Set after Series 3, so if you haven't seen it, Do Not read this.
Yeah, this made me kinda sad, but it felt like I needed to write it somehow.
I hope you enjoy it!
Annie hated what had happened. Hated how he had broken like that, how he saw only one option left. But in the end, however much it hurt, she knew that it had been the right thing to do. He had wanted it, this final release from his torture.
He didn't know if the others understood why he had done it. It seemed selfish, but he didn't care. Mitchell had asked, begged him to do it. George loved him, his best friend, so he did. His last act of forgiveness to John Mitchell.
The house seemed quiet at first. It was stupid really, Mitchell had probably been the least noisy of them lately. George supposed it was the change. When you lose someone, you notice, more than ever, everything they had been, or hadn't been.
Mitchell's room stayed exactly as it had been. Mostly.
They each went in there sometimes. They never spoke about it, but they all knew.
Annie curled up on his bed, just imagining he was there with her. The not-quite warmth of his undead body against hers.
George just walked around. Perhaps sitting on his bed, just looking at the obvious things in his room. The posters, instruments, memorabilia that meant nothing to anyone except Mitchell.
Even Nina went in sometimes. Just to try and remember that the killer that she had turned in hadn't always been that way. He had been human once. Perhaps he had still felt human, all these years later.
It was a few weeks later when his guitar showed up in the living room. They had only really heard him play it once. Annie had heard him playing it in his room and quietly called the others up to listen. He was a little rusty, but it sounded good. Cautiously peering into his room, they saw him sat on his bed, eyes closed, lost in his memories.
His old vinyl and record player ended up downstairs too. Sometimes they played the music, long forgotten by most. It had always been important to him. The found the songs he had spoken about. Ones he had told them they "just had to listen to", because he had never got round to playing them for them himself.
Nina and George's baby was born. A healthy baby boy. A healthy baby werewolf boy.
They named him John. John Sands.
It was not long after that they got married. Annie, able to be seen again, was a bridesmaid.
Mitchell would have been the best man.
They moved, to Manchester. A fresh start, a new life.
They still brought all his things with them. Couldn't let go of them, even after all this time. That had meant looking through them, Mitchell's memories. There was obvious stuff, collected over the years. Gifts, perhaps, reminders.
There were photo's too. Just a few. Josie was there. George. One of Annie before she had died, but soon enough before that she still looked the same. There was even one of Nina.
The most saddening of all, though, were the ones from before Mitchell himself had died. They could tell, because he was in them, with his family. Mum, dad, his little sister. He held her hand, looking at her like she was the most important thing in the world to him. She probably had been.
It was hard to see how the happy, smiling young man in the picture had become the broken vampire, begging for it to end they had met at their house in Wales. They would have asked, what could he have possibly been through that would change him that much. But they all already knew.
As he got older, John began to understand more about what he was. It didn't scare him as much as it did George or Nina when they first began to accept it. But he had been born like this, grown up with it. What was there to accept? This was him, who he was.
They told him about Mitchell, for who he was named.
Told him about George and Annie's best friend. What he was, and how he tried to fight it. Who he really was, not the killer, but who he was with them. When they spent evenings eating pizza in front of the telly.
How, many times, he had been willing to give his life so that they would be safe.
Showed him the pictures, his old guitar, everything they had kept of him.
Eventually, they told him how it broke him. How it beat him. How he had asked George to kill him, and how he had. In the end, not out of hate or spite, but love.
They told him everything, not in a way that would scare him, but a way that would make him stronger.
John thought quite a bit about Mitchell, after they told him about what he had been like. He had always been there for George and Annie. Sure, he had done, did do, some awful things, but he was always there for them when they needed him.
They had asked him never to forget John Mitchell. To tell his children about him, if he ever had any. And to tell them the same thing.
Told him they couldn't let him be forgotten.
Because the day no one on earth remembered John Mitchell, was the day he would truly die.