Peter felt funny when he woke up. Unhurt and fairly comfortable, but cold. That was weird, but his sleep fuddled brain couldn't think why. He opened his eyes groggily, finding himself half dressed and on a bed that he'd not fallen asleep on. The sight of the insignia on the wall, hanging over him almost as if it were put there to gloat at him, froze him, rubbing his nose in what has happened. How could he be cold if he was turned? Was he losing his mind?

He shook the thought off, and paid more attention to his surroundings. Black-outs, books and things looking centuries old. No mirrors, obviously, and no sign of Jerry. At least there was a clock. His heart sank; over seven hours til sunset. He touched his throat tentatively before getting to his feet. Apparently he hadn't been bitten again, or fucked. He couldn't think why he'd been so lucky.

The floorboards creaked a little under his feet, but there was nothing he could do about that. Hopefully Jerry would be asleep in the dirt in the basement, where hopefully even vampire hearing couldn't range this far. A bathroom door stood open at the end of the hall, revealing more black outs, but the others stood closed, and Peter didn't feel like exploring. He made for the stairs and crept down as quietly as possible, eyes trained on the door. So close. As soon as he was there, he could run and he'd be safe. Whether he was turned or not, he'd be away from Jerry, safe. He'd figure something out. His heart gave a little jump as he reached the bottom stair. So close. He could get out of here.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Peter jumped like he'd been shot, and spun around. "Fuck." He felt like sobbing. He'd been so close.

Jerry was sprawled in an armchair watching him.

"Still daytime, Peter," he explained lazily. "Go back to bed. You look exhausted."

He wanted to kill him then. Not stake him or burn him but physically rip him apart and scream at him while he did it. The feeling deflated as quickly as it had come. He was exhausted and characteristically weak, he knew, and even if he wasn't, Jerry had the strength and experience of centuries. He was still sat there looking as if he had heard every detail of Peter's thoughts; that is, unbothered.

He seemed to stiffen ever so slightly then, but it was probably just Peter's imagination.

"How are you feeling?"

"How do you think?" He snapped before he could stop himself. "I'm leaving as soon as its dark." He thought that would change the tone, but Jerry just smiled in a that's-what-they-all-say kind of way.

Peter took off back upstairs before he could argue. He didn't want to go back to Jerry's room, but the others, aside from the bathroom, were locked, so he made do. At least now his mind was clear enough to think. Things weren't so bad. Jerry wasn't making him sleep in the dirt or feed, so maybe it was happening slowly. His body was fighting it. He didn't feel different, and he was cold. And he didn't feel any sort of attachment to Jerry, despite the desperate attraction from before that hadn't risen its head since, or any heightened awareness, or new urges, or anything he knew he should expect.

He heard Jerry on the stairs then, and tensed. He considered attempting to barricade the door, but that would only buy him a few minutes in which he'd do nothing but panic. It's not like Jerry would keep anything that could be improvised into a weapon into his home. By the time he had made it to his room, Peter already felt defeated. It must have shown in his face, as Jerry smiled at him dolefully and ruffled his hair.

"Lighten up," he said, joining him on the bed.

"I don't feel any different, you know."

"Give it a while," he said cheerfully. "You can't turn as quickly when you've been under strain."

Peter wasn't sure of that, but he supposed Jerry was the expert.

"Seriously, how are you not dead?"

"I could ask you the same question."

Peter looked at him in confusion.

"When you were a kid, I didn't realise there was anyone still alive in that house."

"Then how did you recognise me the other month?"

"I just did. I couldn't think where from, and now I do."

That made no sense. Peter didn't bother voicing his skepticism.

"Is Charley dead?"

"No. Not turned either. But if you want him to be..."

"No."

"But seriously, about your parents..I am sorry."

"You haven't sounded very fucking sorry," he sneered.

"We'll, I am," he said easily, and leaned forward to nuzzle Peter's throat.

Peter gave a little sound of protest and half heatedly tried to move back. "Don't."

"Why?" His hands went round Peter's waist, pulling him closer. "You enjoy it. And it'll pass the time. Being housebound really does suck."

He tried to kiss Peter, but he shifted backwards just in time.

"Oh, come on, Peter."

"Why are you doing this?" He hadn't wanted to ask, but it was better to keep him talking. "I get that you've turned me, but why do you want to fuck me and keep me up here? Do you do this with everyone? Where is everyone?"

"Downstairs," he said levelly. "I just thought you'd want some space. You're more than welcome to join them."

Peter read a threat in his words whether one was intended or not. He hadn't seen any of them in the basement, though. Were they in the dirt?

"Anything else?"

Peter said nothing.

He stroked a lock of hair from Peter's forehead, ignoring his flinch. "I teased you about your parents because I don't make a habit of killing families or kids if I can help it, so I forgot what it must have felt like."

Peter had to fight the urge to sneer, or burst into tears.

"But that shouldn't stop you sleeping with me."

He gave a strange little laugh, looking at Jerry's hand instead of his eyes. Sun-deprived and strong, and stroking his hand.

"I want you to feel close to me, Peter." He gave a little snicker. "I'll make it up to you."

Tears did prick his eyes then. "You're a bastard."

"And you're stuck with me. At least for another seven hours."