Author Notes: Just binge watched all of Hemlock Grove Season 2 and am suffering from HG withdrawals. Haven't encountered many (any?) FF post season 2 and the fandom isn't quite as rabid as I expected, so I was compelled to write my own to stave of the withdrawal symptoms. This will probably be multi-chapter (if there is interest) and will be rife with S2 spoilers. Will definitely develop into Roman/Peter slash goodness (because, come on) but will have a plot. Rated M for language, violence and future smut. Enjoy.
***I don't own Hemlock Grove or any of the characters and no copyright infringement is intended.***
ULTRA VIOLENCE
Chapter One: The Aftermath
She was gone. No sooner had Roman's steel heart opened to Nadia, and she was taken from him. Like all things he learned to love, she was ripped from his arms leaving him empty, frightened and hungry. It felt as if he was losing Letha all over again, but this time, it was so much worse. Now, there was nothing left.
Roman was rooted where he stood at the edge of the White Tower roof. He stared down at the sleepy town below for what seemed like hours. Peter and Destiny had descended from the roof to speak with Pryce, to inform him of the unfathomable events that took place in the skies of Hemlock Grove that night, and to make arrangements for the disposal of Norman's body. If Roman hadn't felt so numb at that moment, he might have felt a twinge of jealousy. Peter and Destiny had each other. They would likely abandon Hemlock Grove in the wake of yet another horrific tragedy. They could join Lynda in Romania and be a family again. They could leave the horrors in Hemlock Grove behind them and start anew.
Roman didn't have such luxuries. It was the burden of his birthright. Although he had no allegiance to Godfrey Industries, the town, or his wretched mother, his hunger would forever control him. And what of Shelley? The loss of Priscilla had sent his kind, beautiful sister into a fit of anxiety, rage and pain. Roman couldn't, wouldn't leave her behind. And then there was the hunger. The hunger would control him for eternity, would guarantee a lifetime of loneliness and suffering.
These dark thoughts swirled in in Roman's mind as he stared numbly over the edge of the White Tower. Eventually, he heard heavy, hesitant footsteps coming towards him and a strong hand on his shoulder. Roman didn't turn around. He continued to stare into the darkness, peppered by the dim glow from the houses below him while Hemlock Grove continued to sleep soundly through the night.
"C'mon, man. You can't stand here all night. We'll take you home," Peter said softly.
Roman didn't turn to face his friend. "I couldn't protect her," he said flatly.
"You couldn't have known. None of us knew, not about Miranda or that crazy fucking doctor, or Olivia," Peter said.
"I should have known. I knew Miranda was weak, I sent her to that doctor just to keep her from bitching at me. I knew what Olivia was capable of, but I fucked up. I was too consumed with my own shit, and now Nadia is gone and it's my fucking fault," Roman said. His voice remained steady, unbreaking. But inside, his guts were in horrible knots and it took all his strength to keep from doubling over.
Peter just shook his head, gently patted Roman on the shoulder and turned toward the stairway door. Roman followed reluctantly, still keeping his eyes on the spot where Miranda had stepped from the roof and where the strange beast had slipped into the night sky with his daughter.
Destiny drove Roman home in her station wagon. Peter sat in the front seat, smoking a cigarette and blowing thick clouds of smoke out the passenger side window. They didn't speak.
When the station wagon pulled up to the front steps of the modern mansion Roman had shared with Miranda and Nadia, Roman silently stepped from the car and walked solemnly to the door. Peter made to follow him, but Roman held up a hand in protest, never making eye contact. Peter retreated into the car and they drove away, leaving Roman standing on the steps alone.
When he entered the house, he was hit with the strong scent of bleach, a cruel reminder of the first attack on little Nadia. The smell made his stomach churn and burned his eyes. Roman walked to his room, laid down on his rumpled, silken sheets without bothering to remove his shoes and belt. He crossed his hands over his chest and stared at the ceiling, unblinking. The hunger was beginning to gnaw at him again, but he ignored it. He deserved this pain.
Roman stayed in that position for two days. He knew Olivia was out there somewhere, planning her violent return to Hemlock Grove to reclaim the Godfrey throne. But Roman couldn't bring himself to give a fuck. She could come and kill him where he lay and he wouldn't have protested. At least the hunger, the pain and the loneliness would stop.
He didn't sleep or eat for those two days. He simply lay, unmoving, waiting for the numbness in his heart to subside and the sadness to come crashing down like a tidal wave. But it didn't come. The sun continued to rise and set as it always did.
After dusk on the third day, the doorbell rang. Roman made no move to answer it but with his keen ears heard the rattle of the lock and the click of the door opening.
"Pretty sure that door was locked," Roman stated to the darkness, eyes still fixed on the ceiling.
"What kind of Gypsy would I be if I didn't know how to pick a lock?" Peter said dryly.
Roman sighed, blinked slowly and raised himself to a seated position. Peter was standing in the doorway, dark hair falling over his eyes as he stared at his feet. He looked wrecked. His jeans were rumpled and his leather jacket hung loosely from his shoulders. His cheeks were hollow and the hair on his face and grown scraggly.
"You look like shit, Rumancek," Roman said.
"How come you don't?" Peter asked. He grabbed a chair from the corner of Roman's room and dragged it toward the bed where Roman sat. Peter slumped into the chair, pushing his hair back out of his eyes and rubbing his hands down his face with a deep sigh.
Roman shrugged. "What do you want?" he asked.
"I, uh, wanted to see if you were still alive. You know, check in." Peter's eyes flicked up from the floor and Roman saw the discomfort and sadness in his face. It caused his stomach to tighten uncomfortably and he felt the rage and hunger in his gut begin to fester, threatening to bubble to the surface.
"Bullshit." Roman swung his legs around so his feet were firmly on the ground, his elbow on his knees. He glared into Peter's face. "Don't pretend you pity me."
"I cared about Nadia, too. I'm really fucked up about all of this. I don't know what to do. I don't know where to look for her," Peter said.
"She's probably dead. If she isn't dead, she's dead to us. She belongs to that thing now, whatever the fuck it was. It is going to turn her into a monster. There is nothing we can do," Roman said.
Peter sighed. "Fuck, man. I'm sorry."
"Fuck you. You're not sorry. Not for me, anyway. Why did you even fucking come here?" Roman spat.
"Shit. I…" Peter hesitated.
"Spit it out, Rumancek."
"I'm here to say goodbye," Peter sputtered. "Destiny and I are leaving Hemlock Grove. I just can't fucking be here anymore. It's like losing Letha all over again. I just…I can't."
Roman sat, unmoving for a long moment. He felt a sharp sting in his gut so piercing and hot it he almost checked for the knife. The pain seared Roman's insides and then erupted into a volcano of white hot rage that spread from his center to the tips of his fingers and toes.
Roman was on his feet with both hands around Peter's neck in a millisecond. He slammed him against the wall so hard the drywall cracked behind the weight of the blow. Peter was clawing at Roman's grip around his neck while his feet kicked ferociously, stretching hopelessly for the ground. His eyes flashed yellow as the wolf inside attempted to tear its way out of Peter's flesh.
"You stupid Gypsy fuck! You worthless piece of shit! How fucking dare you even speak to me! You should have just abandoned me like you wanted to and saved yourself the fucking pain," Roman roared. The rage and hunger was tearing him apart and Peter would suffer for it.
"Get the fuck off me, Godfrey!" Peter sputtered. He managed to worm his way out of Roman's iron grip, shoving the taller man backwards violently.
Roman landed on a sleek black side table, shattering the glass top and lodging thick shards of glass in Roman's flesh. He shrieked and lunged at Peter, who was coughing and rubbing the red welts blooming around his throat. Peter was quicker in a fight than Roman expected and dodged Roman's oncoming blow, sending Roman hurdling into a floor lamp in the corner of the room. He could feel the blood soaking into the back of his t-shirt and the smell of it made his head swim.
As Roman leapt to his feet, Peter uttered a guttural growl and swung at Roman. The hard crack of Peter's fist against his cheekbone only intensified Roman's rage. His vision blurred in shades of red as Roman mustered all of his strength as he flung Peter against the damaged wall. Flakes of paint and dry wall showered the room in a fine dust. Roman poured all of the hurt and betrayal behind his fist, punching Peter in the face so hard his lip split and bright crimson blood splattered across his face.
Roman lost control. The next few moments transpired in slow motion and Roman knew he should stop himself but it was too late. The beast within him, the Upir, had taken over and it was hungry. Roman's hypnotic stare seared into Peter's brain and Roman saw a brief flicker of fear in Peter's blue eyes before they burned yellow and animal. Roman's mouth was at Peter's throat, his wickedly sharp teeth piercing the tender flesh. He wanted to rip and tear at his throat until there was nothing left but threads of meat and skin and tendon. The blood was thick and tasted too strongly of iron and minerals. The taste was like a mouthful of dirt and nails and it caused Roman to gag, but he couldn't stop. He pressed his body against Peter, drinking deeply, his fingers in Peter's hair, pulling to further expose the jugular. He could feel the heat radiating from Peter's body as he fed, his skin so hot it might burn.
At first, Peter fought him, all knees and elbows swinging violently to free himself from Roman's grasp. But then the fighting subsided. Peter's fists gripped Roman's shirt and he let out a groan more animal than human. His breathing became ragged and gasping and his grip loosened. Roman tore himself away from Peter, flinging himself backwards in horror. Peter was staring at Roman and clutching the wound at his throat, mouth agape and his eyes dark, but human. Peter's knees buckled and he sunk to the floor, the blood from his neck now running down his arm.
"God damn it," Peter said, his voice husky and strained.
Roman dashed to the bathroom to retrieve a towel to soak up the blood. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror before darting back out again. His chin and neck were smeared with Peter's blood, his eyes wild with hunger and lust. It terrified him. He quickly wiped the blood from his face with a washcloth and brought a clean towel to Peter.
Roman crouched on the floor in front of Peter, who was slumped against the wall looking mistrusting. Peter snatched the towel from Roman and held it to his wound.
"I'm sorry," Roman stated coolly. "I'll drive you to the hospital."
"Yeah, right. Good luck explaining this to anyone. Also, not really interested in seeing any so-called doctors right now, considering they might turn into some fucking manta ray batman and steal me away into the night. No, thank you."
Roman scoffed. It wasn't funny, but he couldn't help it. The hate and hunger had subsided briefly and he felt rather guilty for attacking his friend. His only friend.
Roman helped Peter to the bed, where he sat gingerly. Roman could feel the blood on his back already beginning to dry and the wounds starting to close. Peter's blood was strong and rushed through his veins with such heat and power that Roman felt invincible. Peter's wounds were beginning to clot as the wolf beneath the surface healed its vessel.
"Can I see?" Roman asked.
"I don't know. Are you going to fucking bite me again?" Peter snapped.
Roman rolled his eyes and reached forward to remove the blood-soaked towel from Peter's neck. His long, deft fingers he tenderly tilted Peter's face to the side to get a better look at the damage. The wound looked ghastly, tattered and caked with quickly drying blood. Roman didn't know what came over him, but he leaned in, gently licking the blood from around the bites, his body humming with need. Realizing his inappropriate response, Roman pulled back, to see Peter looking at him quizzically, almost amused. Roman wiped his lips hastily and got to his feet.
"I should go," Peter said, still eyeing Roman with a curious dark stare.
"Right. Safe travels, Wolfboy." Roman turned away, unable to watch Peter leave again. Unable to bear the weight of the loneliness just yet.
"See you."
Roman heard the door click behind him as Peter left and then the rumble of a car engine. And he was gone. Probably forever.
That night, Roman slept deeply. His dreams swirled with blood, violence and visions of Peter with that dark look in his eyes.
