He should have grabbed the paper that morning after mom headed to her first day of work. He should've circled what he could, made some calls, gotten dressed and found a way to make a living. He should've made breakfast. Michael should have done a lot of things, but by the afternoon he just barely managed to drag himself out of bed. It was a miracle he even managed to throw on his robe and do a few reps with his weights before falling back in an exhausted heap. How much did he drink last night? He couldn't even remember. A lot. Possibly more.
"How long are you planning on baking on the front lawn?" Grandpa's voice cut through the haze from his hangover.
"Hm?" Michael peered up at his grandfather through sunglasses that somehow didn't manage to block any light, "how long was I out?" His voice sounded like he'd been gargling with sandpaper.
"About an hour so far but it didn't look like you were gonna wake up anytime soon. Should at least flip over to cook evenly." He looked down at him, the sun forming a halo around his head, "I was about to water you with the rest of the yard if you didn't wake up."
He did sort of feel like he was going to turn extra crispy if he didn't go inside soon. Honestly, Michael couldn't even remember when he got home last night. "Mmh," Michael grunted in response, lurching up. He dreaded toting his weights back to the porch. "Gonna go back to bed."
"Get some sleep, kid, and stop staying out so late, you're gonna worry your mom."
"It was just last night," he said defensively, sitting up and shaking some of the grass clippings from his hair. He didn't see what the big deal was. Not like he killed anyone.
Grandpa grunted at him before going back to pulling the hose out so he would water the lawn, "you only live once, remember that." He warned.
With that bit of cryptic advice, that judging by his grandfather's tone seemed like a semi-threat, Michael toted his weights back to the porch, pausing every once in awhile to take a short break. He was just so damn tired!
When he pushed the screen door open and slumped into the house, the first thing he noticed wasn't the blessed darkness of the entryway, but Sam hard at work cleaning and polishing a large mirror on the wall. He wasn't doing a very good job. There were streaks everywhere. "You're making it worse," he remarked, heading for the stairs.
"I am not!" He shouted after him, "it just doesn't like your ugly mug!"
Michael smirked, "careful, Sam, you're gonna crack it if you stare too long." He dodged an inexpertly thrown bottle of windex with a laugh, scrambling up the stairs.
Sam picked up the bottle of frothy windex he'd thrown at the staircase, glaring back up at his brother just as he disappeared around the corner. "Yeah, well you'd crack a windshield if you looked at it, buttface," he retorted under his breath, cursing the law of the universe that made the best comeback lines strike when they were no longer useful.
He rounded on the mirror, frustrated. Michael was right. It did look worse. Cleaning glass was stupid. Maybe he'd go make a sandwich and try to sneak one of the old man's root beers. When he stepped into the kitchen he found his grandpa sitting at the table with a stack of oreos and a bottle of rootbeer sitting in front of him. He looked up when Sam stepped in.
"Hey, kid, come, have a sit." He motioned to the chair across from him.
For a split second, panic set in. Had the old man read his mind?! "Uh—yeah, sure," Sam edged forward, pulling up a chair as far away from his grandpa as he could manage. "What's up?"
"Wanted to see how you were liking it here. Settling in alright?" He took a drink of his rootbeer before smacking his lips.
Sam brightened up a little, "I kinda wish we had a tv, you know?" If stocking up on comics with those weird guys at the boardwalk meant a three hour speech every time, he'd die without some MTV to keep him sane.
"TV is overrated. Rots your brain, those comics you like are better, they at least make you think." He paused, his look softening a little, "not being distracted all the time will help you keep an eye out for your brother too."
It took a Herculean effort not to roll his eyes right then. Was he about to get the big 'drugs and thugs' lecture? Mike was dumb sometimes, but it wasn't like he ever broke the law or anything. "Okay," he replied, "I'll do that."
He gave him a hard look, his eyes narrowing slightly, "Sam, Santa Carla has a hidden side and I'm afraid your brother may have gotten himself into something he won't be able to get out of on his own."
"Grandpa, you've got pot growing by the kitchen window," Sam pointed out, "and Mike hasn't touched it."
He sighed heavily, "Sam, just do this for me. Keep an eye on your brother."
Ugh. "Alright, but trust me, you don't have anything to worry about. He was in key club."
"I hope you're right." He said softly, seeming distracted.
Sam looked back at him, a little nervous, "uh, grandpa?"
"Yeah?" He ate an oreo, his attention going back to Sam.
"Can I have one of your root beers?"
Grandpa was silent for a moment, eyeing his grandson, "if you promise to keep an eye on your brother you can have one." He finally said after what felt like forever.
He grinned, reaching forward to grab one of the frosty bottles on the table, "You got it!"
That night, before their boots hit the sand, Marko thought about the last dozen or so failed attempts at inviting new members into their pack. He was the last one to successfully turn, and the last one hand-picked by David. After him, all of the others were Max's choice. He didn't miss the old bastard.
Tonight, they took to the sky and left their bikes at home. With the wind stinging his ears and their laughter ringing down on the beach of Luna Bay as they picked up passing drifters, Marko couldn't help but think about when he'd first met them. David, Dwayne, and Paul. The blood on his lips now was a far cry from the cheap whiskey he'd shared with his brothers in a rundown dance hall.
"I've got work in the morning," Marko informed them, cringing at the taste of cheap liquor he wouldn't even toss on fruit cake. "I can't keep palling around with you guys this late. The old lady I'm staying with is starting to lock the door on me." He didn't regret for one minute running away from his parents house almost a year ago, but it didn't make his life any easier. Too many people asked questions, and he was tired of answering them.
David slung an arm around his shoulders, "come on, Marko, do you really have to go to work? Why don't you just stay with us tonight?" He asked, "I have something far better for you to drink."
He knew where they stayed. That nice new hotel by the bluff. These guys were only hanging out with him to slum it for a few days. Marko knew they'd probably leave him high and dry when they got bored, but…
"That might be fun," he admitted, picking at his patchy threadbare vest, "What kind of drink?"
David snapped his fingers and Paul ran off, coming back with a gold and gem encrusted wine bottle. David took it from him almost reverently, closing his eyes as he took a drink, before offering it to him, "join us."
They dug a pit in the sand for the tide to fill, washing the blood from their hands and faces in a nightly baptism. Pieces of sticky flesh and pink stains filled the sand pit before they were done. A snack for the fish, while a feast of victims lay twisted on the shore.
"Have enough, David?" Marko called out to their leader, who stood in a halo of shifting beams from the coastal lighthouse. Cigarette smoke curled out from his lips. He'd shared a lot of his own blood with the new guy the night before.
"Yeah, was a good meal. You guys got enough?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at them.
"Never," Paul replied, leaning on Dwayne's shoulder.
David turned and looked at their youngest, "you look like you were thinking about something." David, unlike Max, didn't pry into their minds if he didn't have to, preferring to let them share on their own.
Marko stood, dusting sand from his jeans, "just thinking. Remember when Max lost his shit when he found out about me?"
"Yeah, he locked me in the basement and beat the shit out of me, he was pissed." He let out a soft chuckle, "you were the last one we chose."
"I've tried to be patient," Max snarled, his face twisted in anger. Marko had just barely been able to stumble back against the hotel wall to avoid the deadly claws reaching for his throat.
"Leave him alone!" Paul snapped, held back by Dwayne's firm grip around his shoulders.
David snarled, glaring at Max, "patient? Patient with what?" He bit out sharply, moving between him and Marko.
"I let you get away with too much. This," he swept an arm out, "is mine. You are mine. All of you." Max pointed a claw at Marko, who stared back at him in confusion, and just a little fear. He hadn't done anything to this guy! "You bring yet another rat into the family without so much as telling me. You left it for me to discover the dead maid in my closet! You, David, need to remember your place. All of you do."
"You're not killing him." David rarely stood up to their sire but when he did he was vicious and stubborn.
The molten gold in Max's eyes cooled, and his face became closer to a semblance of something human, "I wouldn't kill one of my own children, David. Not this time. From now on, though, I will decide who joins us. You will spend the next few days with me to absorb that lesson."
David's lip curled back in a snarl, "fine, but leave Marko and the others alone."
Dwayne gave Paul a playful shove, "I don't miss him," he remarked, looking back at David, "Do you?"
"Not even a little bit." David replied, taking another drag from his cigarette.
It would be nice to pass on the title of 'youngest' to a new brother, Marko just wished the guy was a little shorter too. "Do you think he'll look for us tonight?" He asked, remembering well how much even Max's blood had drawn him back to the others before he had made his own first kill. It was like scratching an itch. He hadn't been able to ignore it.
"He will," David said, sure of himself, "he won't be able to stay away."
After dinner, which Michael could only pick at, he took care of the dishes and left without a word. Mom would only tell him to keep Sam company or go to the boardwalk as a family, or flat-out tell him it was way too late to ride his bike. Tonight he promised himself he'd stay far away from whatever that mixed drink was in David's flask. It wasn't worth the hangover. Even if he was sort of craving it now as he silently kicked his bike off down the road before starting it.
By the time he reached the boardwalk, the sun had long set, and they were already there by the rails as if they'd been waiting for him. Maybe they had. There was even a space for his own bike between David and Dwayne's.
David smirked at him, "Michael! It's good to see you." He spread his arms in welcome, "care to join us for the night?"
He left his bike parked with theirs and joined them by the rails. "Sure," he agreed, turning his head only briefly to watch a girl with a lime green Mohawk pass him by. He looked back at David and the others, "what's up?"
"We're going out for a ride to play a game." David said, the smirk never leaving his lips.
That sounded—"you're not gonna screw with me and get me killed this time, are you?" Michael wasn't too sure he could handle another race like the one last night.
David chuckled, "don't worry, Michael!" He clapped a hand on his shoulder, "you're not going to die."
"Not tonight, Mikey," Paul chimed in.
"Maybe tomorrow," Marko added, grinning. They all had very white teeth, Michael noticed. Maybe there was something in the water here.
"Alright," Michael agreed, "but I gotta get home sober tonight. That hangover…" he shook his head, not even feeling the need to finish his sentence. It was the worst hangover in the history of booze.
"But how do you feel now?" He questioned.
"Pretty good," he admitted, "after I slept it off."
Dwayne crossed his arms, "always works for us."
"Don't worry so much! It's summer, isn't it? Who needs to be awake during the day anyway?" David said, moving to straddle his bike, "come on, let's get going, we don't have too much time before it happens."
"It?" He looked between them, not quite sure why he trusted these guys so much, but he did. Michael returned to his bike, hopping on almost eagerly. They all seemed to be giving off a vibe of excitement; it was infectious.
"Yeah, it. Think of it as a rite of passage." David said, starting his bike, "it's fun."
"If there's sheep or something, I'm out." He joked, just as their laughter was drowned out by crashing waves and roaring bikes.
The boys' laughter echoed through the night and Michael couldn't help but join in. In that moment he felt as though he was one of them, as though he had been with them forever, and would remain until the end of time.
David caught Michael as he fell. That brief moment of flying he knew had been exhilarating for the halfling. Of course he couldn't maintain it, he wasn't turned completely yet nor did he have the necessary practice, but in that moment he had flown, something humans really weren't meant to do. Now, as he held the halfling against his chest he wanted Michael to take it from the vein, he wanted Michael to drink from him. He wasn't sure where the urge came from but he was more than happy to fulfill it.
"Hey, Michael." He whispered in his ear, "hungry?"
Eyes wide with fear, and an excitement he hadn't yet grasped, Michael was too hoarse to reply as he clung to David to avoid plunging to the ground. His stomach, however, roared to life at the mere mention of food. "David!" He hissed in the pack leader's mind without even knowing it.
David ran his fingers through his hair, tipping his own head to the side and slicing his throat with a claw, "come on, Michael, drink."
Instinct, not thought guided the halfling. He pressed his lips to David's neck, letting the fresh blood fill his mouth. David knew sparks were igniting in Michael's nerves, human blood cells quickly being consumed by vampiric with each drop pouring down his throat. Tomorrow, he'd think it was all a dream. Might not even remember most of it, but tonight, tonight he would revel in the feeling of powerful blood pouring through him.
Below, Marko gave a shout, calling to them. The echo summoned Paul and Dwayne's howls into the fray, ghosts in pea soup fog.
Michael drew his face back from David's neck when the blood flow trickled to a stop, lapping at the flesh as it knitted itself back together. David looked down at him, lowering them slowly to the ground, "how was that?" He asked softly, "like it?"
"It was—wow." Michael murmured, standing on shaky feet. Paul drew up alongside him to clap a hand on his back.
"Enjoy it while it lasts, Mikey. No way he'll let you chow down like that again," he told him with a toothy smile. Michael was too lulled by the drug of fresh blood to really know or care what Paul meant.
David chuckled softly, "mmm, I dunno, I might let him feed again."
"How about me?" Marko hopped up behind him, clapping his his hands on David's shoulders, "I could use a bite!"
Dwayne rolled his eyes, "you eat too much. You'd bite his head off."
"Fuck you, Marko." David said, swatting at him, "dunno why but I want to let him feed again." He shrugged, it didn't bother him as much as he thought it should, it wasn't like Max had taught them anything. No wonder the old bastard wanted a big 'family'.
Michael looked around, seeming to register their surroundings for the first time, "where are we?"
"Used to be the major river through Santa Carla before the dam came." Dwayne explained, "now it's just a dried out riverbed."
"What happened to him?" Max demanded, kneeling beside the body they'd only just fished out of the water as he arrived. They wanted him to see.
"He didn't make it, fell in the river." David said, standing over him.
"You should have been more careful," Max told them, examining the dead teenager's eyes to make sure he was truly dead. The only concern lacing his voice was that he had been defied. He had no real bond with anyone who shared his blood, "This is the third time I have tried to pick a new sibling for the four of you. I am getting exhausted with the whole business, David. I think what you need is a guiding hand. A mother."
David froze, eyes narrowing, "they have to be tested." David said firmly, "if the ones you choose are too weak and can't hack it they shouldn't be alive. As for a mother, that's a horrible idea." Standing up to Max was a stupid idea but he had to make this clear.
Max stood, kicking the body back over the bank and into the water with as little care as one might expect. "It isn't your choice to make."
David let out a snort, "fine, but if this comes back to bite you in the ass I'm going to say I told you so." He grumbled.
"Before it dried up," Dwayne interrupted David's thoughts, bringing him back to the present, "a lot of people died down here."
"Too many to count, was a common suicide point." David went on, "now though, it's our playground."
Confusion flitted across Michael's face when he looked up towards the bridge towering above them, bringing his fingers to his lips as if he were trying to piece together the last several minutes, fighting the fog of satiated hunger in his mind, "by drowning?" He asked, "or jumping?"
"Drowning." David replied, "it isn't the jump that kills you but the water below."
Michael glanced at David as he spoke, "how do you guys know all this?" He let David guide him over the rough gravel below, while the others drifted around them in-step. The tracks above them had grown silent now, and all they could hear was the crunching sound beneath their shoes.
"We're at the library every week," Paul explained, "blowing all the bookworms."
David punched his arm, "Dwayne enjoys history and shares what he knows."
"Seems like you're the one telling all the stories," Michael said with a smirk, peering up at the sky. The fog was still heavy, but a few stray stars peeked through. The ones that burned the brightest.
He shrugged, "Well, no one said I didn't like it too." He followed Michael's gaze, "we're like the stars," he said after a moment of thought, "we're gonna be around a long time, Michael, and only those who shine the brightest are going to survive."
For once, Marko and Paul actually kept their mouths shut.
"Yeah?" Michael's eyes locked on David's. He wasn't entirely lucid, but the intensity was still there. He may not know it yet, but Michael had the eyes of a predator, the yellow shine that was there in all of the boys when the light hit their eyes just right.
"Yeah, and you're gonna be around with us." He said, meeting his gaze.
"Yeah, mom?" Sam shouldered the kitchen phone as he continued slathering a slice of toast with peanut butter. It was already pretty late in the day, and Michael still hadn't come downstairs for breakfast or lunch.
"I have an extra shift tonight. Can you give the phone to your brother? I need to talk to him."
"He's sleeping," Sam told her, taking a large bite of toast before pulling it back and licking the end of the butter knife he'd spread the peanut butter with, "you gonna be mad if I wake him up?"
"Actually, I'd like you to wake him up, he's been sleeping far too long, it's already afternoon." She sounded frustrated and Sam was glad it wasn't with him. For once.
"Okay, mom, hold on." He knelt down to leave the phone hanging off the hook. This would be fun. Sam shoved the toast into his mouth and rushed towards the stairs, taking them two at a time while keeping one arm braced against the railing to keep himself from stumbling over his own feet. By the time he reached his brother's bedroom door, Sam had managed to smear a bit of the peanut butter on the end of his nose in his haste. He rubbed it off, licking his fingers and taking several more bites to finish his meal before he threw the door open and rushed towards the phone near Michael's bedside stand, yanking the phone off the hook. He scrambled towards the bedroom window to yank open the shades, "hey, get up. Mom's on the phone!" Sam shouted, holding it out.
Michael jerked, fumbling around for something on the table. Sam thought it might be the phone, but then he was shoving a pair of sunglasses onto his face, "I'm up, I'm up," Michael rasped. He looked like shit.
"Man, Mike, you look like shit!" He exclaimed, "mom wants to talk to you!" He tried to be as loud as he possibly could while keeping his distance to avoid the wrath of Mike.
"I heard you the first time," Michael grumbled holding his hand out for the receiver as his head fell back against the pillow. His nails looked like they hadn't been trimmed in days.
"Pick it up yourself, I left the one downstairs off the hook. Just grab it off the floor, it's closer to you anyway." He didn't want to get closer to him than he had to.
Michael tried to sit up, and Sam just knew he was glaring at him behind those stupid shades, "then why are you holding my phone right now?"
Sam looked down at it guiltily before throwing it at him, "there, take it."
"Jesus Christ, Sam," Michael mumbled, grabbing the receiver and holding it to his ear, "yeah, I'm up." There was a long pause, "Sam's old enough to look after himself now," he snapped. In that instant, Michael looked and sounded just like their dad. It was creepy.
Sam shuddered slightly, biting his lip, yeah, his brother looking like their dad was a bad thing.
"Right," Michael's voice softened, and just like that he was Michael again. "Okay, fine." He held the receiver out to Sam, "I'm babysitting tonight. Guess we'll fingerpaint or something."
"Does she want to talk to me?" He asked softly, scowling at the phone, "and I'm not a baby."
"She hung up," Michael informed him testily, "it's too bright in here, Sam. Close the shades." When they'd left Arizona, he'd had a tan. Why did Mike look so pale all of a sudden? Was he sick? Sam briefly remembered that stupid comic the Frog brothers had given him about bodysnatchers, but reminded himself it was just a dumb story.
"Mike? Umm, are you alright?" He asked softly, closing the blinds before inching his way toward the door.
Michael grabbed his blanket and pulled it over his head, "I'm fine," he called out, "stop yelling." It suddenly struck Sam at that moment that his brother hadn't even changed out of the clothes he was wearing the night before. His sand-covered sneakers poked out from beneath the comforter.
He needed to go read that comic, fast. If his brother was about to be taken over by aliens he had to save him. Maybe Grandpa was right! Maybe he knew something was going on! Not even for a minute did Sam pause to remind himself why his mom had explicitly forbid him from reading horror or sci-fi comics. He had a bit of an overactive imagination, but maybe this time it was real. He ran to his room, locking himself and Nanook inside before digging through his comics and finding the alien one he had gotten from those two weird boys. Hopefully there was something in there that could help him.
"It's getting late," Dwayne mused, leaning back against the railing and slowly rolling his head from one side of the other in a languorous stretch.
"I'm hungry," Paul complained. "How long are we gonna wait here?"
David sighed, glaring out over the beach, "well, if he won't come to us, we'll go get him." He pushed back from the railing, moving to his bike. Michael hadn't come out yet and that just couldn't stand. There was a need in David to collect their newest member and show him what he was missing. More importantly, to draw him away from his human family. They didn't blindly take in new brothers on a whim, certainly not since Max was dealt with. They weren't going to let this one go.
"Are we going on a hunt tonight or just picking up scraps later?" Marko asked, hopping on his own bike eagerly. Whenever David led, he was always the most anxious to follow.
"Depends on Michael. I doubt he's ready to feed yet so if we get him to come out then we're going after scraps. If he refuses to come with us, well, we'll go on a hunt tonight and make him regret not coming with us tomorrow." David said, starting his bike.
The look on Paul's face was enough for Dwayne to punch him in the shoulder before he even got his mouth open.
"No," Dwayne stated firmly in their minds as they took off from the boardwalk, skirting sand and grass.
"I'll be doing the punishing, not you." David said, glaring at the blonde rocker, "besides, it has to be subtle."
It wasn't hard to find the place. They'd helped him get home twice. Even if they hadn't, following the call of the blood he shared was as easy as following breadcrumbs in a fairytale. Except in this story, he'd wring the necks of any birds who got in his way. They pulled up outside the house, keeping a good enough distance that what they were about to do would be a little more scary than if they were fully seen. Michael would know though, he would sense that it was them, and David would be calling for him. David began, howling, and flashing the lights on his bike, calling for Michael to come to them. The others soon followed suit, whipping up the wind for good measure as if they were about to take flight.
Someone inside the house began to scream Michael's name, just as he threw open the screen door on the porch and came outside, looking directly across the lawn towards them. They immediately cut their lights and let the wind die down.
"Michael, come on, join us." David called to him, eyes locked on him across the grass.
"I'm babysitting!" Michael called back, unaware that even at a whisper they'd hear him. Or a thought.
"That the screaming thing inside? Sounds like a baby, you got a baby, Michael?" David smirked, leaning across the front of his bike.
He still hadn't caught on to the fact that David's voice was in his head, calm and clear. Michael was fun, but, well at least he was smarter than Paul.
"Mike, please, come back in the house!" The baby inside demanded.
"Calm down, Sam," Michael waved the kid off. He redirected his attention to the bikers, "he's my little brother! Sorry, maybe tomorrow. Mom would kill me if I ditched him."
"Tomorrow, Michael, come find us tomorrow." It was as much an order as a request.
"I'll-" Michael began, jerking when his brother reached forward through the open screen door to grab the back of his shirt.
"Mike!" He snapped.
"Gimme a minute, Sam." Michael shrugged him away, giving one last look across the lawn, "I'll try."
"See you tomorrow, Michael." With that, David started his bike and they sped off into the night.
"So," Paul began, "he gonna like what you've got planned tomorrow night?"
"Probably not, but I won't be the one doing anything to him. No, I'm thinking the surf nazis are going to have some fun tomorrow."