"Beka?" Yuri gaped at the man in front of him, unsure of whether this was a dream or a nightmare. Otabek swung himself off the bike with liquid grace, never breaking eye contact. A low growl – a growl?! – rumbled through the alley, and Yuri quickly amended his previous thought. Nightmare, definitely a nightmare.

"Yuri Plisetsky is dead," Otabek repeated. "I went to his funeral."

The words Yuri could throw like knives deserted him. "I… Beka, I fell, and I woke up, I'm sorry -"

"Don't call me that. Yuri Plisetsky never fell." He let out a laugh that wasn't quite a laugh, but something feral and cruel. "You're wearing his face and you don't even have a heartbeat. What are you?"

This was his Otabek, but it wasn't. His face was the same, if a bit harder and curled into an uncharacteristic sneer, but Yuri's instincts were screaming at him to run. He fought down the rising panic, straining his senses. He was a vampire, he could hold his own in any fight, as long as he kept his wits about him. The thump whoosh of adrenaline-driven blood rushing through Otabek's body. Harsh breathing, barely controlled. A tang of hot metal and forest in the air. Otabek shifted his shoulders, a deep grinding of bone and tendon, that lengthened and deepened as Yuri stared in open-mouthed horror.

With a sickening crack, Otabek dropped to all fours, but he wasn't Otabek anymore. The creature that had taken his place was covered in a thick pelt of dark fur. Heavy claws tap tap tapped against the sidewalk as it stalked towards Yuri, a snarl revealing teeth like pearly knives. Yuri bared his own fangs as it fixed him with gleaming yellow eyes. The thought of fighting not-Beka turned his stomach. Could he outrun the monster? Outclimb? He edged away until his back was pressed against the hard stones of the building behind him.

A figure appeared at the mouth of the street, a silhouette ringed by the glow of a streetlamp. Yuri wanted to shout at them to run, to get as far away as possible; he wasn't sure that he had a chance. A hapless pedestrian would be torn to shreds. He opened his mouth to warn them, but cut himself off, fearing that he would just draw attention to easier prey… even if the thing seemed very focused on its current target.

Otabek lunged. Incapacitate and run. Don't wrestle, try to go up, no fingers means no climbing. Yuri braced himself for the impact, but it never came. Instead, the monster remained suspended in midair, a pair of pale arms wrapped around its midriff.

"Now, Mr. Wolf, that won't be necessary. I'm sure we can resolve this-" the words were cut off with a grunt of effort as the thing thrashed- "peacefully."

"Viktor?"

Otabek twisted and bit Viktor's bicep. Viktor returned the favor.

"Hey Yuri." The words were slightly muffled by Otabek's ear.

Viktor didn't try to talk to Yuri on the drive back to the house.

He wanted to. He wanted to lecture the boy about staying out so close to dawn, about picking fights with werewolves, about sneaking out of the house after being told to stay home so he wouldn't get himself killed. And they would have that conversation, because even if Yuri wasn't a child, he was still Viktor's responsibility. Even as resilient as they were, vampires were fragile, relics of an ancient magic clinging to a world that no longer had a place for them. Most, he knew, didn't get through their first few months. The remainder were lucky to make it a decade.

The ones who survived were those with mentors who stayed with them, taught them, protected them, as they ushered their charges into a new world where sunlight could kill, where a life required eternal vigilance.

But right now, there was nothing he could protect Yuri from. That part of the night, at least, was over. He had restrained Otabek for several long minutes until the werewolf shifted back, frustrated and exhausted from the impromptu, moonless change. Nevertheless, he had refused to let them leave without them, and was trailing behind them on his rented motorbike.

"Hey," Yuri mumbled, squinting his eyes against the coming dawn, "how did you find me?"

"Well. I got the strangest call from my friend at the police station," he said with a smirk. "A woman called to file a report. Apparently, she hit a young blond man with her car while parking in central Kreuzberg, hard enough to leave quite a dent. He shouted at her in Russian and ran off before she could call an ambulance. Based on his irrational behavior, she was worried he might have a head injury."

Yuri grunted.

"Now, when I heard that report, I had no idea who it could be. The only person I know who matches that description was safely at home." Okay, maybe he wasn't above a little bit of scolding. "But I thought I should probably take a look anyway."

"Of course," he continued, "the victim had left Möckernbrücke by the time I got there, but I did catch a familiar draft of cat dander and carpet shampoo, and I figured that you might appreciate a life home, what with the impending sunrise and all."

"You smelled me out? That's fucking creepy."

"I looked right silly doing it, too, driving up and down Yorckstraße with my head hanging out the window."

He hoped that would get a reaction, a quirk of the lips if not Yuri's surprisingly soft laughter, but the blond remained motionless in the passenger seat, folded into himself.

"So, you know that young man?" His voice lifted into a question, but he wasn't actually asking. He didn't need to.

"Mm."

Viktor waited. Not patiently – he wasn't good at patience – but he did a great impression of it. A couple of years with Yuri had taught him that the kid could clam up like a bear trap, or simply explode, if he was pushed.

"Rinkmate. Back in St. Petersberg."

Quiet, Vitya. Let him say it.

"Otabek Altin. We were friends. He left, actually retired, a few months before the accident." Yuri snorted. "He was really good, too. Took gold at the Grand Prix Final two years after my senior debut, when I flubbed my quad salchow."

Yuri's face shone as he recounted their competitions, both formal and those driven by nothing more than teenage boredom. Even after the night he'd had, even after everything, Yuri loved the ice. The young man's – Otabek's – face took on a veneer of familiarity in Viktor's mind. He had seen him before.

Viktor pulled the car into the driveway. They were half an hour clear of true dawn, and here, the dense trees blocked the feeble hints of light. The two would escape with nothing more than sore skin and headaches. He unlocked the front door, allowing Yuri to slouch over the threshold while he waited for their guest to park his bike and follow them in. The werewolf looked like he was questioning every choice that had led him to this moment, but after a moment's pause, he too stepped into the dark hallway.

The house was… odd. Reinforced shutters were bolted across every window, and claustrophobia began to whisper its way through his veins. He stepped closer to one, running his fingers over the carefully sealed layers of cloth and wood, and was slightly surprised to note that, while sturdy, they were clearly not designed to contain anything other than light. The tightness in his chest relaxed slightly. He took a deep breath. The air was still and stale, with no drafts - not dusty, but untouched. Unused. Odors tickled his nose, and he tried to place each one. An industrial, lemony chemical, probably some form of cleaning chemical. Cats. A metallic tang suffused the room, overshadowed only by the unfamiliar and unsettling, but not precisely unpleasant, scent that clung to the home's occupants, who were arguing quietly in the next room.

The older man's voice (Otabek wouldn't go so far as to say human, but man seemed a neutral enough description) was a soft murmur, his tones low but not hushed. He evidently knew the visitor could hear him, and didn't much care. The other used a harsh whisper, hissing what could more accurately be termed snarls than sentences. That one also knew he was eavesdropping, or at least suspected it, and wasn't so calm about the idea.

"Go to bed, Yuri, please. I don't think we're going to make any progress until we get some sleep – all of us."

"Don't lecture me, old man. I'm not the one who decided to plan a sleepover."

A sigh. "Don't worry, there won't be any trouble tonight, and we'll all sit down and have a talk first thing- second thing tomorrow."

"Second thing?"

"Yes, uh, I forgot to mention this in the car, but I invited a guest over for dinner tomorrow."

Otabek swore he could feel a chill creep across the floor. He knew the look the silver haired man was receiving.

"You're welcome to join us, but it would be best if you avoided any behavior that might… upset people. Fangs, and the like."

"A human?" Well, that was that question answered. Kind of. "Did you actually look for the hunters, or did you just spend the night chasing tail?"

"Um, actually."

His curiosity got the best of him, and he peered around the doorway. The creature that looked so much like Yuri was staring at his companion, mouth open in horror. Both of them appeared to have completely forgotten his presence.

"You didn't."

Otabek jumped backwards as the boy barreled out of the room. Their arms brushed, and both flinched. Their eyes met for an instant, but they both looked away before he could catch more than a flash of green. The other man – Viktor, he suddenly remembered Yuri's voice saying – called after him.

"Yuri! Can you take your stuff out of the guest room?"

The blond stomped back and yanked open of the doors lining the hallway, slamming it into the wall, and disappeared down a set of steps.

The guest room, huh.

After a minute, he stormed back up the steps, with a garish red and black tiger striped quilt, and a cat tucked under each arm.

"Fucker," he spat at Viktor, and vanished into the depths of the house.

Viktor turned back to Otabek.

"Coffee? I don't drink it myself, of course, but I keep a bit around for visitors."

Otabek opened his mouth, ready to refuse, but Viktor's face made it clear that it wasn't actually optional. He nodded instead, and Viktor smiled.

"Great! I think we need to have a little chat."