A/N: I'm getting so many positive reviews it makes me feel fucking warm and fuzzy inside. I hope you guys know that I totally stalk anyone who reviews me by reading their profile. You guys have interesting profiles. Anyhoo, I'm making this a longer chapter as a reward for your guys's awesome reviews!

(Shift's POV)

I don't want to think about it. I don't want to talk about it. But I can't stop from replaying it in my mind. Ike...

"Clamato juice?" 'The Humbug' asks. Fuck this, he's going to be Vampir, or the Douchester in my head.

"I'd like some coffee, actually." He crosses his arms, cross earring dangling a bit. I bet he cried like a bitch when he got his ear pierced. He goes into the staff office and comes back with a styrofoam cup of coffee. How police like. I take a sip of it. He put cream in it. Bastard. I put the cup down, and gently touch my face, adding pressure here and there. It hurts like a motherfucker, but I don't let him know that. I just see if it hurts.

"Who told you about us?" he asks.

"Who didn't, should be the better question."

"Answer me."

"You don't intimidate me."

"I'm sorry. Answer me, or I'll blow the fucking brains out of your friend!" He yells.

"You're a pussy vampire, you can't even handle a gun." I'm about to stand up when two of his minions hold me down tightly. The metal of the chair jars my skin, making it uncomfortable.

"Oh yeah?"

He loads it. Raises it. Burning flicks in his eye, and in an instant, a shot is heard in hear through Hell. But I don't go down. Instead, an assistant crumples to the floor. Blood splatters onto my cheek, and onto my shoulder. Shit. I wipe it off quickly, hoping that blood stains come out. By the look of the Douchester, he totally meant to kill one of his loyal followers. Just to be a douche.

The other assistant, a redhead with a fang necklace, doesn't speak.

"What the hell is going on here?" You'd expect anger to be in my voice. Instead I just sit back, take a sip of my coffee, and put my feet up on the cheap table that provides an adequate footrest.

"Exactly the opposite of what you're supposed to not think," he says, and hits me with the side of the gun. In any other situation, I would've hit back. But now, I just want to shut down. My head throbs in agreement. So I do.

(Ike's POV)

My nerve endings are shot and tense, twitching with any slight movement. I try to stay perfectly still, focusing on breathing to pass the time. Inhale. Exhale. It makes my stomach ache and resist, so I even try to breath less. I'm pretty sure that if I looked in a mirror, I would see an oozing, purple, oversized, bruise.

You know, I was never disgusted with how pathetically weak I was until I saw Shift's eyes when 'The Humbug' was kicking my ass.

Desperate. Pleading. Disappointed.

I swear, if I ever get back, I am working the hell out.

I attempt to move my pinky a fraction of a millimeter.

Raw pain shoots up my entire arm.

At least I can move my eyes around. I've been lying on the ground in this section of wherever I am for quite a while now. By the whiff of heavy hairspray in the air, and the fumes of nail polish killing my brain cells, I think I'm in a beauty area of some sorts. This is one big Hot Topic.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Why am I doing this?

A door swings open, and Shift is thrown into the same room as me, unconscious but breathing. He lies there like a sack of potatoes, and I watch him. Inhale. Exhale.

Try to sit up, Ike, I coach myself. Even though it hurts like hell, I manage to push myself up, so I can lean against the wall. But still sitting. I think if I tried to stand up, I would pass out from the pain.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Shift stirs, and his eyes jerk awake. My lip twitches into a small smile. Shift's the strong one. I'm the one who can barely move.

"Where I we?" he asks.

I answer his question with another question.

"Why are we doing this?"

Shift watches me for a few seconds, examining my conditions. Slowly, he says, "Because that dick of a douche is killing innocent people."

"What?" This is much more serious than I thought.

Shift struggles to get on his feet, just like I imagine I would do, and wipes his pants with his hands.

"He randomly shoots his followers for sick pleasure. Or to intimidate me. Either way, he's insane."

"What are we supposed to do?"

Shift walks over to me, and holds out a hand. "Come on then, get up."

We've been avoiding questions a lot today.

"I can't. I'm sure all of the goths in the world would love to be in my condition: in complete, unmanageable, unbelievable pain."

Shift pulls me up anyways, shifting my weight onto his own somehow. Well, I'm still gritting my teeth trying not to scream from the pain, but at least I can look around.

"We're in a bathroom," I say, seeing the stalls and sinks. "And probably a girl's one, judging by the nail polish and perfume scents."

Shift smirks. "No, it's a men's one. There are urinals."

Goddamn I hate Hot Topic.

"We have to leave," Shift says.

"What? No. Shift, I think they're hypnotizing kids into vampires, then releasing them. With one or two extra kept behind for minions," I say. He shakes his head.

"Don't care. Look how beat up you are. This is way too dangerous."

"When does the goth kid care about danger?" I ask, my voice rising a bit. He glares.

"Fuck you. I'm trying to care about you, asshole."

"You never cared about me! You only cared about being a conformist!"

"I AM NOT A CONFORMIST!" Shift yells.

"I don't give a fuck!" I match his voice level. "Why can't you realize that I think that the whole goth thing is idiotic? All you do is sit around and complain, instead of trying to change the world. You bitch about conformity and shit, but all you do is conform to society by wearing black and writing poetry, just like goths should."

"Are you suggesting I'm like everyone else?" Shift asks.

"No. I was done suggesting a long time ago, you conformist bastard."

"Shut the hell up!" Shift says, and pushes me. Another raw surge of hurt powers through my entire body. My knees want to collapse to the cold, germ infested ground. But I can't seem to stop myself.

"All you care about is yourself. You aren't even willing to save innocent lives. Nope, you just want to go home and complain some more. Well maybe if you actually tried for once, not everything would suck so hard."

"Go and suck dicks, fag." It stings for a millisecond, but I keep going.

"See? You calling me a fag is the most unoriginal, cliché, thing you could say to me. Don't you think I don't hear that every fucking day from at least one person? Maybe it's joking, or maybe it's goddamn hatred. But it still sucks every single time."

"I don't care, fag."

"Pot calling the kettle black," I shoot back.

"Oh fuck off."

"I'm sorry for saving the obvious."

"I'm sorry that for myself for having to put up with you. You can't even win against a douche vamp."

"Neither could you!"

"At least I put up a fight!"

My eyes flicker towards a mirror. Bruises and blood cover my body.

Shift is staring at my injuries too. I can hear something outside.

Footsteps.

"I really thought you were different," I say.

Shift walks towards me until we're breaths apart.

He puts a gentle hand on the back of my neck, and bring his head to mine.

Into a kiss.