Tell me what you think. Not edited, like all my other fics, but this is my first attempt ever at writing an AU. I think it's pretty shit, but whatever. Epigraph and title from Angel With A Shotgun by The Cab.

"I'm an angel with a shotgun, I don't care if heaven won't take me back."

"See yous later," he muttered as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, walking out of the door in the opposite direction to his companion.

He turned his head to watch Herrick walking straight away from him. Herrick turned to smile and wave and Mitchell sniffed in acknowledgment, hunching his shoulders against the cold. He swallowed and sighed in relief. He'd just fed and it felt so good. It was such a rush each time, he'd never get tired of it. Everything had been taken care of and the world was his now, he could go anywhere he wanted and he wanted….to go to the coffee shop.

He cocked an eyebrow as he stared through the window. It was a little unassuming coffee shop, not a brand name. A peeling powder blue windowed front displayed the quiet scene inside and Mitchell looked at his watch. He had time to kill and couldn't really think of anything better to do right now.

The bell tinkled and a girl jumped. A crash was heard. Broken crockery littered the floor and Mitchell raised his eyebrows as the girl stood prone, staring at him, her hands still in the same position. A severe looking woman came out from behind the counter and stared disapprovingly at the girl, who promptly squeaked and rushed away to sweep up the china with a broom.

"Take his order, come on!" hissed the woman, shoving the girl towards the till.

"Good morning!" the girl said brightly with no sign of reluctance, "What can I get you today?"

"Just a cup of tea, thanks."

"That'll be one pound forty, please."

Mitchell leaned against the counter as he watched her battle with the till commence. She pressed a button and waited. Nothing happened and her watched her face scrunch up as she pressed the button again. And again and again and again, then started pressing random buttons, biting her bottom lip.

"Oh, come on, Annie, I taught you this morning!" muttered the lady, pressing a button.

The till pinged open and the girl called Annie blushed, depositing the money, her movements flustered as she constructed his drink and handed it to him.

"Sorry," she whispered quietly, "Enjoy your drink."

She turned and began cleaning up the mess she'd made, sighing.

Mitchell raised his eyebrow and took the mug, sitting down in the now clear coffee shop. This was the first time he was able to take a good look at the girl. She was pretty, her curls bounced as she walked around behind the counter, her apron tied around her waist. Her eyes were bright and sharp, her smile infectious. He found himself smiling as he watched her. She caught him looking and smiled back brightly, standing to attention behind the counter, waiting for more customers.

"It's my first day," she explained unnecessarily, "I'm not very good with the till."

"So I noticed," remarked Mitchell, taking a slow sip of his tea.

He paused and stared up at her.

"But you make incredible tea."

"Why, thank you! It's my speciality," she grinned, looking rather pleased with herself.

He laughed back and watched as more customers filtered in slowly. He checked his watch, kicking his legs up onto the seat next to him. He still had time.

Annie watched out of the corner of her eye as the man took another sip of his mug, looking nonchalantly out the window. He was dressed oddly. Dark jeans, lace up boots and a leather jacket, and peculiar fingerless gloves. His Irish accent was sort and lilting. She stared at him as she served each customer, looking away when he turned his head to survey the café again.

It was getting dark slowly and he watched her shift between the tables, hurriedly carrying plates of cake and hot drinks to customers with the stern lady watching on from behind the counter. There was something adorable about her when she misread an order and realised her mistake. How she flapped her hands and pressed them to her cheeks, her voice fluttering around like a bird in a cage. He smiled as he watched her…she was beautiful. There was something soft about her touch. And her smile was atrociously perfect.

An hour had passed. It was nearly time to close and no one was going to come in, she was sure of it. He was the only one left, sitting in the same position, still nursing his mug of cold tea. She shivered at the thought.

"Annie, right?" he asked when the café was clear again.

"Yes," she replied with her back to him, cleaning nozzles, "And you are?"

"Mitchell."

"Well, hello, Mitchell," she said cheerfully, leaning over the counter to press her elbows on it, resting her cheeks on her palms as she smiled at him.

"Hello, Annie," he replied.

After a short pause, they laughed and the tension was broken. They eyed each other over the counter for a second, Mitchell drinking in Annie's dark brown gaze.

"What do you do?" she asked after a while.

"I'm in a business with a friend. I've just come down here to check out a few premises."

"What kind of business?"

"Ah, that's a secret," he winked.

He was mildly amused when she let out a high pitched giggle. Her cheeks were red.

"And you? You're a full time waitress?"

"No, I'm in my last year of university. Saving up to buy my own place. I hate renting, I want to have my own apartment. Decorate it, live in it, make it mine."

She seemed excited at the prospect and he smiled, finishing off his tea. He got up and walked to her, fishing in his pocket.

"I never did give you your tip, did I?" he said as he thrust a ten pound note into her hand.

"Ten pounds? That's not a tip, that's…that's charity money."

"No, it's a tip. I had a lovely waitress and I tip well."

He winked at her again and turned around to leave the café.

"I'll be back soon. Tell me how the apartment's going."

She stared after him, the note still crisp in her hand. He laughed and stuffed one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket, opening the door. The bell tinkled and she stood in the same position as he walked out.

What a strange man.

But what happened next was even stranger.

"Annie? Annie, come on, we have to go. We have to go now."

Mitchell's tone was urgent as he burst back through the doors, his feet shoulder width apart, his hair messed as he confronted her. She stared.

"What? I'm sorry? We have to go where?"

"Anywhere, I dunno, just come with me!" he said insistently, holding out a gloved hand.

She stared at him again. What was going on? Was he an escaped mental patient or something? Why was he asking her to come with him? Oh, my God, he was going to rape her, wasn't he? Oh, my God. Oh, my God. She started to get fluttery again and reached into her pocket to find something, anything she could defend herself with. All she found was the ten pound note. Maybe he'd want that instead. She took it out and thrust it at him.

"Here, you can have your money back, just don't hurt me!"

Mitchell's face twisted into a frown of confusion, his eyebrows furrowing.

"What? I'm not going to hurt you! Just come with me, or someone else will hurt you."

He kept his hand extended as he looked distractedly out of the window again, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"Come on, Annie!"

When she didn't respond, he sighed and opened the gate that separated the café floor and the counter, dragging Annie out from behind it and out of the shop altogether.

"Wait! Where are you taking me?! I can't just leave, I have to lock up, Mrs Bolton's left! What are you do—"

"SHHHHH!"

He hushed her with a finger to his lips, his grip tight on her hand as he ran with her down the road, Annie following like a dog on a leash. His head whipped back and forth as if he was searching for something. It was so cold, she didn't even have a coat. Her feet hurt now, it felt like they'd been running for an age.

"How much longer to go?" she asked quietly, running along behind him, her hand still trapped in his, "And where are you taking me?"

He didn't reply but changed direction, dragging her into a cold, unlit alleyway. She gasped as he threw her against the wall, pressing himself against her as he looked down to the street from where they'd just come.

"What are you—"
He hushed her again, pressing his hand over her mouth as he looked up and down the street once more, removing his palm from her lips.

"What are you doing?" she whispered angrily.

"What's your name? Your full name?"

His eyes blazed as he looked down at her, his tone measured but urgent. There was something about him she couldn't place and despite the fact that she was in a dark alleyway with a strange man who'd just yanked her out of a café for seemingly no reason, she was curious. She met his gaze.

"Anna Clare Sawyer."

"Well, Anna Clare Sawyer, I need you to close your eyes."

She looked up at him uncertainly.

"I won't hurt you."

His tone was sincere enough for her to comply slowly. She heard footsteps approaching and began to shiver, her fists clenching at her sides. All she could see was the inside of her eyelids and now she was frightened. She was going to die in an alleyway. Would her parents ever find her body? She heard glass shatter. She felt something warm and wet splatter all over her, seeping through her shirt, all over her face. She didn't dare open her eyes. She felt herself thrown to the floor, someone straddling her hips.

"Stay still," she heard a soft voice whisper in her ear.

"That's not fair, you had a head start, Mitchell!" came a jovial voice.

A little weight lifted off her.

"Finders keepers," she heard the grin in his voice, "She's mine, Seth. Now piss off and find your own snack."

She heard a rustle.

"Put up a fight, did she? I saw her running."

"All part of the fun. Now fuck off, I'm hungry."

The man she heard as Seth snorted and footsteps stamped away slowly. Mitchell lifted off her and helped her up. Her eyes were still closed and she was trembling so hard she thought she might fall over. Whimpers escaped her lips as she felt her back pressed against the wall again.

"Open your eyes, Annie."

She obeyed slowly and was met with a scene not different from what she'd closed her eyes to. Mitchell's face was in front of her again. She looked down at herself and gasped, her breath caught in her throat as she felt and saw blood dripping all over her, staining the grey of her shirt, dripping from the hem, fresh on her neck and face.

"Oh, my…..oh…..God…..I…"

"Don't worry, it's not yours," he whispered, pulling the sleeve of his jacket down.

She caught a glimpse of a long, deep cut in his forearm, a piece of bloodied glass glinting on the paving by her feet.

"Wh…..I don't understand," she whispered, half in shock as she looked up at him with searching eyes, "What just happened?"

Mitchell looked down at her with sad eyes. There she was, the pretty waitress he'd met in the café an hour and a half earlier, standing with him in a dark alley, covered in his blood. Her bright smile wasn't there anymore. Her eyes were scared.

"I'm not a nice man, Annie."

"What do you mean?"

He looked at her, testing the waters before his next statement.

"What would you say if I told you vampires existed?"

She was dumbfounded and stared at him, choking back a laugh. She didn't know if she wanted to laugh or cry right now.

"Vampires?" she spat dismissively, "What is this, some sort of joke? You two boys dragged me out here for some practical joke?"

As she spoke, Mitchell paced back and forth in front of her, lost in his own world, barely hearing her words. He turned to face her suddenly and with a soft hiss, bared his fangs. His eyes were swallowed by blackness and she choked, gripping the wall, pushing herself back against it. He closed and reopened his eyes, showing their soft green again.

"Did that look like a practical joke to you?"

Her face was contorted into a mask of terror and she gasped for air.

"What….what ARE you?" she whispered, doubling over as she stared at him, never once taking her eyes off him.

"I already told you what I am," he murmured, still pacing. He couldn't bear to look at her.

"You…..you drink blood? Like…like DRACULA?!"

Mitchell sniffed a little and stopped pacing.

"Not like….well…..yes. A little like Dracula."

He saw her face and paused.

"But I won't hurt you. I won't, I promise."

"And why not? How can I trust you? How can I believe you? You just dragged me out of my work, I have no idea where I am, you….you threw me on the floor and pretended to kill me!"

"To keep you safe! He would have fucking drunk you dry if I hadn't been there!"

"Oh, so I'm supposed to believe that you SAVED me? How do I know any of this is real?!"

"Do you want me to bite you? Because I will, very gladly. You look very delicious right now and I can hear it pulsing, pulsing under the surface and if I wanted, I could make you beg for fucking mercy at my feet, I could make you scream and plead for me to stop!"

Annie whimpered. With every word, he'd strode over and pressed her hard against the wall, so hard her head was hurting, her hips bruising. His eyes were dark, hungry, his hands pinning her to the wall either side of her body. He was panting, shallow breaths, licking his lips. His eyes were fixed on her neck. He was thirsty.

"But you wouldn't hurt me," she whispered desperately, looking up at him, searching in his eyes for any spark of humanity, "You wouldn't hurt me, would you, Mitchell? You said you wouldn't. Please, Mitchell."

He panted as he looked down at her, biting his lips. He wanted to feed, he wanted it now, he wanted to taste it hot and fresh all over his face. He wanted to tear her throat out right there against the wall, hear her scream in terror.

She lifted her hands, cautiously placing them on his chest, looking up at him. She felt no heartbeat as she placed her palms on his chest, no body warmth through his shirt.

His breath choked. It felt strange. It felt odd. But not wrong. Her hands were warm despite the air around them freezing. Her palms set over where his heart should have been and his eyes began to flit from side to side in confusion. What was happening to him? He let go of the wall either side of her and looked down at her in curiosity.

One hand left his chest and took his arm carefully, pulling up the sleeve.

"You're hurt," she murmured, carefully inspecting the cut, "let me wrap it up for you."

He sniffed and shook all thoughts of confusion out of his mind, unzipping his jacket, preparing to rip a piece of his shirt off.

"What are you doing? No, you need antiseptic, proper bandages. Come back with me, let me get a first aid kit for you."

He looked down at the floor as she pulled the sleeve back down carefully, untying her apron from around her waist, wrapping it around his arm tightly.

"That should stop the bleeding for now, but you need a bandage."

He nodded wordlessly as she took his arm carefully, leading him back up the road slowly.

"Now I'm dragging you somewhere you don't want to go, I suppose," she said quietly, looking sideways at him.

"No…I want to go," he replied softly.

A comfortable silence ensued as they walked slowly together.

"You're being good to me," he murmured in shame.

"Because you were good to me."

"But I'm not a good person."

"You can be. When you want to be."

"And I want to live, not just survive tonight."