Title: Flamethrower

Word Count: 1039

Disclaimer: Fright Night and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie

Warnings/Rating: M for language, violence, sexual content, and adult themes.

Author's Note: There's no big overreaching plot to these... they're just some silly little bits and pieces about the boys and their toys. Most of them aren't enough to make up a proper story or anything. I might end up incorporating some of these snippets into longer fics, I dunno. Enjoy!

"Peter," Charley said, trying to remain calm, "What do we do?" He heard Peter shifting next to him and tried not to look at him. He did not want to let the bloodsuckers that had them cornered out of his sight for even a second - they were just waiting for an opportunity like that. He leaned closer to Peter, trying to catch a peripheral glimpse of what he was doing.

When he realized Peter had merely reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask, Charley almost lowered his crossbow to turn and give his alcoholic hunting partner an incredulous stare. He caught himself in time, though, and instead tightened his grip on his weapon, eyes still locked on the swarm of vampires blocking their only escape.

"Now?" Charley spluttered, completely aghast, "You're really going to do this now?"

"Charley," Peter answered, and for once, his voice was calm and steady, "Just shut up, and get behind me."

Charley froze. Peter had never put himself between Charley and a vampire before. He followed behind him, stood back to back, or, most often, they stood side by side, but he had never, ever had enough nerve to try and shield Charley. The fact that the older man was willing to help him hunt at all was enough for Charley - he would never ask Peter for more than his friend could give. He understood Peter far too well for that.

Peter pulled something small and metallic out of his pocket, shuffling forwards while pushing the teen back. The vampires circled closer, hissing with laughter, and Charley had the sudden horrible thought that Peter was planning to sacrifice himself, to give Charley a chance to escape. He opened his mouth to protest. Peter took a swig.

A massive fireball erupted in front of them. Charley jumped back with a startled yell, almost falling to the ground behind Peter. He could hear the vampires shrieking as they caught fire, could see them scrambling away from the heat and light.

Peter turned, his face lit orange by the small flame he held in his hand. Charley only caught the briefest glimpse of Peter's lighter before the illusionist leaned forward to spew another mouthful of fire at the retreating bloodsuckers.

"Peter, what the fuck?" Charley swore, eyes wide with shock.

The magician did not even glance at him. Sweat beaded on his brow, and the subtle lines on his face had deepened in concentration. He drew another mouthful of whatever was in the flask and sprayed it back out over the lighter. This time, Charley watched as the tiny flame caught and exploded, turning the spray of liquid into a searing inferno, and a manic grin spread across the teen's face as the scene finally registered. "Oh, you fucking genius," he said.

The leader of the vampires stood back against the wall, just out of reach of Peter's fire-breathing. He glared at the two hunters, his back arched like a snake ready to strike.

Peter's eyes locked onto the monster and, for possibly the first time Charley had ever seen, he took a deliberate step towards a bloodsucker. For once, he didn't look like he was about to shit himself from fear; he looked determined, calm, focused.

He held the light out, the flask close to his mouth. "Crossbow or stake gun would be great anytime now, Charley," he said, and the strain in his voice made him recognizable again.

It suddenly occurred to Charley that he ought to stop staring like a mindless idiot and help out. He stepped forwards by Peter's elbow and raised his crossbow, taking careful aim.

After a brief firefight, the vamps were either dust or had retreated enough for the hunters to escape the nest. After stumbling a decent distance from the building, careful to head deep into the shelter of the sun, the two finally paused for breath. Charley let his crossbow dangle down by his side, turning to measure the distance left between them and their car. Peter was bent over almost double, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. He squinted up at Charley through his fringe.

"That's it," he said, "when we get home, I'm going on E-bay and I'm buying us a bloody flamethrower." He moaned and collapsed at Charley's feet.

At first, Charley thought Peter had passed out, and his heart leaped into his throat as he imagined what sort of dreadful injury Peter may have suffered without Charley realizing. The more cynical and practical part of him pointed out that the idiot may have just fainted from the shock.

Then Peter's chest twitched, and he could hear a stifled, hysterical giggle from under the arm Peter had thrown over his face.

Charley grinned and flopped down in the street next to Peter, soaking in the warmth of the Nevada sun. "What the hell is in that flask?"

Peter passed him the flagon, gasping for breath. Charley took an experimental whiff and jerked his head back with a grimace. "Fwhoohf! That is nasty. Tell me you don't drink that," he begged.

Peter let out a groan and shook his head. "Naw, that'd probably poison me. S'meant for fire-breathing tricks, not for boozing. Used it for the show a year or so back. Handy, innit?" He lifted his hand from his brow just enough to roll one brown eye in Charley's direction, a grin making his crow's feet stand out.

"Yeah," Charley returned the goofy smile, and after a beat, the two of them were laughing again, caught up in the sheer relief that came with their victory.

After a minute, Peter rolled up onto his feet with a groan, stretching his back out with a grimace. Charley quirked an eyebrow when the older man's spine cracked rather spectacularly. Peter offered him a hand and Charley clasped it tight, letting his friend pull him up. "We're going to have to go finish off the rest, or they'll be tracking us down after sunset," Peter said, the humor slipping from his face.

"Well then," Charley said, heading for where their car was parked just down the street, "We should go reload and re-arm ourselves and get back to work."

End

There will be more little shortfics coming every now and then, whenever I get something that fits the bill.

EDIT: 3-2-12 Did some revisions on some of the wording and sentence structure. Nothing major, just trying to lower my adverb count, because DAMN.