Having a hell hound around to pick up the scraps had to be one of the best things that ever happened to them. Granted, he could only eat so much, but for the small meals it was nice not to have to worry about the cleanup. There was a pit of dark soil and discarded bodies deep inside the hotel where little of the building actually remained. With Thorn around, it didn't seem to fill up quite as fast anymore. Sometimes David would even catch the animal loping through small enclosures in the dark with a cracked bone in his jaws, and he wondered whether it was dug up from old scraps-or the dog made a few trips outside of his own. Food for thought.
"You really wanna go?" Michael called out from a small, musty room he'd claimed for his closet.
"Yeah," David assured him, walking up to the sagging doorway, making a mental note to re-enforce it with an extra beam when he got the chance. Cozy or not, once in awhile they did have to do a little maintenance in their semi-subterranean haven. "It'll be fun."
Michael tossed his ruined shirt to the ground, leaning down to pull a fresh one from a large bag of new clothes. It hadn't taken long to figure out black was an easier choice. Harder to see the bloodstains. "Fun? How?"
David watched him dress, a smirk playing on his face for more than one reason, "you'll see." When Michael had told him about the little twerp's idea to cure him, David nearly saw red. Even though it was impossible, the idea was enough to consider an extra late night meal. Michael belonged to them now. He belonged to David. Nothing was going to change that.
"You ready?" David asked, much preferring the sight of Michael taking his shirt off than putting one on. He'd have to do something about that soon. Time permitting. Honestly, he was getting a little fucking tired of waiting, but David was new at this whole head vampire schtick. Just sharing a room with Michael lately was becoming a trial all its own. So why not just take what he wanted? Right now?
Michael shrugged his jacket on, running a hair through his dark curls to push them back from his face. Apex predator or not, David could still sense the dying irritation from Michael's earlier chat with his little brother. His head wasn't in the right place right now. So David stepped aside and let him pass, doing nothing, because he was still waiting. For an invitation.
In the lobby, Marko lounged on the side of the fountain, scratching what was probably a dirty limerick into the stone while he silently watched Paul laying on the ground in a state of pure bliss. Down and out for the count for the next hour before his vampiric nature cleaned whatever cocktail he'd smoked out of his system. Dwayne sat on the couch flipping through a water-logged paperback. David's eyes landed on a pile of chains near Dwayne's boot.
"You got plans tonight?" David asked, almost disappointed he was going to miss it.
"Maybe," Dwayne replied, lowering his magazine to look at Paul, "maybe not. We'll see."
Michael was standing over Paul now, watching the blitzed-out rocker sing some half-remembered lyrics under his breath while he drummed his knuckles on the ground in tune.
"What are you on?" Michael asked, nudging Paul's shoulder with the tip of a new boot.
"Peyote," Marko answered for him, "weed, rat poison. Take your pick." David had the distinct impression something interesting was probably going to happen while they were out playing house with the Emerson clan, but it was something they really couldn't put off tonight. Not after that little 'cure' bullshit Sam Emerson had tried to ply on his brother. Oh no, David wasn't going to put this off at all.
For the sake of convenience, they left their bikes at the hotel. Better to take to the sky tonight, so their arrival would go unnoticed until they were at the front door. David enjoyed making a scene whenever possible, but tonight was a little less about intimidating Michael's mother and more about keeping the peace. For the most part.
"You can still back out," Michael offered once they landed together on the front lawn, the wind about them dying down just enough to silence the chaotic wind chimes and strings of bone shards on the Emersons' front porch.
David raised an eyebrow, fingers itching to pull out a pack of cigarettes, but just barely managing to strain himself, "back out?" He grinned, "wouldn't dream of it."
It wasn't his mother who answered the door when Michael knocked, nor was it his grandfather, but Sam. He looked genuinely relieved, too, until he caught sight of David standing just behind him, and the sudden whimper of terror was enough to make this trip worth it if nothing else happened tonight.
"See?" Michael poked his brother in the shoulder, "told you I'd come."
"What's he doing here?" Sam asked, fingers gripping the edge of the door so tight that they'd turned bone white.
"Who?" Michael looked around as if he didn't quite understand who Sam was referring to, "just me and David here."
"That's what I mean! Him!" Sam hissed, clearly struggling to keep his voice down so no one else inside heard him in his miniature panic attack.
"Hey, don't worry about it," Michael reached forward to ruffle his distraught little brother's hair, and the human was far too focused on David to dodge the assault quick enough.
"Mike!" Sam yelped, reaching up to touch his head, "I'm not kidding. What am I supposed to tell mom about him, huh?"
"I guess you tell her we've got a guest," Michael told him, stepping past Sam without so much as asking for an invitation. David followed. Shouldn't be too big of a deal as long as they didn't get caught by a mirror or a gigantic crucifix hiding around the corner. Judging by the quick glimpse David caught of the old man he assumed was their grandfather, the guy didn't strike him as a card carrying church member. He wasn't worried.
"Just don't try anything funny," Sam warned after David, his shaky voice betraying the very apparent terror he was trying to hide.
David paused, letting Michael walk ahead of him just so he could stop to give Sam one very toothy smile, "don't worry about it. You're too stringy for me anyway. You're safe." As long as he didn't pull any stupid stunts.
"Michael?" A feminine voice called out. The little woman. "Honey, did you just get home?" She came around the corner by the stairs, ruthlessly beating the contents in a mixing bowl, "you're working far too much. What kind of place has a teenager working this late?"
"Don't worry about it," Michael told her, leaning in to kiss his mother on the forehead. David wasn't too sure he remembered having anyone in his life when he was human that he'd have shown that much affection to, but it was an amusing contrast against the memory just under half an hour ago of helping him tear into a fresh kill with abandon. Michael seemed to know what David was thinking already, and he looked back at the older vampire with a hint of a warning in his gaze.
"Oh, who's this?" Lucy asked, noticing David for the first time. "I think I've seen you before, haven't I?" She didn't seem terribly impressed by his appearance, but a quick scan of her eldest son's new wardrobe drew an even more dubious look, "sweety, are you spending all your money on clothes?"
Michael seemed to ponder which question to answer first, looking back and forth between his confused mother, his amused packmate, and a somewhat ruffled-looking younger brother who was all but making the symbol of a cross with his fingers as he walked around the pair towards Lucy.
"This is-" Michael began, before David immediately cut him off, "David. I'm a friend."
"A coworker?" Lucy asked, ceasing her mixing frenzy for a moment as they spoke.
"Sort of," David replied, "we do a lot of cleanup around town. That sort of thing." After all, without them there'd be a hell of a homeless problem in Santa Carla.
"I don't spend all my money," Michael cut in, wisely changing the topic before she dug any deeper. David didn't mind describing what they did in detail, but it might put everyone else off their meals.
"I'm glad," Lucy admitted, turning to walk back through the doorway she'd come through, "I've almost got everything done. I just need to bake these drop biscuits for about fifteen minutes, and we can have some nice hamburger steak, gravy, potatoes. Salad. Green beans. I really went all out tonight. Dad's even in the dining room setting the table, and you know how hard it is to drag him out of his workshop when he's in the middle of something."
She kept talking, but David mostly tuned her out in favor of letting Michael follow and lingering beside the stairs to give Sam one good, long look. Didn't look like the youngest Emerson was going to take his eyes off David at all tonight.
"What's up?" David asked, as if he wasn't reading the kid's mind right now. The twerp had another thing coming if he thought he had a fighting chance with the sharpened pencils in his side pocket. Had to hand it to him, though, at least he was resourceful.
"I don't know what you did to my brother, or how you got him to-to-pull the shitsucker act, but you just watch it, buddy."
David let the pathetic excuse for a warning settle in, pretended to contemplate Sam Emerson's words, and then took a step towards him, followed by another. The sound of boots and chain metal echoing in the small space he cornered the irate and terrified teen in was almost poetic. Leaning forward, David took another step, blocking Sam in with a hand on the wall, "big words, kid."
Sam's eyes were cartoonishly wide now, his little act of bravery stripped from him in one short sentence. Another kind of warning, and one David could happily follow through on. "So, what do you plan to do, little Sammy? Pull something now and your mom in there finds out. Everything. So you've got a couple of choices here. Try to save your brother and royally fuck yourself over before I lose my patience, or keep your mouth shut and be a good little boy tonight. What's it gonna be?"
The human's quivering lower lip was enough of an answer, and it earned Sam a rough pat on the cheek, "there ya go. Good boy." He grinned, just as Lucy called out to them.
"Sam, David, would you boys like to help me plate the salad?"
"Yes!" Sam shouted, scrambling away from David and practically running through the kitchen door. David followed at a distance, his face the picture of innocence when Michael looked over at him from his position beside his mother near the kitchen sink.
"Plating salad, huh?" David asked, slowly removing his gloves and tucking them into his coat pocket. It was the closest he was going to get to actively playing this house game. Michael had folded his jacket up and laid it over the back of a kitchen chair, but the earing and leather pants sort of ruined whatever 'good son' act he was trying to put on. They both knew he was well beyond that now.
"Would you like to take a couple of plates, sweetheart, and show David to the dining room?" Lucy asked Michael, handing the salad plates in question to him. "Should only be a few more minutes for the biscuits."
Michael took them wordlessly, nodding to a few other plates on the counter for David and Sam to grab. In no time they were settling into the dining room, where Michael's grandpa was already hunkered down at with a bottle of root beer and a bandana tied fast around his head like he was a member of some long forgotten geriatric biker gang.
"Michael's friend, huh?" The old man looked up at David, not bothering to stand or offer a hand to him. David looked back at him with a silent, thin-lipped smile. No need to check his thoughts. They both knew where they stood here. Michael had told David all about him.
"Coworker," Sam corrected, sitting down beside his mother's empty chair, making it a point to pull his seat as far away from David's end of the table as he could without leaving the table altogether.
"We're friends, too," Michael cut in, passing a plate to his grandfather and putting the other one down on a placemat in front of him. Between the three, they somehow managed to get the rest of the plates set without any trouble. The way Sam was acting, it seemed like any moment he was going to jump from the table and flip it over to make his escape from David. He'd probably spend the whole meal staring back at him to make sure David didn't suddenly snap and take a bite out of someone. As if he didn't have any table manners.
"Friends," Grandpa Emerson repeated, picking at one of his back teeth with a pinkie nail. "Only the two of you?"
"There's others," Michael admitted, leaning back in his chair. He'd sat right beside David, in a surprisingly good mood now that Sam had to watch what he was saying around their mother.
"Never been a big fan of company," the old man grumbled picking at a lettuce leaf on his plate with a fork and scooping it over in favor of a cherry tomato, "they make a mess. Start stuff up. No, nothing good ever comes from having company."
"I wouldn't worry about it too much," David assured him, following his meaning well enough, "we don't usually make house visits. Besides, with all those roaches on Sam's plate, I'm sure you've got a huge pest problem. Who wants to deal with that?"
"I don't have-Jesus Christ!" Sam shrieked, grabbing his plate and unthinkingly throwing it against the wall. It was a miracle the glass didn't shatter as it hit, falling to the ground with a hollow 'THUNK' as the contents of the plate were spread on bits of the wall and floor.
The dining room door flew open as Lucy hurried in with a heaping tray of steaming biscuits, "what on earth? Samuel Emerson!"
"There were roaches! All over the salad!" Sam explained, rushing to the table to snatch at his grandfather's plate, only to have his hands batted away.
"Keep your hands to yourself, boy," the old man warned him. "No roaches in my food, and there darned well weren't any in yours. Clean that mess up." He set his plate down roughly, elbowing Sam away so he could focus on his food.
"Smooth, Sam," Michael remarked, setting his elbows on the table just as Lucy was lowering the platter of biscuits.
"Honestly, Sam, I worry about you," She told him, "now go get the dustpan and broom, and a washcloth to clean that up.
"Guess it was just olives, huh?" David remarked, grinning back at Sam, "my mistake."
"Olives?" Lucy asked, bewildered as she sat down to enjoy her own salad, having placed the platter of biscuits on the table. "I didn't put any olives in the salad."
Michael cleared his throat, fiddling with a glass of water beside his plate, "so how's work going?"
"Don't even get me started. My boss decided to go on vacation in the middle of the week without so much as a phone call, and I'll just leave it at that. I'm not happy."
If looks could kill, by the time Sam had finished cleaning up his ruined salad and putting everything away, he'd have burnt two identical eyeholes right through David's forehead. Watching the kid oscillate between anger and fear was a feat in itself. His knee brushed up against Michael's and David looked over at the brunette with a forkful of lettuce and shredded carrot.
"Having fun?" Michael inquired with a silent thought, "you're such an asshole." It wasn't an insult, it came off more like a compliment.
"You should quit," Michael suggested to Lucy, tearing his gaze away from David.
Lucy shook her head, "believe me, it's tempting."
"Got no trouble covering a couple bills if you need to, Lucy, you know that," Grandpa Emerson told her, taking another mouthful of salad, smacking his lips together loudly. So much for table manners.
"So, mom," Sam began to talk, reaching for a biscuit, "I bet you there's probably better jobs on the other end of town if you were really thinking about quitting." He was doing his best to direct his conversation towards his mother despite his eagle eyes trained on David.
"Sam, those are hot," Lucy warned, which didn't really need to be said as he was quickly passing the biscuit back and forth between his hands.
David didn't even make a pretense of touching his salad as he returned Sam's stare with one of his own, "at least they don't bite." It was a bit of a stretch, but the force he put behind the words and the eye contact were enough to make the point.
"Shit!" Sam shouted jumping out of his chair.
"Sam?!" Lucy stood up, "what's wrong?"
"It won't let go!" He whined, waving one hand that firmly held onto the burning biscuit. In Sam's mind right now it had grown two sets of chompers and sunk them deep into his fingers. In reality, he was just an idiot waving a hot biscuit around and wailing.
"Oh for the love of-" Lucy reached out, grabbing Sam's hand and tearing the biscuit from his grasp, rescuing him from his imaginary dough-y foe, "Sam, one more outburst and you can go to your room." She lowered her voice, "you are making a scene in front of a guest on the one night I wanted us to eat together as a family."
Sam looked back and forth between David and his mother, at a loss for words. What could he honestly tell her? Dinner literally conspiring against him tonight?
"Well, I think I've had enough of that," Grandpa Emerson spoke up, leaning forward to grab a biscuit and slap it onto his plate, scooping up some potatoes and gravy, and stabbing a slab of steak on a serving tray with his fork to carry back to his salad plate, "I got a lotta work to do for the Widow Johnson," he explained. "Maybe I'll come back for dessert."
Lucy, blushing, sat back down, forcefully grabbing her youngest son's shoulder and pushing him back into his seat, "alright, dad. Go ahead. I understand."
"Give her a break," Michael warned David, while glancing over at his red-faced brother. "Hey, she told you they were hot. Maybe it just felt like something bit you. You been drinking spoiled milk, Sam?"
"I've been reading too many horror comics," Sam mumbled under his breath, "I guess."
David gave Lucy an innocent smile, which he didn't doubt looked very strange coming from him, "the salad's great, Ms. Emerson," he still hadn't touched a bite. They could eat food just fine, but it didn't really satisfy. Even Michael looked reluctant to eat his, though he was making an effort.
Lucy smiled in turn, breaking the tension she'd been holding after Sam's second outburst, "thank you, David. I'm glad you like it." She took a bite, savoring it in the silence that followed. Silverware clinking on plates was the only sound for a good minute or two before she spoke up again to break the silence, "so, Michael, I noticed your closet was half-empty today. When were you planning on telling me you moved out?"