Author's notes: Yet another co-production brought to you by Ran and Kage...-cough-
A month. That was how long it had been since they took Laddie home. Since they'd killed the boys and Max. Since they'd welcomed Star to stay with her, and Michael had been content to share a pallet on the ground in his bedroom until he could replace the mattress.
It was almost too long. She had to go.
He was asleep now, a fall of curls covering one eye while his left arm was splayed out where she'd been trying to relax beside him. But she just couldn't. He wasn't...she was afraid of Michael now. He was too much like them. He had an aura of strangeness about him now, the same malice that the boys tended to exude, Michael did as well. He had come back from his experiences changed, different. Although he was human now, it didn't feel like he really was. Even the way he held her, the tenderness was gone. He was rough. Sometimes even desperate. Like he already knew she could see the monster in him, that she didn't plan to stay.
It was now or never. He was a light sleeper...a few more minutes, and he'd probably wake up.
"Mmh," he groaned, rolling over and curling an arm under his pillow. The moonlight filtering in through the bedroom window shone silver on his skin. She felt guilty leaving like this, a thief in the night, but Star knew if she stuck around she'd just go crazy. So maybe it was partly her fault that he was like this now, but she knew she'd go crazy if she stayed. They both had to move past what happened. The only way they'd even have a chance of that...well...the only way they'd do that was if they parted ways. Maybe some day she'd visit, and come back to him. Maybe.
She didn't leave a note. By morning, all Michael would have to remember her by was the lingering scent of lavender and rosemary oil. That, and an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach when he realised she was gone.
"Mike!" Sam got right down by his ear before yelling, "WAKE UP!" He jerked back quickly, knowing the kind of reaction his brother had whenever he was woken up.
"Jesus Christ, Sammy!" He groaned, jerking up and blindly swinging out a fist, missing him, "the hell is your problem?" Michael grabbed his pillow and aimed it at Sam's head, then arched his back to stretch, "where's Star?" He yawned.
He shrugged, ducking the pillow, "No idea."
Michael frowned, "you didn't see her outside or anything?"
He scowled, "I'm not a babysitter, maybe she went for a walk. Just, get up, it's too late out to be sitting around doing nothing. Lazy."
He glared at his younger brother, "I'm not taking you to the comic shop today, dork. You nearly busted my eardrum."
That got his attention, "Come on, I'm sorry, gee, don't be like that, I'll buy you a hotdog or something." He rubbed the back of his neck, "Please, just take me!"
"Yeah, with that fat stack of cash you keep in your back pocket? Get out of my room so I can get some pants on and I'll think about it," Michael climbed to his feet and moved to shove Sam towards the door. He'd let his little brother stew for awhile, maybe that would teach him not to scream his wake-up calls on a Saturday.
Locking the door behind him, Michael knelt down to roll up his pallet, glaring over at his empty bed frame. A few more weeks, and maybe he'd get around to picking up a box spring and mattress from a garage sale or something. Odd jobs could only cover so much, and he was still in the process of helping grandpa fix up the house. Vampires were, without a doubt, the worst guests. The drains still reeked of garlic and dead bodies.
His morning only got worse, however, when Michael snatched a pair of jeans and a shirt from his closet, and noticed Star's clothes were gone.
Sam was out the door like a bullet, better not to stay on his brother's bad side. Apparently he was in one of his 'moods' this morning. Not that he wasn't pretty much like that all of the time now. Sometimes he didn't even recognize his brother these days. Maybe killing off those vampires had done more damage than good. He looked back toward the closed door, nah, he just needed some more time to get over it, almost becoming a vampire had to be traumatizing, right? He shrugged, heading downstairs, he'd harass him about it later, right now there was a bowl of Lucky Charms waiting for him.
Grandpa was hovering at the kitchen fridge, scratching his chest and mumbling to himself. As per the usual morning routine. The next thing Sam knew, the old man was digging into the fridge and pulling out the milk carton to take a hearty swig right from the opening, spots of milk dribbling over his bristled chin. Maybe Lucky Charms weren't such a great idea this morning.
"Your ma went out to that record store today," Grandpa informed him. He hadn't even looked at Sam once, and somehow knew he was there. "Said she's taking up the morning shifts now."
Sam rolled his eyes, "And she couldn't take me into town too? Why didn't she say something?" He made a face at the milk drips on the floor, he still wanted that cereal, maybe he could do it without milk…
"Said you were too busy talking to those friends of yours this morning, didn't want to bother you," he replied with a throaty chuckle, "you gotta wash my car today anyways. Buff some of that sand off you got all over the hood on your joyride last month."
Sam grumbled, "But I wanted to go look at the new comics that came in." He whined, glaring at him, "Fine." He crossed his arms over his chest. Monster basher. One of the saviors of Santa Carla. He'd probably prevented god knows how many more deaths...and here he was, being treated like a little kid. This sucked.
Grandpa shoved the carton back in the fridge and turned around just as Michael was stalking into the kitchen. The look on his face was enough to guarantee he probably wasn't going to be fun to hang around today. Actually, come to think of it, he looked even more moody than he'd been lately. Maybe cleaning the car wouldn't be so bad after all.
"I'm gonna be out late tonight," he tossed over his shoulder as he began to dig through the cupboards for a plate. "Don't wait up, Sam."
"Why're you so moody?" Maybe he shouldn't have asked but dammit, his brother was being a dick and he wanted to know why.
He remained silent as he dug out a frying pan and snatched a carton of eggs from the fridge, and they were half-cooked by the time he even looked back at Sam, "Star left," he shrugged. Great. That meant he was probably going to murder their ears with his crappy ballad rock he always listened to after a breakup. That's what the old Mike would've done, anyway. Part of him hoped that's what the new Mike would do too because that would mean he was still his brother.
"So, umm, what're you planning on doing, going out?" He had to at least appear interested, right? Besides, if mom asked he needed to have something to tell her. Hopefully this time he wouldn't make friends with a bunch of psychotic blood-suckers.
"I don't know," Michael replied, scooping his eggs onto a plate and sprinkling them liberally with pepper, "you want some?" Pulling anything else out of him today was going to be like pulling teeth. So far, this was actually one of his chattier mornings, though.
"Yeah, thanks, grandpa was drinking out of the milk carton."
"My house," grandpa added in as he shuffled from the kitchen, "drink from whatever damn carton I want to."
Michael snorted, cracking two eggs into the pan, "you're gonna have to start stocking up milk from school if you want to keep it for yourself...you know, I actually found a piece of hair on the carton last week."
Sam looked at grandpa in horror, "You desecrated the milk with hair?! That's just gross!"
The old man grunted, stalking into his workshop and closing the door behind him.
Michael scooped Sam's eggs onto a plate, "god knows what kind of hair it was, either," he said in mock terror and placed Sam's food in front of him. He grinned, punching his little brother in the shoulder, "you never know…he's lived alone for a long time, Sam..."
"That's not funny man." He shook his head, honestly it was good to see him like this though. He mock sniffed, "So mean."
"Just picture it," Michael grabbed his own plate and flopped down into a chair beside him, reaching out to ruffle Sam's hair, "candlelight. Sexy music. Dead possums in the corner...and just grandpa and the milk carton…no one else around to judge them..." He snatched up a fork and took a large bite of egg. "Oh, I bet he even takes the milk with him when he goes to see that old lady, huh? Mixes things up?"
"That's disgusting! You are so gross, Mike!" He gagged, eggs weren't looking so great anymore.
Michael rolled his eyes, "your best friend is a furry monster who spends most of his free time licking his crotch." He paused, "and then there's Nanook," he added, taking a jab at either Ed or Alan. Probably Ed. Nanook perked up from beneath the kitchen table, sniffing at Sam's fork as he tucked it beneath the table to feed him. His tongue darted out to snatch up the slimy morsel with glee.
"Yeah, well, at least my…" Sam stopped, it wouldn't do to bring up the undead menaces, his brother was already touchy enough as it is.
His brother narrowed his eyes, setting his fork down, "your what?" He leaned to the side, digging into his jeans pocket to pull something out while he waited for an answer.
He shook his head, "Nothing, was gonna be an insensitive jerk and decided against it."
"Uhuh," he snorted, handing Sam a small crumpled piece of paper, "this is mom's number at the record store. I'll give you a ride if you want, but you're gonna have to get her to give you a lift home if you don't want to hang out with the comic geeks until midnight."
He nodded, taking the paper, "Thanks." He paused, "I hope you have fun tonight."
"Right. Fun. I'll see if I can do that," Michael smirked sardonically, "hurry up and eat your eggs. You want some milk to chase it down?"
He gave him the finger and finished his eggs quickly, "Dude, so not cool."
He kept on a plastered smile. Half of one, anyway, until he'd ditched Sam on the boardwalk. It wasn't like he didn't know he was giving everyone a hard time. Michael was pretty much constantly aware of how different he was acting. He was trying to act normal, doing his best to pretend there was nothing wrong. It just wasn't that easy, and Sam, mom, even Grandpa...they didn't need to know what he was thinking. He had a demon on his back, and it was never going to climb off.
God, he'd felt different when they killed the old bastard responsible for the mess, but that was only physical. He'd gotten rid of the monster he was becoming, but he hadn't gotten rid of the thoughts. The feelings. The fact that every night he pretty much woke up re-living dreams of the slaughter he'd seen on the beach, remembering exactly how he'd felt watching David and the others tear into those people, laughing, painting their own skins with the blood like they were bathing in the stuff. He'd been horrified, and at the same time...a small part of him, which grew with the passing minutes up until he'd been human again...that part of him was fascinated.
The fact that he had wanted to do it...well, that was enough to pretty much torment him for the rest of his life. He'd wanted to taste blood, to enjoy it. To bathe in it just like the others had. How do you just turn your back on yourself? How do you pretend you're not a monster, when you pretty much know that's exactly what you really are? Or could be?
Star was supposed to stay, though. She was supposed to be there, to talk to, and remind him he wasn't the only person left scarred by his near brush with death in the most fucking literal way possible. But she left. She left. Now he was alone again, and god he just wished he could pretend nothing had ever happened.
Michael left his bike parked at the edge of the boardwalk. There was only one thing he could do today to make himself feel better...and that was to get thoroughly, disgustingly, sickeningly plastered.
One good thing about the changes in his personality and thoughts was that no one carded him anymore. It seemed like they were too afraid of what he might do to risk angering him. Michael wasn't an idiot. He'd seen himself in the mirror. He looked mean. Never mind the fact that he never actually did anything, the threat was there.
"Thanks," he mumbled, grabbing his six-pack from the counter and heading out of the liquor store. Okay, so it wasn't the hard stuff, but he wasn't really in the mood for an ulcer tonight. You paired Jack with the music thumping at the beach concert, you were asking for trouble.
He couldn't escape the noise and the music but he could sit himself down on the beach and watch the ocean and avoid some of the heavier bass and questions from 'concerned' adults. Last time he had done this he had been left alone but tonight, of course he couldn't be so lucky. He had just opened his second beer when someone walked up to him and stole one of his beers out of the six pack before starting to walk away.
Michael cussed, digging a small hole in the sand to prop up his can of bear before climbing to his feet, and stalking after the guy to grab a fistful of his shirt and spin him around, "you pay for that, dickface?"
The guy let out a snort, taking a big drink, "No, what're you gonna do about it?"
Seriously? What was this asshole's problem? Michael clenched his fist and summoned up a thin-lipped smile, "I'm going to ask you nicely to give it back."
He took another drink, seemingly unafraid, "Fuck you."
It happened before he even knew what he was doing. On a particularly shitty day, in a particularly shitty week, Michael had finally had enough of holding himself back. One second, he thought he was just going to stop after breaking the guy's nose, and then he was actively gripping him by the collar, kneeling over him, punching repeatedly until he was pulling back bloodied knuckles, his knees coated in wet sand tinted pink. Michael kept wailing on him until the guy stopped moving, and the remaining dregs of his stolen beer had long drained into the ground beside them.
"Oh god," Michael finally managed to regain himself, stumbling back and scrambling away from the unconscious man. "Oh god…" He looked about wildly, digging his hands into his hair and squeezing his mouth shut tight to keep from screaming. What had he done?!
Then Michael heard the sound of clinking metal, rustling leather, and for one insane moment he thought he saw them standing on a hill of beach sand overlooking the scene. All of them, looking down at him and smiling as if he had just done the greatest thing in the world, approving of his violence and near murder.
He stared back at the phantoms, his nightmare come back to life if only for a few short insane seconds, and then he blinked. They were gone. But the bloodied mess of a man at his feet wasn't. He didn't stick around to identify the guy when he dropped him off at the hospital. Didn't even stop to tell them what happened. Nor did he sleep that night. He spent the rest of it staring out of his bedroom window, counting the hours until dawn. Michael had to do something. If he didn't he was either going to lose it again and kill someone, or even hurt his own family. He wasn't going to let that happen.
Grandpa sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Michael to finally come downstairs. He'd been waiting since he saw the light on all night. He wanted to make sure that he was the first person to talk to the young man today.
He'd already given Lucy some advice to take her youngest out for lunch, get out of the house and enjoy themselves for a bit. She'd told him on more than one occasion that she had trouble dragging anything out of Michael these days besides a mumbled excuse or empty promise that he was doing just fine. If that were the case, he'd have started his Senior year like he was supposed to, not spent all of his time moping and hiding from everyone. From his family.
"Grandpa?" Michael walked into the kitchen, drawing to a stop when he saw the look on the old man's face, "thought you were supposed to go to the widow's place today." The boy hadn't slept a wink, and the rings around his eyes were telling.
"Not today, wanna have a talk with you, sit down."
He lingered in the doorway, crossing his arms, "what's this about?"
"You need to find a hobby." There, he came right out and said it.
Michael scowled, raising his shoulders in a helpless shrug, "...I've got hobbies. I've got a weight set...I've got hobbies." He looked uneasy. Like he was about to bolt for it at any second if the old man let him. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
"You're not fine, I understand how you're feeling, how rough it is, but you need something to occupy your mind. Why do you think I took up taxidermy?" He questioned, "Come sit down."
He lingered, seemed to be debating whether he'd actually listen, and his grandfather had half a mind to repeat himself, when Michael finally reluctantly trailed into the kitchen and picked a chair opposite him. "I don't think a hobby is gonna help me, now, grandpa," he said quietly, scratching at a spot on the table, frowning.
"Why do you think that when you haven't even bothered to try?"
His eyes darted up to the old man's face and then back down at the spot on the table, "doesn't really matter." There was a disturbing finality in his tone of voice, which was a lot more concerning than his behavior had been.
"Explain." One word orders seemed to get through to him better than anything else and he wasn't in the mood to draw it out.
"Well," Michael licked his bottom lip as he shifted in his seat and slumped back, "I got in a fight, grandpa. A real bad one. I don't think a hobby's gonna fix what I did. What I could do...I'm not the same anymore, and I'm scared." He looked back up at him, "I don't want to hurt anyone."
"Michael…" Well, that wasn't what he expected and honestly he wasn't sure what he could say to that. He paused thoughtfully, "Then don't. Choose not to hurt anyone. It's gonna take work and willpower but you're a tough kid, you can do it if you set your mind to it."
"Choose?" Michael repeated, straightening up, "yeah…" There was an odd look in his eyes, "yeah, that's what I was gonna do. I'm gonna choose, grandpa. Not gonna hurt anybody again if I can help it." He nodded, standing up and shoving the chair back under the table. As he left the kitchen, he paused in the doorway without looking back, "I love you guys, grandpa. Just...just so you know. I don't want you to worry about me."
"Don't go doing anything stupid, Michael." He scowled, he was going to do something stupid, wasn't he? He'd have to have a long talk with Lucy tonight. Maybe the boy was going to need more help than he knew.
Sometimes muscle memory does the work for you when you're not sure where to go. He knew he didn't want to go to the boardwalk again, and maybe it'd be better if he stayed away from the beach for awhile until he got his head straight. Being around people right now...Michael wasn't really sure he could handle it. His temper was getting the better of him, and he'd pretty much figured it out after he'd nearly killed an idiot over a can of shitty beer.
Even when he parked his bike on the bluff, and let his feet do the work, Michael could hardly believe he was there again. This time he wasn't coming back with questions for a pair of slender arms to comfort him behind a moth-eaten canopy, or even swinging in for a bite to eat and a round of mind-fuck pranks. Hell, he didn't even know why he was there. Maybe it'd help him get his head straight again.
He needed to bury them. Bury the memories and the thoughts. Seeing the place eerily empty and dark until he somehow managed to get a fire going with his shitty lighter and more than half an hour of sheer willpower.
God, he was tired. For a wild moment, he wondered if it wouldn't be a bad idea to chill out on the couch for a nap...but the second his eyes landed on that dust-covered behemoth of a gathering place, he immediately dismissed it. Michael wasn't here to enjoy himself, to linger, to chat with ghosts. He was here to end it. Or something. Considering he hadn't even originally planned on coming here, he also hadn't thought that far ahead when he'd realized where he was.
He just barely managed to dodge a flock of pigeons taking flight past his right shoulder, and caught his feet just in time to avoid tumbling face-first into the wall. "Shit," he cursed, regaining his balance and jerking around. He almost expected to hear a chorus of vicious laughter, or a mocking repetition of his name like it was a catcall.
How was it that barely half a week knowing those assholes had somehow been long enough to imagine them so vividly, as if they were still with him? Coming here was a bad idea. It was only making things worse...still…
He pressed his back against the cave wall and sighed, throwing his head back while he forced himself to relax bit-by-bit, and indulge in the fact that they were gone. Forever. The worst they could do was haunt his mind, and that's where they'd always stay. Even that was too much.
"I don't know if you're here, or if I'm just going crazy. Asshole ghosts or not, I'm not going to let you fuck with my life anymore." He glared in the direction of David's wheelchair and throne, imagining the bastard sitting there, casually smoking a cigarette while he grinned that shit-eating grin of his and indulged Michael in his speech, prepared to respond with another one in turn, "tomorrow night, I'm going to the bluff. So you can either meet me there and kill me yourselves, or just watch. I really don't give a fuck."
He wanted to laugh at how stupid he sounded right now, talking to no one. But he'd made his peace, and with nothing to respond to his threat but his own sardonic smile, he pushed away from the wall and headed towards the exit. As he turned he could swear that he saw the burning ember of a cigarette and a curl of smoke slipping into the darkness.
Lucy spun some of her spaghetti around her fork, looking at her eldest from across the table. She gave him a small smile before taking a bite, "Michael, what are your plans?"
He glanced up at her. Michael had been pushing a meatball around on his plate for the last five minutes, hadn't even taken a bite. "I...I was going to see about browsing some stores tomorrow...get a new mattress maybe…"
"Finally," she smiled, "it's about time you got a new one." She paused, "What about the future?" She asked softly, surely, he couldn't be planning on doing nothing.
Shrugging, he finally stopped messing with his food and set his fork down, "I don't know. I was thinking about leaving. Find a place I can get a decent job..."
"Leaving? You would have to come back and visit." She stated firmly.
He pushed his plate away, "if I don't, or if I didn't...I'd have a good reason. But don't worry about it, mom. I'll visit." He looked over at Sam, who'd somehow reverted back to middle school by constructing a crude little hill of spaghetti and surrounding it with his meatballs, "grow up, Sam."
Sam rolled his eyes, "Well, maybe you should eat too!" He took a violent bite.
"I ate earlier," he blatantly lied, as if Lucy wasn't his mother and couldn't read his face like an open book. He had an awful tell. He'd turn his face at an angle and stare at a fixed spot in front of him as if he was in a different world. At least she could take comfort in the fact that she still knew that much about her eldest, even though it seemed like he was slipping away from her a little more every day.
"Mom, if Mike's getting a mattress...can we get a tv, too?" Sam sat up, "you could charge it…" he added hopefully, flashing her his biggest open-mouthed smile.
She shook her head, "No, honey, we can't afford one quite yet, maybe Christmas."
Michael smirked at his little brother, "you could get a job, Sammy...paper route or something, huh?"
He let out a snort, "I'm going to school, that's my job."
He rolled his eyes and stood up from the table, "I'll talk to you later, mom. I'm...gonna go to bed, I think." He certainly looked like he needed the sleep, and after talking with dad, she was a little worried about the hours he was keeping.
She stood, hugging him close, "I love you, Michael."
Holding her close, Michael settled his chin on her shoulder, "yeah. I love you too."
