Disclaimer: I always feel a bit silly writing these... as if you don't know I don't own Steve or Mr Tiny or the Darren Shan saga but just in case, I supoose I'de better say it 'properly.' I do not own the Darren Shan saga or any of the characters. Only Rose is an original character.

The point of these rough drabbles is to give you readers an idea of the realtonship between Steve and Rose and I think these 10 particularly show their transition from one life to the next so to speak. By the way - in case it wasn't obvious... the line separate each drabble. I thought it would be less time consuming and easier to set them out like this instead of separating each one into chapters.

Hope you enjoy them and please R&R :)

DC

P.S. I know drabbles are technically 100 words but i'm using the term loosley here so bear with me... WARNING: STORY LENGTHS DIFFER ;)

Rose had just finished getting ready for bed when she heard her bedroom window open and close softly. She might have missed it had a gust of wind not blown through, lifting the curtains and causing a few strands of her hair to fall across her face. Rose didn't even have to turn around to know who was lounging on her desk chair, probably with the same lopsided grin stretched across his face, that dark dangerous gleam in his eye. She did not look up from her maths homework until she had finished the final question. Finally Rose turned.

"Most people knock before entering," she said.

"Ah but I'm not most people," he replied with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. The boy noticed Rose glance at his wrist where a new scratch joined the old scars which decorated his arms.

"Cat," he said in reply to her unspoken question.

"You don't own one," sighed Rose. She always felt that somehow her friend only told her half the story.

"Oh, well, it was my neighbours' cat you see. A great, big, old fat thing. I was only trying to -"

"Steve I really don't care," Rose cut in, "why are you here?"

Steve was a complicated character and Rose could never really figure him out. He occasionally visited her or wrote to her but otherwise they never really hung out. Rose supposed it was because neither of them had any real friends. Well, she didn't have any, Steve had one. A boy named Darren Shan. Rose had seen him a few times riding his bike around town. He was an ordinary boy, the kind that lived on a safe suburban street with his kind, good natured family, went to a good school where he achieved good grades and was popular among his classmates. Steve Leonard was his complete opposite yet the two were best friends and had been for a number of years. Rose, however, had only over into the children's' home in the area a few years ago and at the time had found it difficult to make friends. Little Wickham was a small close-nit community where children grew up together and formed strong friendships within their neighbourhoods. What they knew was safe, anything different was frowned upon and Rose was definitely frowned upon.

"Just wanted to see how you were," he said looking affronted, "you had that English exam on Friday didn't you?"

Rose bit her tongue, trying to hold back the insults that sprang to mind. She settled for:

"That was over a month ago!"

Steve had the good manners to look sheepish.

"Sorry Rose, I've been really busy lately. I -"

"Doing what?" Interrupted Rose icily.

"Well, okay not busy as such. More... distracted."

"By what?" Steve lost patience.

"Just drop it Rose! It's none of you business!" He stood up and paced the room. "What I do is nothing to do with you! You're always asking me questions! Can't you just – can't you - " He stopped pacing and turned to look at Rose, she wasn't looking at him. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed staring at her wall just behind him, her expression frozen.

"Rose?" Shouted Steve.

"Just leave will you?" She choked, not moving. Steve stormed over to the window, knocking her papers off her desk as he went. He didn't stop to look back as he jumped through the window and into the night.

It was a chilly October night outside, the orange glow of several lamp-posts lit up the night, hiding the stars. Steve hesitated on the roofs' edge; he'd been so close to telling Rose everything but had lost his nerve at the last minute. Rose was a genuinely nice person, he was afraid she'd think he was some kind of monster. Steve swivelled on the spot and turned to face her bedroom window. He knew he shouldn't have shouted at her, she was only concerned for him. In fact she was probably the only person that cared about him even after the way he treated her. Steve crept back to the window and peaked through. Rose was still sitting cross-legged on her bed; her head was in her hands, her shoulders shaking. Steve felt awful, he made up his mind to return tomorrow and make it up to her. In one swift movement, Steve turned and leapt from the garage roof onto the drive and ran off down the street. He was hungry.

"Just tell me," whispered Rose, "I can help." She rested a hand comfortingly on Steve's shoulder but she pushed her away. Rose was scared. Her friend was upset and possibly in danger but he wouldn't – or couldn't – tell her what was wrong. She hazarded a guess.

"Is it your mother?" Her assumption was met with a harsh laugh.

"Her? She doesn't care about me! I haven't been home in days and she hasn't even noticed. I went home this afternoon to collect some things and she didn't even look up from her bottle." Steve kicked an empty can out of the gutter and sat heavily on the kerb. Rose froze where she was on the street.

"You've not been sleeping at home? But...? Where-?"

"With a friend," replied Steve ambiguously. He avoided her eyes, instead he stared at a graffiti tag on a grocery store's wall on the opposite side of the road. He recognized it as one he had experimented with a few months ago when he had been feeling particularly rebellious. He hadn't told Rose about that one for fear of being made to clean it off. He looked up to see her eyeing him anxiously. He felt bad about not sharing with her but he was afraid of what she might think.

"Seriously Rose, I'm fine. I don't need anyone looking out for me so you can quit worrying."

"But-"

"Jeez, you're worst than Darren!"

Rose squared her shoulders and marched over to Steve, her narrowed eyes bore into the back of his head. She hit him across the back of his head with the palm of her hand and sniffed.

"We are your friends!" She yelled over the top of his complaining. She ignored his moaning and occasional swearing and sat next to him on the kerb, tucking her coat beneath her to avoid sitting on anything dirty. Beside her, Steve was still massaging the back of his head and glaring at her however his gaze softened as he noticed how concerned she was. Worry lines creased her forehead and the corners of her usually smiling mouth were turned down.

The two sat unmoving and silent beneath a solitary streetlight for what seemed like hours. Occasionally a car or bus would drive past, breaking the tranquillity before it was restored again by the lack of conversation. Rose studied her reflection in the dirty puddle at her feet. Her mouse brown hair fell in soft curls round face, damp from the earlier downpour. Her fringe partially covered her eyes and the dark kohl eyeliner which framed her brown eyes gave the impression that a shadow fell across the space between the bridge of her nose and her fringe. The thin, scared looking girl stared back out at her from the puddle miserably. She longed for her only friend to confide in her. She was fed up of hanging out at the children's home where she lived alone. As the oldest child there at sixteen, she became a sort of recluse, confined to her room or on the streets. Either way, she usually had Steve to mess around with if she got too lonely but recently she felt him slipping away. It was not as it they had ever been best friends – she knew he reserved that spot for Darren – but, as two outcasts, they enjoyed each other's company. Frowning, Rose considered how life would be like if Steve didn't exist. She would not have any friends or any fun. He was the one person who motivated her to keep trying at school and at the Home. Without Steve to rely on, Rose supposed she would be at a loss for what to live for. Steve had also given her a reason to have a go at life – he had often been the reason. When she felt particularly down or alone, she could always look forward to his next text or visit. He would often surprise her by climbing up onto the garage roof outside her window for a chat or sometimes simply for company.

Rose risked another peek at Steve. He was picking at his shoelaces, a sign he was feeling uncomfortable. Rose supposed he would stand up any minute and make an excuse. Sure enough, no longer than five seconds later, Steve cleared his throat.

"Well, it's getting late..."

"It's getting early. Almost 4 o'clock."

"Even more of a reason to go I think," said Steve standing up. He paused, waiting for Rose to stand up too but when she didn't; he simply gave her a brief nod before turning and skulking down the street. Rose watched his retreating, slouched figure. Typical youth, she thought, hood up, hands in his pockets, dirty sneakers. She knew this was an image he perfected and felt proud of. Like most boys in the area, Steve did his best to protect his reputation but unlike those perfect teenage boys any mother would be proud of, Steve did his best to keep up his image as a local rebellious and defiant delinquent. Rose smiled to herself, presuming his recent silent treatment was just another act.

The assembly hall was quiet, the silence broken by only a few murmurs and the occasional sound of someone weeping. The red and gold furnishings had been replaced by black drapes as a respectable symbol of mourning. The head teacher got to his feet and cleared his throat. His usually stern face was softer and his blue eyes were watery. He gripped the lectern for support as he made his speech in memory of Darren Shan in front of the rest of the school. Outside, cloudy skies were fit to burst with rain and loud irate thunder. The rain tried in desperation to penetrate the old school building but the assembly hall did its best to protect its inhabitants from the icy winds outside.

Rose recognised Mr and Mrs Shan and their daughter Annie sitting amongst the teachers in the seats generally reserved for guests of honour. Their faces were gaunt and set to blank expressions. All three's eyes were red and bloodshot but they shed no tears. Their stony expressions implied they had already cried as much as they could. Rose scanned the rows in front for Darren's best friend Steve. She was not surprised to see he was not sitting with the teachers but she had expected to see him at the front, nearest the stage with perhaps a speech in hand however there was no sign of him. She had heard through rumours that he had caused quite a scene at the funeral, obviously distraught with grief and so Rose reasoned his grief had once again driven him away from his friend's memorial. She, on the other hand, had decided that morning not to skip Monday as usual but instead pay her respects to a smart, funny and kind student who, as her head teacher was pointing out right now, died before his time.

The tragic and mysterious circumstances which surrounded his death had recently been declared a freak accident by the local authorities and Mr and Mrs Shan had been acquitted of all suspicion. Rose had thought it ridiculous to even suspect the gentle couple of anything foul. They were two perfectly lovely people who deeply cared for their son and it was obvious his untimely death had shaken them greatly however Rose had been told that placing his nearest and dearest under question was merely routine. Suddenly the head teacher's sobs broke her train of thought and Rose looked up to see her PE teacher leading him away from centre stage. Darren was obviously missed by many.

Bang, bang, BANG

Rose replaced the huge door knocker with as much care as possible. She hadn't meant to knock that loudly, the knocker just sort of... slipped. She hoped Mrs Leonard wasn't suffering with one of her usual hangovers. Rose hadn't seen her friend Steve in several weeks and was worried. They usually hung out about once a fortnight but if not she at least saw him around school but no one had heard from him in a while and his behaviour was very out of character. On the few occasions he had run away, he always turned up after a day or two but no one she had spoken to had heard from him.

Rose tapped her foot impatiently and shifted the weight of her satchel on her shoulder. The dirty green door with the peeling paint remained unopened. She took several steps backwards and peered up at the upstairs windows for signs of life. One had been smashed in and a thick plank of wood covered it, preventing any light from coming through. The other was blacked out but Rose couldn't tell whether it was due to a blind or years of grime caused by neglect. As the house's poor condition suggested, Mrs Leonard was not a house-proud housewife.

Eventually there was a noise from within the semi-detached house. Rose stepped forward again as a blurry figure grew larger and clearer on the other side of the opaque glass. The door opened with a crack as one of the hinges gave way but Mrs Leonard did not seem to notice, she was too busy trying to get her eyes adjust to the light outside.

"Whassat?" she slurred, leaning against the door frame for support.

"Oh, good morning Mrs Leonard. My name is Rose; I'm a friend of Steve. I was actually wandering if he was here. I-"

"Shlow down, shlow down! Whosat?"

Rose rolled her eyes, sensing she was getting nowhere. She tried a different approach.

"Steve?" She half shouted at the swaying woman. Mrs Leonard suddenly broke into an ugly grin.

"That boy," she barked, "never home, never see him."

"So you don't know where he is either?"

"No. And good rid- riddes, good riddent. Thank God! He's nothink buh trouble!"

Rose refused to justify Mrs Leonard with an answer; instead she turned on her heel and marched down the path splitting the Leonard's front lawn which was littered with beer cans and bits of broken bicycle. She successfully resisted the urge to run back and snatch the half empty cider bottle out of the woman's hand. It looked as though no one was going to bother searching for Steve so she was just going have to track him down alone.

"Steve's phone... you know what to do." His usual carefree voice filled Rose's ear as the message rang out through her phone. She hung up yet again and sighed. Her friend's phone was still off. It was obvious he didn't want to be traced but Rose refused to give up. She had searched his favourite haunts – the arcade, the park, the cafe – but no one had seen him in weeks.

"Where are you?" She cried aloud, throwing her phone against an elderly looking tree, "You stupid, selfish son of a-"

"Excuse me?" Came a sly voice. A short, round figure stepped out from behind the tree and bent down to pick up her phone.

"You dropped this," he smiled, handing it back to her. Rose accepted her rather battered looking phone and shoved it into her pocket. The bald little man in front of her was looking at her in a strange way and she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She made to walk away but his voice stopped her.

"I trust you weren't talking to me?"

"No," answered Rose before she could stop herself. She mentally cursed herself for continuing the conversation. Even with no parents to remind her from a young age, Rose knew not to talk to strangers, especially not creepy overweight men. The man chuckled.

"Yourself then? First sign of madness you know? Talking to yourself," she chortled again and smiled at her, his head cocked on one side. His comment brought back sharp, biting memories for Rose. Someone had said that to her before.

"Steve," she breathed, "Oh, a friend told me that once," she added in response to the man's puzzled expression.

"Funny," the man mused, "I know a boy called Steve too. He said that to me." He shrugged at the coincidence but said nothing more.

"Steve Leonard?" said Rose hopefully. A smile broke out on her face as the man's eyes lit up in recognition.

"Do you know where he is?" The man looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Was staying with a friend last I recall. Not sure now. The boy was very depressed." He added with a pitiful expression.

"Yes," sighed Rose. Of course losing your best friend was difficult for anyone.

"Didn't think he'd be missed though," said the stranger. He took a step towards Rose, his head still cocked to one side.

"Well I miss him!" Said Rose angrily. What did that stupid man know? Steve was her only friend and she missed him even if no one else was bothered.

"Of course, of course you do Rose. It must be hard for you not knowing where he is. I'll tell you what; I'll get in contact with the people I last saw him staying with a see if they know where he is eh? Maybe he'll get back in contact. Just leave your phone on."

"It is, it always is," said Rose hurriedly.

"Good," smiled the man, "must dash." Rose watched his saunter back along the path to the park and it was only after he disappeared from sight that she realised he had known her name.

"Hello?"

"Hi Rose... it's Steve"

The line crackled and Rose could hardly believe her ears.

"Steve? Steve! Where are you?"

"I'm still at my friend's place. I'm sorry I haven't called. You must have been worried sick."

"Of course I have! I've been trying to find you? Your mum didn't know where you were! The school had no clue! You weren't at the arcade or the graveyard or the park or the-"

"Rose, ROSE! Sheesh, slow down. I'm sorry all right? Let's meet up tomorrow? I'll explain, I swear."

"Why can't we meet now? It's not too late; I'll come and find you."

No," barked Steve. Rose held the headset away from her ear in shock, "I mean, no. Not tonight. Tomorrow afternoon at the cafe."

"Okay Steve, tomorrow is fine. As long as I get to see you, I don't care. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Fine. See you tomorrow at the school."

"School? You mean cafe?" Laughed Rose.

"Shit. Cafe. Not school. See you at the cafe."

"Cool, got it. Cafe not school then," laughed Rose, "Who'd want to go to school on a Saturday anyway?" But Steve did not join in with her laughter.

"Bye Rose," he whispered through the phone.

"Bye Steve. See you tomo-" But her goodbye was met with a dial tone. Her friend had hung up. Confused and a little hurt, Rose climbed into bed. She knew now Steve was feeling depressed and tomorrow she would help him. Perhaps he could stay with her for a while. She fell asleep dreaming about the next day's conversation.

Steve dismounted his bike just outside the school's gates and took care to leave it somewhere it would be noticed. He broke the chain and padlock that were wrapped around the gate with apparent ease and walked through, leaving it wide open. Waving to the security cameras on the way past, he refrained from making an obscene hand gesture and made his way to the fire escape stairs. He wanted his death to be as dignified as possible.

Rose raced around the corner, pedalling as fast as she could. Her legs ached and her knuckles had turned white from gripping the handlebars so hard but panic and concern drove her forward. As she turned the final corner, she could see the school. The tall, grey building seemed to loom over her, getting closer and closer as Rose pushed her bike onwards.

"Maybe I was wrong," she breathed as she threw the bike to the floor and ran the rest of the way on foot. She had thought she had seen Steve cycling past her window earlier than morning in the direction of the school and something had clicked inside of her. He wasn't going to meet her at the cafe at all. Why did he want her out of the way? Her heart froze as she recognized the black chopper bike resting ominously against the chain link fence.

A cold gust of wind met him as Steve reached the roof. He could see for miles as he drew nearer to the edge. A polite cough from behind him made him jump and spin around. Mr Tiny was perched on an air vent, his legs swinging. He looked positively delighted.

"All set?" he asked as he hopped down and made his way over to Steve. Steve took a step backwards. The presence of this small imposing man made him nervous.

"Not getting cold feet are we?" asked Mr Tiny, sensing the boy's hesitation. His small dark eyes search Steve's expression hungrily. Steve avoided eye contact, he was ready, he told himself. No one would really miss him. His teachers would be relieved, his classmates would be grateful and his mum would be too drunk to notice. Rose would be the only one that would miss him. Steve sighed at the thought of upsetting her.

"Small sacrifices," said Mr Tiny as though reading his mind. Steve relented. It wasn't as if he'd never see her again, she just couldn't see him. No one could know what he was now which was why he had to make his 'death' as public as possible.

"Will it hurt?" he asked. He felt like a coward for even wondering.

"Immensely," smile Mr Tiny, "but then relief. And when you wake up, you will be even better than new!"

"Yeah" grinned Steve, he couldn't wait. Mr Tiny had promised him immortality. A moment of death seemed a small price to pay to stay young forever. Steve moved closer to the edge.

"I'm ready," he said.

Rose gripped the iron bars in her hands and pulled herself upwards. It was clear Steve had been this way, he'd left all the gates wide open as if he wanted everyone to know he'd come this way. Rose ignored the tears streaming down her face and ploughed on.

"Right," said Mr Tiny, "I think we've hung around long enough. Look, you've attracted some attention." Steve glanced down at the pavement below and noticed a small crowd had gathered. They were calling things up to him, pleading with him to step back. Steve was grateful he didn't recognise any of their faces; he couldn't live with himself if someone he loved had to watch this. He was thankful he'd arranged to meet Rose on the other side of town. He pictured her there, waiting in blissful ignorance, and stepped onto the edge and turned around.

Rose raced up the final few steps of the ladder and climbed onto the roof. She saw her friend about to jump, his figure silhouetted against the sun, his back facing the rest of the world.

"STEVE!" Rose screamed. She ran towards him. The two locked eyes momentarily and then Steve fell backwards, his expression blank. Rose was left alone on the rooftop; she heard the screams from below, the dull thud and then silence.

His footsteps echoed along the shiny, recently polished corridor's floors. The walls were bare and white and had a clinical look about them. Steve hated hospitals; they were for the sick, the dying, and the mortal. He pushed open the double doors and was met by a flurry of movement. Doctors and nurses rushed around the floor, machines beeped and phones rang. Steve went over to the reception desk, glowering at anyone who dared look at him. He scuffed his sneakers impatiently and the large woman behind the desk looked but as he approached.

"I was told I could find Rose Leighton on this ward," he growled.

"Visiting hours are over sir," said the woman sweetly. She noticed the stranger's fists clench. He leaned in closer, removing his dark sunglasses.

"Where is she?" he asked again, staring her right in the eyes.

"Room 3, last bed on the right," said the woman robotically.

"Thank you," said Steve, he glanced over his shoulder before going back the way he had come. He would return later tonight.

The cold room was silent apart from the occasional beep of a machine and the cough of an elderly patient. Steve walked towards the end of room three, passing the beds of sick and dying bags of blood. He barely acknowledged them, he'd just fed anyway, but his attention was captivated by a pale arm draped of the bed sheets on the last bed on the right. As he approached, he began to realise how ill she really was. Rose's face was a pale grey and gaunt and she had dark circles round her eyes and a blue tinge to her lips. A horrible wave f guilt swept over Steve, he'd done this to her. After his 'death' Rose had barely slept or ate, preferring to stay in her room. Steve bent down to touch her hand and her eyelids began to flutter. Her breathing suddenly became heavier and she struggled to her open her eyes. At last she woke up properly; her brown eyes searched Steve's face. She did not seem surprised to see him.

"So I'm dead no right?" she croaked, her thin, cracked lips stretched in an attempt to smile.

"No Rose, no. You're not dead," Steve moved to her side and carefully took her hand in his.

"Oh," she whispered, "a dream then." She squeezed his cold, pale hand.

"I dream so often of you Steve, but this one feels so real." She started to close her eyes, leaning back into her pillow.

"No Rose, wake up. I'm not a dream. Please, don't close your eyes." Steve was worried, she looked so frail and fragile, he was afraid if she closed her eyes, she would never open them again. Rose opened her eyes wide and studied her friend's face.

"I don't understand," she began to look worried, "you're dead, but you feel so real. You can't be here. I saw you die-" she broke off, choking back sobs. Guilt twisted in the pit of Steve's stomach.

"I am so sorry you had to see that. I planned for you to be away from the school. I am so so sorry."

"It was horrible. I wanted to stop you, I thought I'd be there in time but..." she trailed off and looked up at him, "but you're here now? Sitting on my hospital bed in the middle of the night?"

"Yes Rose, I'm really here."

"But you died?"

"Yes."

"And now you're back? You just sort of... un-died?"

"Exactly," sighed Steve, "I'm undead."

"Can anyone un-die?" Rose looked thoughtful.

"Not exactly. You have to trade blood first."

"Oh, it's just, I'm going to die Steve. Probably very soon, in fact," Rose said this calmly, as if she had already accepted it. Planned it, even.

"I know. You're very ill."

"Is that why you came back?" asked Rose, she tried to sit up but failed miserably, "do you want to trade blood?"

"I want to save you," sighed Steve, "unfortunately this is the only way I know how."

Rose opened her eyes, at least, she assumed they were open, she had felt the lids move. She was surrounded by darkness and was aware she was in a very confined space. Lifting a hand above her head, she felt the soft silk cushion all around her and remembered. The pain had been excruciating when the blood had finally reached her heart. She thought back to the vampire movies she had watched with Steve where the skinny woman in the long white nightdress had simply fainted, and laughed bitterly. Nothing could have been further from the truth. She had writhed in agony for what seemed like hours but in reality could only have been a few minutes before the pain eventually ceased. Then Steve had sat her on the bed and explained how he was going to have to kill her so that the nurses wouldn't be suspicious and when she woke up she would be a real vampaneze. Rose had scoffed at the word Vampaneze but a quick flash of Steve's pointed incisors and a reminder of the situation made her think again.

"Anyway, you'll have plenty of time to think things over in the coffin."

"Coffin?" Rose had said sceptically. She and Steve had shared a meaningful look concerning an inevitable future.

"I'll come for you on Monday at midnight," he said, "that's 3 days. You'll be... resting for most of it."

"Okay."

"I'll leave my watch in your pocket so you know."

"Okay."

"Please Rose, Don't be scared. You will wake up again and then we can hang out for eternity like we said, yeah?"

"Okay." Said Rose. She wasn't worried about the coffin part, she wasn't the claustrophobic type, it was the part that caused her to be put in the coffin in the first place that panicked her. Sensing her hesitation, Steve said:

"Don't worry, I'll wait till you're asleep first."

The last thing Rose remembered was staring at the ceiling, listening to Steve murmuring about all the adventures they would have before she fell asleep. She assumed he had suffocated her.

Steve swore softly to himself as he turned away from yet another fresh grave. He wished he'd paid more attention at the funeral and then maybe he wouldn't be so lost. He threw his shovel the length of the field in frustration where it lodged itself firmly in the trunk of an old tree. The tree creaked and swayed and its branches shook as if with fear and horror at its majestic body being impaled. A figure stepped around the tree and out of the shadows. He snatched the shovel out of the tree's bark with such a force that the tree lent forward several inches, and threw it back across the length of the graveyard to Steve who caught it single handily.

"Over here," he growled, and returned to the shadows.

Six feet under, Rose sighed and grumbled to herself. The watch insisted it was 00:18 which meant Steve was nearly 20 minutes late! Rose had just made up her mind not to panic for at least another 10 minutes when she heard a thud and a scraping noise above her. She pocketed the watch and braced herself. A sudden beam of moonlight hit her and dust and dirt sprinkled down as the coffin lid was removed. Rose accepted the hand offered to her and pulled herself up. Steve was standing by the graveside covered in dirt and holding a shovel, grinning.