Disclaimer: Being Human and all its associated characters are owned by the BBC. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit fun.

Authors Note: Ahh, my first foray into Being Human fan fiction. I love when a new fandom gets me all inspired. Anyway, this is an AU Future!fic, set roughly fifty years in the future. I'm not sure about how it turned out, so please, review and tell me what you think.

I have no beta, so any spelling or grammar mistakes are mine alone. If you notice anything, please tell me and I'll fix it.

Homecoming

By Chaimera

"It is dismal coming home, when there is nobody to welcome one."

-Ann Radcliffe

It was a clear, cold day in Bristol when John Mitchell walked down Windsor Terrace and little had changed on the quiet road. The houses looked a little more worn, but were still well kept by their residents. There were few differences that pointed to the time that had passed since the vampire had last stepped foot on the street. Cars were sleeker, fancier technology could be glimpsed through open curtains and gaps in blinds. The world had changed, but on this little street in Bristol, you could hardly tell. John Mitchell had left over fifty years ago; run away with the woman he had thought would be his salvation. He was wrong.

He stopped in front of the little pink house. Taking off his sunglasses, he had to squint against the harsh winter sun as he examined his former home. The windows were boarded up, there was graffiti all over the walls and there was more than one place where chunks of plaster had come away, exposing the brick work underneath. He sighed heavily as he gazed at it. It looked so sad, nothing at all like the sanctuary he had come to think of it as for the few years he had lived there with his friends. In truth, this corner house was the only place, other than where he had grown up in Ireland, that had ever really felt like home to Mitchell. He turned the small metal key over and over in his hand, staring at the door. The paint was nearly all but gone, some small, peeling patches of the colour it had been years ago remaining. He didn't know how long he'd been standing there when someone touched his shoulder.

"You all right mate?"

Mitchell turned to see a middle-aged man with receding brown hair frowning at him. "Huh?"

"I said, you all right? You've been standin' here for ages."

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Do… do you know who owns this place now?"

The man shrugged and looked up at the house himself. "No idea. Some developer. Wanted to knock it down but it's listed or somethin'. No ones lived there for years, least no one I've ever seen and I've been here twenty years." He chuckled to himself. "The kids round here say it's haunted. Load of 'ol bollocks if you ask me."

He glanced at Mitchell, who had returned his gaze to the faded front door. "If you're looking to buy, there's a place around the corner for sale."

"What? Oh… No, I lived here, a long time ago."

The man cocked an eyebrow. "What? Here?" He gestured to the house. "You can't be more than twenty five or so. You must've been young when you left."

The younger looking man gave a small smile, barely an upward quirk of his lips. "S'pose you could say that. It's got some good memories though."

The man sent him a confused look and then turned away. "Right so, I better get back."

Mitchell didn't look away from the house as he left. "Yeah. Thanks."

"I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for."

He glanced at the silver key in his hand. "Me too."

Mitchell glanced both ways, to make sure no one was around before stepping forwards and putting the key in the lock. To his surprise, it turned, though not with out a little effort and door swung open with a creak. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that everything about the little pink house on the corner now screamed haunted. He hoped it still was.

Stepping in side was a sobering moment. The place was completely empty and covered in a thick layer of dust. He pushed the door shut behind him and stood in the hallway. Small shafts of sun shone through some of the boards over the windows, highlighting the dust that hung in the air. This house was completely and utterly empty. He ran his hands through his hair and glanced into the living room. There was one battered chair in the corner, which looked as if it would collapse if anyone sat on it. Beside it, a pile of newspapers, yellowed and curled with age. Those too, looked as if the slightest breeze would cause them to disintegrate. He shuffled into the kitchen, causing clouds of dust to rise around his feet. There was a shattered mug in the sink and in the wall by where the table used to be, there was a gigantic hole, as if something had been thrown into it with force. The back door was nailed shut. Out of curiosity, he turned the tap on and almost smiled when the pipes groaned, the tap spat out some brown sludge and then died.

Suddenly, Mitchell spun around and shot up the stairs, ignoring the ominous creaking from the boards below his feet. He flung open the door to Annies' room with such force that it hit the wall, the impact dislodging some plaster from the ceiling, which fell the floor, creating an even greater cloud. When the dust had settled and he had stopped spluttering, the vampire surveyed the room with a sinking heart. Like everywhere else, it was empty. Nothing remained, not even the cream carpet, which had been pulled up, leaving only bare floorboards. Most of the wallpaper had peeled away. He slumped against the door frame and closed his eyes. He knew it had been foolish to hope, but then, he always had been good a believing in something futile. When he opened his eyes again he noticed something he hadn't before. In the plaster of the wall, underneath the boarded up window, someone had carved something. As he got closer, he saw it clearly. The letters J.M, G.S and A.S, where neatly carved, each set below the other. Mitchell didn't realise until his knees hit the floor that he'd fallen. He ran his gloved hand over the carving and wondered how long ago it had been done. Even back then, Mitchell knew he shouldn't have left, but even so, he had thought that even after so long, she would still…

He ran his hands over his face and sat back on his heels, only absently noting that his face was damp. So caught up in regret as he sat there, it was only after a minute or so that Mitchell registered the sound made when he sat back. Wood knocking against wood. He looked down and ran his hands along the floorboards under the window. One was loose. He pulled it up and stared. Placed neatly in the gap between the piping and the wall, was a shoe box, the design on the top long since faded. He grabbed in and pulled it out, sliding across the floor to sit against the wall, he whipped the lid off impatiently. Inside were a few objects he never thought he'd see again. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow when he saw a pair of his sunglasses tucked into a corner. He had wondered where those had gone so long ago. The box also contained Annies' favourite mug, a piece of paper containing a god awful poem written by George, a picture of the three of them. Well, a picture of George and two floating mugs. He remembered how Annie had giggled over it when it came back from the developers. The box also contained one scratched DVD of Casablanca and a dog eared copy of Pride and Prejudice, the edition with Colin Firth on the cover.

Mitchell couldn't stop the guilt washing over him as he let his head fall back against the wall with an audible thunk. This is what he'd left one of his best friends behind with. Nothing. Nothing but a few items, a few scraps of memory hidden away in a box in the floor and an empty house with boarded up windows. He growled and drove his fist into the floor, relishing the pain as a distraction. He had run away all those years ago, like the coward he always knew he was. Lucy had not been his salvation. There had been more pain, more despair, more blood. And then he had run again. All his life he had run and even when he'd found people who had accepted and supported him, even when he fucked up royally, he still ran.

It was dark when Mitchell finally decided to move again. He grabbed the box and was about to put it away when something dislodged from the lid and fluttered to the floor. A piece of A4 paper, folded neatly in half with written across the front in familiar loopy writing. In his haste to unfold the paper he nearly ripped it.

Dear Mitchell,

If you're reading this then you've come back. But I'm gone, because if I was still there I probably wouldn't let you in the house. And I defiantly wouldn't let you find this letter. It's been years, so I doubt you'll ever come back, but I thought I'd write this just in case and…

There were several sentences crossed out but Mitchell could just about make out one of Annies' tangents through the messy lines.

Anyway, George left a year after you did. Said he needed to start somewhere new again. I hope you two found each other again. He was useless without you and I doubt you're much better.

I don't know where I'll be when you read this. Some people keep trying to exorcise me so maybe… poof. Or maybe I went through my door. I dunno. I'm a ghost, not a fortune teller.

Mitchell made a choked sound that was half laugh, half sob. He couldn't bear the thought that she had been exorcised, it made his chest ache. The words on the page made him laugh though, and he could almost hear her voice snapping at him from another room, feel her frustration as she scribbled out more random sentences.

So, I hope you have a good life with Lucy. Even if you never read this, please, don't forget me.

Love, always,

Annie.

Mitchell stood quickly, wiping at his face. He stuffed the letter and the photograph in his pocket, putting the rest back in the box, storing it safely under the floorboard before striding out of the room.

In the dead of night, in Bristol, in a little pink house that hadn't seen a soul for nearly fifty years, an ageless, Irish vampire sat on the third step up on the stairs, staring at a cracked tile in the middle of the floor and realised that this time around, he really didn't have anything left.

Please Read: Ok, so here's the thing. I'm a sucker for a happy ending and there is one written. If you'd like to see it posted as an alternate ending, review. If you think it should stay as it is tell me that too. Feed the author!