So, I decided to make my next story a series of oneshots before writing an actual sequel to He Loves Me, She Loves Me Not (which I am going to write, don't worry). Brace yourself because the first one's chock full of angst.

…

"Thatch! Thatch, help me!"

Thatch watched as Carly thrashed helplessly in the flytrap's grip, a vine slowly wrapping around her throat.

"Hang on, Carly!" he cried, changing into his bat form. He darted toward the plant, preparing to sink his fangs into the vine, before being swatted down by a leaf.

As he crashed to the ground, the plant gave him a sly smirk, as if to say, Nice try, Bat Boy, and dropped Carly into its gaping mouth.

"NO!"

…

This was the last thing Thatch remembered before hitting his head on his coffin. He raised the lid to make sure he hadn't woken anyone (Wolfie jerked awake for a few seconds and mumbled, "Squirrel," but that's about it), and flew across the hall to the bathroom.

He splashed cold water on his face and gazed into his nonexistent reflection in the mirror, which he didn't need to see to know his forehead was bruised. This happened every time he had the dream, and he'd been suffering through it for who knows how long. He knew why, though- ever since he started dating Carly, he was in a constant state of worry. The incident at the play had been just a prank, but what if it wasn't? What if he hadn't made it in time?

What if he'd lost his fleshie girl?

Hearing a faint yawn in the hallway, he stepped out to see none other than Carly herself, somehow managing to look as lovely as ever even with bedhead and the mismatched shirt and shorts she was using for pajamas.

"Oh, hey Thatch," she said, "What are you doing up?"

"I just, you know," he replied, struggling to think of an alibi, "I needed to clear my mind."

"Well, don't clear too much out," she joked, "We have a history test tomorrow."

"Believe me, I've got much more to worry about than that," he said. Then, without thinking, he blurted, "Remember when you made me think a giant flytrap had killed you?"

"Uh, considering it happened about a week ago, yes," she said, "it is still fresh in my memory."

As if to reassure himself that she was really there, he quickly wrapped his arms around her. "Please never do anything like that again," he whispered into her hair.

"I wasn't planning on it," she replied, surprised.

"No, I mean it, Carly," he continued. He didn't know what had come over him, but at this point, he couldn't stop. "That night, I thought I'd lost one of the only people I really care about and now, if I ever let anything else happen to you, I'll never-"

He would've said more, but had no choice but to stop when Carly placed her lips on his. All at once, he realized he'd been telling her what she already knew. He'd already shown her that he'd do anything to protect her.

"Thatch," she said, hugging him back, "I know I might've gone too far when I did that, but there's no need to freak out over me.

Because I know as long as I've got you, I've got nothing to worry about."

…

This was partially based on a headcanon I have (not just for Thatch, but for vampires in general in this universe) that whenever vampires fall in love, they get super protective of the other person.

If there's anything in particular you want to see in this, feel free to leave a suggestion.