Robin ran her fingers through his hair, stroking his scalp. He was dimly aware of the sensation beyond the thud-thud-thud of the pain in his head.
"Hey there," she said, as he opened his eyes. All he could see was the pale skin of her throat, the blue vein that lay beneath, the rich prize that could be his. It filled his entire vision, those few inches of flesh, and when she pulled away from him he gasped a plea. She smiled, a kind-of happy smile, and she played with his hair again.
"Please," his lips formed the word but no sound came out. "Robin..."
He knew the he was dying.
Her face twisted, her features crumpling into ridges and whorls and there was an intense, agonising pain in his chest, like something sucking him down, slamming him into to the floor, like he was in freefall. At that moment Barney Stinson lost all his confidence. He wasn't sure that he wanted this. It wasn't eternal life she offered, he realised. It was eternal death.
But when the first drop of her blood fell between his lips, he reached out instinctively for the vampire and sucked hard at the newly-made gash in her wrist before it had a chance to close. The blood tasted thick and soft and meaty, like the finest steak-tartar, as he gulped it down.
And then, in the velvet-blue night, Barney Stinson died.
*--*--*
Days and nights passed. He had no concept of time where he was. When he awoke, he was trapped in a box full of stale air - air his lungs no longer required. He clawed his way through wood and dirt, his manicure split to ribbons against the iron-hard plant roots and top soil.
When he reached the surface, trembling and terrified, there was a full, fat moon in the skin, grinning down at him. Barney got to his feet, shakily, and stood, dressed in a white shirt and black dress pants.
Who in the /hell/ had buried him in a white shirt and black dress pants?
Who in the hell had buried him at all?
There was a gravestone. He peered at the inscription before staggering away. This was ridiculous. He didn't sign up for this! He didn't ask to be buried. Dead and buried. What he needed right now was a stiff drink, his friends and something warm to eat.
He felt so cold.
He felt so hungry.
And he would be planning to kill Robin right now, if she wasn't already dead.
He wondered just how many of the legends were true.
*--*--*
None of the regular gang were at MacLaren's. Even Wendy was missing. It was like walking into a different place entirely.
He ordered his usual but the scotch burned his throat. Then he tried a glass of shiraz but it tasted corked and vinegary. He got talking to a hottie, very young, very drunk, and he almost bit her there and then. But he couldn't drain someone's blood in front of people. He felt... weirdly inhibited, like he'd caught a mild form of The Yips. He was a vampire virgin who needed to take his first neck. But he had no idea how to go about it. Finally Barney looked up and Carl and just sighed. The bartender gave him and knowing look and tilted his head toward the storeroom out back. His eyes flashed golden.
Well, that was an unexpected development.
Barney wondered if Marshall would get some satisfaction if he knew he'd been right all along. He was just about to call him when he realised that no one had been considerate enough to bury him with his cell phone. So he turned to the drunk chick instead. "Hey... you wanna go somewhere more private? He asked her, his pressing his lips against the girl's neck. He licked the shell of her ear and felt her shiver through her jacket.
"Sure," she replied, her breath catching in the back of her throat as her skin flushed with arousal. Barney helped her off her stool, practically drooling, and lead her out of the bar before pushing her violently up against the wall.
It was messy, his first time.
He got blood all over his white shirt before his mouth covered the wounds his teeth had made. His face felt odd, pinched and painful. But the liquid nectar flowing over his tongue and down his throat - that was better than the best lapdance he'd ever had, better than the best hit of coke he'd ever snorted.
It was almost better than sex.
After, Carl tapped him on the shoulder and tossed him a fresh shirt.
Barney looked at him, nonplussed.
"Wow, all the years you dudes have been coming here and you never knew it was a demon bar?"
Barney shrugged. Why would they? But thinking about it, it did explain a whole lot. Like Doug, for instance.
"You okay, man?" Carl asked him, when he'd got dressed.
"Fresh out of the dirt," Barney explained with a groan. His stomach hurt, like he had acid indigestion.
Carl gave him a look. "Yeah. I get that. But Barney?"
Barney looked up at him questioningly. "Yep?"
"You ever kill one of my customers again, I'll stake you myself, entendido?"
Barney gulped and nodded. You didn't mess with a bartender, human or vampire.
