A/N—Disclaimer: I don't own Lost Boys. The movie, and all the characters and happenings contained within it, belong to whoever owns Lost Boys. And it's not me.

Again, thank you to lost boys luvr for reviewing, and thanks to all those who have followed/favorited this story! It means a lot to me. I know this is a little out there in terms of Lost Boys fanfic...so I really appreciate your reading it. :)

One Year Later

The old, submerged, abandoned hotel had changed.

The fountain had been cleared of all dangerous metals and was now stuffed with blankets to cover the stone bottom. Baby gates formed a ring about the outside, and more covered the openings to the doors that led outside and to the inner section. A battered car seat was nestled in one corner beside a playpen, a stack of toys and board books, and other childish things. The previously dirty floor would have been pristine if there hadn't been teething rings and assorted baby toys (stuffed animals, building blocks) scattered about.

A book plopped into Paul's lap. He jolted from his doze and groaned, glaring at the soft rays of sunlight that the daytime always pushed into the hotel. He hated being in the front room during the day. It was far too warm, and the sun wormed its way in and burned at his skin. But Marko adored the front room, and the little boy had claimed the sun-filled corner within a few days. It was the only place he would sleep during the day.

"'ook," Marko said as he pushed the book further into Paul's hands. The feel of the hard, wooden-like pages insisted on his waking up, and Paul finally opened his eyes completely, blinking past the sunlight.

"'ook," Marko repeated, gazing up at Paul with wondrous grey eyes. His blonde hair was still curly, and it had grown out about the tops of his ears, making him look more innocent with every passing day. He looked so much like his mother.

The report had featured in the Santa Carla newspaper a few days after Paul brought Marko to the hotel. Dwayne had seen it while flipping through it at Max's video shop, and he's brought it back.

Eliza Hendrickson, 24. A recent immigrant from Sweden, she was found dead in an alley near the edge of Santa Carla. No signs of foul play. Escaped from Santa Carla Hospital with her newborn child, a boy.

The rest hadn't really attracted Paul's attention. The normal plea for relatives to report to the hospital and the police. Contact information for above places. A notice to keep an eye out for the child (something Paul had overlooked on purpose) and condolences to family members wherever they may be.

Paul had cut out the picture. Why, he didn't know. He just felt that he ought to. The child needed a picture of his mother, even if he would never know it was her, even if he would never care. He had cut it out and shoved it into the very front of the photo album he had bought. He didn't put any information, though he slipped the report in behind the photograph.

"Pa…" Marko whined, clambering up into Paul's lap and shoving the book under his nose. "'ook!"

"Not till you say it correctly, Marko," Paul chided absently. "Book."

The child didn't understand and looked at him pleadingly. Paul sighed and took the book from Marko's little hands, letting the boy settle himself into a more comfortable position before he opened up the first page.

Voice erupted from behind them, and Marko jumped, spinning around nervously as David and Dwayne swung in from one of the curtained openings.

"Da!" he squealed happily, hands extended. No one knew who exactly he was talking to. Probably both—he was still learning to say the names, and Paul had been dubbed "Pa" while David and/or Dwayne had received the name "Da."

Dwayne patted Marko's head as he passed, giving the little boy less attention than he would have liked, but the most the dark-haired vampire ever really gave to anyone. For someone who didn't like kids much more than David, Dwayne had tolerated Marko wonderfully and stood up for Paul when the big fight had arisen about what exactly to do with the child.

"Da!" Marko repeated, smiling up at Dwayne and then turning his shining little countenance on David, who ignored him.

"We're heading out, Paul. Come along."

"Can't."

"Put the little thing to bed and come along," David said, his voice the same as always—cold and even.

David had let Marko stay. That was the extent of his beneficence, apparently, as he had either ignored or upset the child since then, talking loud and fast until Marko's grey eyes went wide and teary, making the boy see cruel illusions that had required Paul to buy a nightlight and Dwayne to install an outlet into the electrical system that they hadn't bothered using.

"David, we can't leave him here," Paul said, determined not to let David break him, even though he desperately wanted to go out. To feed. To chill. But he couldn't. Marko wouldn't sleep, and Paul couldn't leave him even if he would.

"You're coming." David's voice hardened and he glared at Paul. Marko reached out and pulled at David's glove, inspecting the fingers. He was constantly intrigued by the gloves, and Paul knew he'd put them on if only David would leave them lying about. Which was, of course, why David had ceased the habit of putting them on the messy table where he dumped everything. Paul had spent an hour and a half a few months ago dragging the table into the coffin room. David had flipped, Paul had insisted, Dwayne had watched and flipped through the photo album, which was filled with pictures of Marko: eating, sleeping, playing.

Paul gave up. He put the book down. He stood up, balancing Marko on his hip. He went over to the corner, gathered up a blanket, a book, and a few toys, and shoved them into the floppy bag that always sat there.

"Alright, David. Wanna go for a ride, Marko?"

Dwayne smiled at the anger flitting across David's face.

"YES!" Marko shrieked, trying to wriggle down from Paul's arms to his car seat. He knew the routine—Dwayne put the car seat on his motorcycle. They'd worked at getting Marko out as often as they could, which was hard as they couldn't go out in sunlight. The compromise was a dusk ride, with Marko being allowed outside in the early morning and late afternoon to play on the beach if someone could watch him from inside.

David growled. "Paul…"

"You said I was coming. I can't leave him. He needs out anyway. I'll take him to the store."

Not Max's, though.

Paul didn't know what he was going to tell Max when the time came. But until that time came, he wasn't telling Max anything. Luckily, Marko didn't particularly like movies as of yet.

If they were lucky, they'd skip the Barney stage.