Hey guys. This is my third Being Human fic and my first that's going to be multiple chapters. I'm pretty excited. Have lots of good ideas. Leave some reviews if you like it or hate it. :)
Summary: Mitchell decides to finally join the Old Ones after his slip up with Box Tunnel 20. But was it the proper decision?
Warnings: Blood, language, and torture in the upcoming chapters.
Disclaimer: I don't own Being Human. I just adore the show as if it was my own creation.
John Mitchell had made some pretty stupid decisions over his one hundred some years of life. Although it was more than some...it was more like a lot. Trial and error was an easy way to go about life, but this was definitely an error. And at the moment, he was thinking it was an error that he was never going to be able to fix.
Not too long ago, the vampire had a slip up and murdered an entire train of people with a fellow vampire named Daisy. After that, he made quite the commotion in his fellow peoples lives. His name had quickly become a household name amoungst vampires and that wasn't necessarily a good thing. The fact that he was so reckless with the train had caused a lot of unwanted attention from the police and that was never a good thing.
Mitchell had been approached several times to come over to the Old Ones and stay over there. For a while, he declined the offer. He couldn't just...up and leave. He had George. He had Annie. What would they do without him? Would they be okay? What if Annie got taken to Purgatory again or George got in trouble with vampires? Who would be there to help them? That thought alone was enough to make him stay.
Or so he thought.
The house had become more and more tense as the days went on. It was like they knew there was something bothering Mitchell but none of them wanted to address it. Hell, Mitchell didn't even want to. He didn't want his friends to know that he was a murderer. He didn't want them to know that he slipped so far down into his addiction that he literally enjoyed every second of murdering those people. The sensation of their blood, their screams, their cries. It was intoxicating. He didn't want them to know that he just as bad as the rest of his kind.
That was when Mitchell decided to leave. He didn't tell anyone about it. The Irishman just slipped on his leather jacket and knitted green gloves, grabbed the envelope the Old Ones gave him and went downstairs. Luckily, Annie had been out of the night so she didn't even know what was up. The vampire simply left the envelope on the table, which was filled with cash, and wrote 'Take care' on it. As much as he wanted to say goodbye, he knew it would be easier if he didn't. For all of them. And with that, he left Honolulu Heights, ready to start anew.
Mitchell contacted the man that had originally bothered him about it and went to the place he was told to meet at. It was in a rather secluded area, absolutely no one around. He stood there, smoking on a cigarette, his eyes shifting every now and then when he thought he heard someone. The one time that the vampire decided to put his guard down and relax, a gag was being roughly tied around his head as his hands got the same treatment. His eyes danced around, wanting to see one of the culprits, but when the only chance he got came around, a sack was being thrown over his head and the Irishman was being pulled away. They had dragged him for what seemed like forever and then hit him as hard they could in the head with, what felt like, a rock, instantly knocking him out.
Those events led him to where he was at now. In the back of a van somewhere, bouncing up and down with every bump they purposefully hit. Mitchell groaned quietly, his legs squirming to find something that he could use to cut his bonds but there was nothing. At least, not that he could tell. Just by the scent in the van, he knew it was vampires driving it, but he had no idea who they were. Then again, he did just get bludgered in the head, so perhaps his smelling was off, though he doubted that had anything to do with it.
A sudden sharp turn was made and Mitchell was sliding into the wall with a quiet 'oomph' followed by a growl from him. Being treated like he was nothing but cargo was quite annoying. Luckily, the rolling and rocked had come to stop and he heard a door open followed by the heat of the sun shining upon his legs. One of the vampires had leaned forward and pulled him out of the vehicle by his legs, pushing him along once again. Mitchell honestly had no clue where he was, but at the moment, he wasn't liking it. The scent...it smelt like nothing but dirt and sweat. Where the hell was he?
The sounds of a heavy door being opened were heard and once again, the vampire was being pushed along, earning another growl from him. As they led him long, Mitchell had 'accidentally' tripped over something and went careening to the ground, groaning quietly. A hearty laugh was heard from behind before he was lifted to his feet again, dragging him once again. After a few moments, John had gotten his footing and shook the hands free, walking forward by himself. He hated the feeling of being out of control.
Before long, he was pushed to a stop and the sack was being removed, which then Mitchell instantly blinked his chocolate hues, getting them to adjust to the light. His eyes looked around the location for a brief moment before he got a hard shove forward. Rather than his feet landing on ground, they were met with nothing and the vampire fell down a rather deep hole. Landing was anything put pleasant since the hole was filled with rather sharp rocks and, apparently, bones. Letting out another groan, he slowly looked up and he was able to see his captors for the first time, making sure to note every feature of them when the had the chance.
Seeing something glint in the sunlight, his eyes widened when one of vampires dropped it, instantly realizing it was a knife. Mitchell scooted as far as he could from the weapon as it soared down into his pit. Luckily, it missed him. But barely. His gaze instantly shot upwards and he was giving the vampire above him the coldest glare he could muster. Within moments, the hole he was inhabiting was being covered by some type of wooden door of sorts, leaving the Irishman alone, in the dark, with nothing but a knife.
It was obvious they had given him the knife to attempt to cut his bonds and dammit, it was going to happen. Scooting towards the weapon, the Irishman patted around the area, eyebrows furrowing as he attempted to find the key to his hands being freed. Eventually, Mitchell had managed to scoop it up into his right hand and slowly, but surely, began to saw away at the rope that bound his hands. It was a lot harder than he thought though. His hands were tied so awkwardly that it actually hurt to move them in the fashion that he was making them. But it didn't stop him from anything. When he had managed to cut enough of it to break, Mitchell did just that and ripped the rope apart, freeing his hands.
The vampire moved his hands up to his head and instantly untied the gag, spitting as soon as it was off as he rolled his wrists to get the bones to stop aching. Looking around as well as he could, Mitchell eventually rose to his feet and began to feel around the walls surrounding him. For being dirt, the walls were pretty damn smooth. Mitchell attempted to dig into the dirt with the small nails that he had and frowned, realizing it was more like clay than anything. Looks like climbing wouldn't be an option here. And really, that was about the only option he had. He thought about Shawshank Redemptioning out of there, but the last thing he wanted to do was dig through a bunch of bones, rats, rocks and whatever wretched smell was down there to find the bottom. Who knows what was down there?
With a heavy sigh, the vampire plopped down and gasped quietly when he felt some type of bone dig right into backside. He quickly tossed it aside and settled back down again, running his fingers through his black, curly locks. There really wasn't much he could do now besides wait. Wait for what? He wasn't sure. One thing was for sure, it wasn't going to be good. If they brought him here like he was an animal, he was sure they would treat as nothing more.
As he thought about what was to come, his thoughts had eventually rolled over into ones of his friends. It was moments like these when he really missed them and truly regretted his decision. Perhaps telling them that you were leaving would have been wise. He thought to himself, idly picking at a small hole that was in the kneecap of his jeans. Would they have understood? Probably not. Questions would've been asked and he just wouldn't have it in him to tell them the truth. But look at where that got him; in a hole in the ground.