This is the prequel to Slay Me, during which Booth kicks ass.

Things You Need to Know: Nightmares takes place after the finale of Angel and pre-pilot of Bones (the night before, actually), but after Booth and Brennan are working together. I've tweaked a little of Lorne's family history in the interest of creative license.

Warning: This part of the "series" is going to be a bit more serious than the other two. Violence, mentions of torture.

Thanks to JustJeanette, who asked me if I was ever going to write a prequel. Once she mentioned it, the idea just wouldn't leave my head! And, of course, thank you to everyone who takes the time to read my stories. I am eternally grateful.

Nightmares

Booth lay in the sand, rifle lined up to watch the desert in front of him. He was getting tired of this, fighting all day just to guard the camp from the creatures that went bump in the night – the creatures that everyone thought didn't exist. Booth knew that his bed was waiting, no one would know if he left; the regular guards were only a few hundred feet away, but he couldn't. It was too easy for them to take men at night, and their commanders would just think that they had deserted or were captured when no one was watching.

It had been relatively easy to get the silver bullets Booth now carried everywhere with him – one visit to a jeweller had taken care of that. The other bullets Booth had were a bit trickier, as it seemed no one was quite willing to modify a copper hollow point to put tiny wooden chips inside it. He'd had to go to a particularly shady sort to get them, but when they worked properly, they sent any vampires he shot straight back to hell.

There was screaming, screaming, screaming.

"Daddy, Daddy wake up."

Booth sat up with a sharp gasp, coming face to face with Parker.

"Hey bud, what's up?" He managed to ask his son after getting his breathing back under control.

"The Incredibles is over, Daddy. You're supposed to take me back to Mommy's now."

"Right." Booth nodded. "Okay, Parker, we'll leave in a minute. Have you got everything?"

"Yep," Parker pointed to his backpack, which was sitting by the door. "Do you think we have time to stop for pie before we go to Mommy's?"

"What about the monsters under my bed, Daddy?"

Booth looked down at the adorable little boy staring up at him. "I promise that I will never let anything hurt you."

"You won't let the monsters get me?"

"Never, Park. They won't even get close."

"Can you check under the bed for me?"

"Sure thing, bud," Booth rolled up his sleeves and dove under his son's bed, making sure to rattle it for effect. Above him, Parker shrieked with laughter and mock terror. Booth emerged after a few minutes, brushing the dust bunnies from his hands theatrically.

"No monsters under there, and-" Booth leaned closer to Parker, "-I threw in some monster repellent for free." Booth winked.

"You're the best, Daddy!" Parker cried, launching himself into Booth's arms for a hug.

"I certainly try, Park." Booth muttered, inhaling the sweet scent of little boy. "Now it's time to be a good boy for your mom and go to sleep."

"Tuck me in?"

Booth pulled the covers up and tucked them in around Parker's body.

"How's that?"

"Perfect, Daddy."

"Goodnight, Parker." Booth leaned in to kiss Parker's forehead. "Sleep tight."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite!" Parker chimed in. "Goodnight, Daddy. I love you."

"I love you too, Parker."

"See you next month?"

"Next month, Parker." Booth closed the door behind him as he left his son's bedroom.

"Thank you, Seeley."

"No problem, Rebecca." Booth turned to look at his ex-girlfriend.

"You're really good with him." Rebecca said, following Booth to the front door.

"So are you, Rebecca, trust me." Booth assured her, slipping on his jacket.

"I would have no idea what to do if he asked me about monsters."

"And I'm horrible at tying Parker's shoelaces, which is why I bought him Velcro shoes." Booth laughed. "Rebecca, try to relax. It's just a phase. You're doing fine." Booth padded over to where Rebecca stood and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. "I'll see you next month when I come and get Parker."

Rebecca pressed a kiss of her own to the corner of his mouth. "Are you sure you can't stay the night, Seeley?"

"I wish I could, but I have some things I have to take care of before tomorrow morning. Bones' flight is getting in early and I should be there to pick her up." Booth said regretfully.

"Ah well, next time." Rebecca grinned. "Take care of yourself, Seeley."

"You as well, Rebecca."

Seeley Booth slipped out the door and into the deep shadows of the night.

Booth read the obituaries page every morning, right after the sports pages. Most nights, after he was done with work, Booth would throw on his leather jacket and head out on patrol. The cemeteries were always first, since new vampires had the tendency to wake half-mad with hunger, and therefore they were the most likely to attract the attentions of non-supernaturals. Living in the country's capital meant that sacrifices had to be made, and the oldest vampires and demons had agreed very early on to keep a low profile. Murder and mayhem were fine on the Hellmouth or in L.A., but here in Washington, D.C., it was the fastest way to start the bloodiest witch hunt since the Spanish Inquisition. Against the Slayer they could hold their own, but if the supernatural went mainstream they'd be dead within days. For the most part staying under the radar was easy; the demons messed with the politicians and the vampires stuck to pre-packaged blood. There might be the occasional hooker who woke up with bite marks, but lots of people liked to bite. It was a quiet night in D.C. and Booth quickly abandoned cemetery watch for reconnaissance. Some of Lorne's family had had the same idea as him; as a result there were demon karaoke bars across the country.

Booth used them as his information network and made sure to stop by the one in D.C. proper as often as he could – Numfar, Lorne's cousin, worked there, and not only kept him appraised of any gossip but passed on 'favours' from the elders. Since they had agreed to the neutrality pact in the interest of their own survival, they couldn't personally take care of any dissenters. Booth was more than happy to step into that void and 'take care' of the problem.

Booth pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt before walking into Nighthawk, using the fabric to obscure his face. The leather jacket and sweatshirt made him look like a street thug; compared to the rest of the clientele, he looked relatively harmless. In a world where nothing was what it looked like, however, everyone gave him twice as much space as anyone else.

"Hunter!" The bartender grinned as Booth sat down at the bar. "What can I get ye?"

"Whatever beer you've got on tap tonight," Booth replied. "Anything new, Stal?"

"Little o' this, little o' tha'," Stal shrugged, sliding a glass under the taps. "Keepin' busy."

Booth accepted the draft Stal handed him and slid a five across the bartop.

"Boss' jest finishin' a meetin', wan'ed to see ye," Stal offered, wiping down the bar. "He was hopin' ye'd drop in."

Booth didn't even bother looking at his watch. "I've got a little time."

"Good." Stal inclined his head to someone beyond Booth. "He's done."

Booth drained his beer and left the glass on the bar. "Keep out of trouble, Stal."

"Ach, do m'best."

"Hunter!" Numfar's voice boomed across the bar. Several of the demons and vampires glanced at Booth and drew protective signs over their chests. "Get your scrawny butt over here!"

"Numfar," Booth growled once they were safely in his office. "Did you have to do that?"

"Keeps 'em hopping." Numfar shrugged without remorse. "It's good for them. How ya doing, Hunter?"

"Good." Booth replied. "How's the family?"

"Parents still swear a blue streak when I'm home. Had a visit last week. Apparently I stink of human, imagine that." Numfar smirked evilly.

"One of these days, Numfar…" Booth sighed.

"What are they going to do, exile me to the mortal realm? I already live here."

"Stal said you have something for me," Booth interrupted, trying to get Numfar back on track.

"More of a rumour than anything." Numfar grinned. "You've heard of Bania?"

"Unfortunately." Booth replied without heat. Bania had been one of the vamps he'd occasionally stopped in on as Angel. She'd been a good friend to him, then.

"Well, apparently her second in command – Felix-"

Booth growled at the name. He and Felix had never gotten along. He was a vindictive, pain in the ass vampire without the power he felt he deserved. Angel had warned Bania time after time that Felix was the sort of vamp who would stake you in the back, but apparently she'd had more to worry about than Angel's hunches, if Felix was still kicking around.

Numfar paused, giving Booth a wary look. "-apparently Felix is going to make a rather bloody attempt at an overthrow in the next few weeks."

"Well that's not good." Booth frowned.

"No, especially since Bania's clan is in charge of the neutrality pact."

"Felix wants D.C. to be as chaotic as the Hellmouth." Booth stood up abruptly. "Thanks for the info, Numfar. You know where he is right now?"

"He likes that new strip club on M Street – The Comet?" Numfar shrugged. "Sure, Felix wants to enslave humans as live food sources, but he gets distracted every time he sees a little flesh."

Booth snickered at the look on Numfar's face. "Any trouble at the bar?"

"One of the vengeance demons is going to seduce the Massachusetts senator, get him kicked out for cheating on his wife."

"O'Brien?" Booth frowned.

"That's the one."

Booth shrugged. "He tried to pass that federal funding bill that would have cut the policing budget. Cops already get paid less than your average babysitter. As long as she doesn't want the seat-"

"He." Numfar interjected.

"A male vengeance demon?"

"D'Hofran's branching out, I guess. And no, he doesn't want the seat."

"Leave it alone then." Booth decided, grinning savagely.

"What is it you do when you're not here, Hunter?" Numfar asked curiously.

Booth tensed. He knew Numfar was just asking out of curiosity, but he was terrified that one of Numfar's patrons would find out about Rebecca and Parker.

"That's not part of the deal, Numfar." Booth growled.

"You're a cop, aren't you? That's why you're not doing anything about O'Brien."

"I'm not doing about O'Brien because he's a prick," Booth corrected Numfar. "I'm not a cop." That was true, at least. FBI Agents weren't cops. They were federal agents.

"Okay." Numfar seemed placated. "Sorry I asked." The demon grinned at Booth. "You've got an hour before Felix is going to be leaving. Tell Stal your next one's on the house and go scare my customers into behaving themselves."

"Look what we got here, boys."

Booth startled and rolled over, staring up at six MP-4s. Each gun was held by a soldier, and they looked all too happy to see him.

"Seems one of the sheep wandered away from his flock."

Booth cursed inwardly. He'd been so focused on supernatural threats that he had forgotten to watch out for his fellow humans, and that inattention was coming back to bite him in the ass. He never should have missed their approach. Under normal circumstances, Booth could have picked them off before they'd gotten within a hundred metres of his position.

"What do you think we should do with you, hmm?" The leader of the little group poked Booth with his gun. "Should we let you go back to your flock, or should we keep you?"

Booth said nothing. He hand itched to reach for his gun, but he knew he would be dead as soon as his finger twitched if he did that.

"Take him." The leader ordered, and two of them hauled him up, and stripped his weapons. Booth felt the butt of one of the MP-4s hit him in the back of the head and everything went black.

There was screaming, screaming, screaming.

Booth lounged against The Comet's wall, watching the men leaving the club. He'd been there for an hour already and hadn't seen Felix heading in or out. Booth was beginning to think the vampire was taking a night off from his voyeurism when Felix walked out.

"Felix, buddy!" Booth moved quickly, slinging an arm over the vampire's shoulder and steering them into the alley before Felix could do anything.

"I think you have me confused with someone else." Felix tried to slip out of Booth's grasp, but Booth tightened his grip as he dropped the dopey act.

"Nah man, you're the one who's trying to overthrow Bania."

"Who are you?" Felix demanded. He'd already vamped out and the words came out garbled around his fangs.

"Just a guy doing an old friend a favour. One I should have done eighty years ago. You can call me Hunter."

"I'd rather call you dinner."

Booth stepped neatly out of the way of Felix's lunge, driving an elbow into the vampire's kidneys as he went by.

"I see your temper hasn't improved much."

Felix straightened and glared at Booth, seeing him clearly for the first time under the streetlight. "Angel? You're dead."

"Apparently not."

Booth tackled Felix and was immediately flipped to the ground. He gasped as Felix's hands latched onto his throat, squeezing. Booth drove his knee into the vampire's groin. Felix rolled off Booth and growled. Booth took a deep breath, felt the skin around his throat tighten uncomfortably, and launched himself towards the other man. Felix grabbed Booth and tossed him sideways into the Dumpster. Booth moaned as he felt two of his ribs crack – that was going to hurt in the morning.

Felix grinned triumphantly and started towards him. Booth felt in his pocket for the stake he was carrying and gripped it tightly. Felix's eyes were bright with the anticipation of blood and Booth waited until the vampire leaned over him. Booth rolled them, placing the stake over Felix's heart and making the vampire freeze.

"You should have left well enough alone, Felix." Booth growled.

"Go to hell, Angel."

"I'll see you there." Booth leaned on the stake and watched Felix turn to dust before standing up slowly. His ribs ached already and his left ankle sagged a little as he put his weight on it, standing and using a pipe as a crutch until he reached the end of the alley. He still had things to do before the sun came up, and he needed to get back to his apartment.

Booth frowned into his bathroom mirror and continued wrapping his ribs. Bones could pick up on the smallest difference in his stride, could tell when he'd fallen asleep on the couch and woken up cramped. Booth was pretty sure his neck wouldn't bruise, but even if it did it was low over his collarbone and would be hidden by his shirt and tie. He'd wear an especially flashy one, if he had too; but Bones would notice his injuries right away, and then he'd have to deal with some embarrassing and impossible to answer questions. Unless…

Booth grinned. Eric still worked for airport security at Dulles, right?

Once he'd finished his phone call, Booth gingerly eased himself into his bed, hoping for a few hours of sleep before Bones' flight got in.

Booth grunted as the pipe hit his foot again and he started sweating. The soldier in front of Booth, the one who'd captured him, looked disappointed that there had been no screaming. Booth would have apologized, but his voice had finally given out yesterday. He could barely manage a whisper. They should have been more worried about him being able to speak than actually beating him to death if they were hoping he would spill military intelligence. The man in front of him swung the pipe half-heartedly at his other foot and shrugged almost carelessly when Booth didn't react. Two of the other men stepped forward and hauled Booth upwards, dragging him to the water barrel five feet away.

Booth's eyes watered at the pain of being forced to walk on his broken feet. They forced his head under the water and Booth started wondering how much effort it would take to flip himself all the way in. Drowning was better than being on his feet again.

They dragged his head up out of the water and started chattering excitedly as they heard gunfire out in the camp. Booth hung limply between them, gasping. He saw his captors falling to the ground outside the tent and heard them shriek.

Booth screamed.

Booth bolted upright in bed and held his ribs as they protested the sudden, violent movement. His alarm clock blinked cheerily at him. 5:41 am. He'd managed two and a half hours of sleep. He shook his head free of the nightmare and slowly pulled himself out of bed. Bones' flight got in at eight – he might as well start getting ready for the day. Booth pulled himself out of bed and inched his way to the bathroom, keeping one hand on the wall to keep him upright. The walk normally took him ten seconds, and today it took him almost thirty. He'd been overconfident about Felix because they had a history together – but that didn't mean the vampire hadn't learned new tricks since the last time they'd seen each other, and Booth should have been expecting that.

He peeled off the t-shirt he'd managed to put on the night before and yanked the shower tap to hot before climbing in and standing under the spray. The hot water coursing over his bruises made Booth sigh with relief. Maybe his injuries weren't as bad as he'd thought, after all. Booth dumped some shampoo into his hand and winced when he reached up to massage it into his hair. Well, that wasn't going to last long. Booth swiped enough of it through his hair to get rid of the grime from the day before, then leaned against the shower wall and closed his eyes as the spray washed it out. It hurt to raise his arms over his head. He really hoped he didn't have to do any climbing while he was picking Bones up.

Booth managed the rest of a very cursory shower as quickly as he could, stepping out to drip dry in front of the mirror. The bandages he'd wrapped around his ribs were stuck and tightened because of the water, so he gritted his teeth, bit back a curse, and headed for the kitchen. The scissors were in the top drawer next to the sink, and Booth grabbed them in his right hand before easing the tip under the bandages covering his left side, carefully sawing through the fabric until it gave and fell to the floor. Booth started a pot of coffee and swallowed a couple of Tylenol, collapsing onto a stool to wait. He wanted nothing more than to go back to bed for the rest of the day, but the director had told him about a body they wanted Bones to check out, and if Booth wasn't there to pick Bones up (no matter how much she didn't want to see him, after the prank he was about to pull), she'd worry, and then she'd be more likely to spot his injuries tomorrow.

Booth waited in the kitchen until the pot of coffee was ready, pouring a cup right away and drinking it black and scalding hot. The burnt feeling in his mouth took his mind off his ribs, and Booth was able to get dressed in the same amount of time he always did, and with less pain then he'd been expecting. That Tylenol really did work wonders. He grabbed another cup of coffee on his way out to the airport, taking the time to add the cream and sugar he normally took in it. Ah, that was better. He made it to Dulles about the same time Bones' flight got in, and Eric met him. Booth hovered outside while Eric started questioning Bones, and stepped in about the same time her fuse was about to run out.

"FBI, Agent Booth. Bones identifies bodies for us," Booth said to Eric, winking at Bones. "I'll take it from here."