it made his fangs itch to come out and play. Probably not a great idea at the moment. He'd be a complete hypocrite if he let that happen.

"So, mom, I think I've got a few comics I wanna get rid of. Trade in, y'know? I'd have to come back tomorrow to do it, though." The younger teen blurted out, changing the topic of Michael's injured hand.

David wondered whether it would be worth it to pick through Michael's mind, see how he'd hurt himself. It had to have been recently. The scent was too fresh. Maybe within the last hour. He was clearly a very bad liar. It didn't strike the vampire even for a moment why he'd suddenly become so curious about a human. Maybe he was just bored. Blood rarely smelled quite as good as this one's.

"I don't know, Sam, there's still an awful lot to do at home. Who knows? I might even get a phone call or two tomorrow about the resumes I dropped off. You'd have to get your brother to take you. Michael?"

"Yeah," Michael replied, clearly reluctant, "sure, whatever. In the morning."

David scowled, unable to resist just a little mental nudge. A tiny thought, nothing too strong. He didn't often like to force humans into anything. It was so much less fun when they were compliant.

"Ah, well, maybe not the morning. I think I want to sleep in," Michael shook his head, using his free hand to rub at his temples, "tomorrow night. I'll bring you back tomorrow night."

Marko shoved a bottle of beer under David's nose, grabbing his attention, "how bout a drink, Davey?"

David lowered his hand from his face, snatching the beer away, "sure. Hey, why don't we let Max babysit tomorrow? I wanna have some fun."

Marko's face brightened, "fuck yeah!" He hissed, clinking his own beer bottle against David's, and turning to make a suggestive smooch at the waitress beside them, who stood petrified with her tray in a death-like grip.