Author's notes: Okay. Maybe I went a little overboard with the cattle prod bit in the last chapter. But...all I can say in my defense is this - I regret NOTHING. Y'know, I was trying to think of a concept for an LB story this morning to make fun of the Mary-Sue thing...but I think Falcon's was so perfect, I didn't really want to bother. Still, I did think it would be funny if it started with Mike, Sam, Lucy, and a sister (Hope or Dawn or something like that) character coming to Santa Carla in the beginning, just for Sam to lean towards Michael and ask him 'hey...Mike...I know this sounds crazy, but...I...don't remember us even having a sister...'

Lucy yawned against the back of her hand, squinting out across the yard as she nestled into her wicker chair, content to spend that Sunday afternoon with nothing to worry about but the twists and turns of a good book. Thankfully, she'd finally managed to work her way through Frankenstein, the end of that story couldn't have come soon enough. Lucy Emerson was no horror fan. Classic or otherwise. Truth, after all, was stranger than fiction. She'd seen enough horror in recent years to last her a lifetime.

She might have spent the rest of her day off enjoying Danielle Steele, except for the very strange feeling that she was being watched nagging at the back of her mind. Lucy sighed, lowering her book and glancing towards the front door. She could just barely discern a figure on the other side of the screen peering at her and shifting from foot to foot.

"Sam? Honey, I thought you were out studying...or...shouldn't you be at Mr. Farkas's place by now?" Lucy frowned and placed the book on the small table beside her chair. It was almost one in the afternoon, and she hadn't even known he was home. Hadn't seen a car pulling up, and definitely hadn't seen him come downstairs for breakfast.

"I came home last night," he replied quietly and pushed the screen door open, stepping outside. He was still in his pajamas.

"Honey, you're not going to get on that man's good side if you keep going to his house late," she admonished softly. She didn't require her son to have a job. He was still in high school. But it was a little concerning how little he seemed to care about keeping promises and schedules. Not a good sign if he made it a permanent habit. On the bright side, it was better than falling in with what could only be described as the absolute worst possible crowd...like Michael.

"I called in," Sam replied quietly, sliding up against the side of the wall with his hands clasped and pressed behind his back. Avoiding eye contact. She sighed, knowing very well what that sort of behavior meant.

"Okay, Sam. Out with it. What did you do?"

"Let's pause a bit mom. Take a breath and really think about that question." He took a breath and pushed himself away from the wall, spreading his hands as he warmed up to his speech, "what do any of us do, when we get right down to it? Life is all about doing things and not doing things. It's a journey. A winding road of possibilities. And, after all, how many roads must a man walk-"

"Sam. Stop it. Tell me what you did. If I wanted to get a lecture from Bob Dylan, I'd turn on the record player," she said sternly, leaning forward in her chair and settling her hands over her splayed knees. This was going to be bad. The longer Sam tended to stall when he confessed to anything, the worse the crime. The more clever his stalling tactics, the more it worried her. At least when Michael was younger and a bit easier to control, he'd always been fairly straight-forward. The many trials of having a second son too smart for his own good and not quite smart enough to avoid getting himself into trouble.

"Mom. I did something...very bad."

"How bad?"

"Let's just say...in the great scheme of things, when one man must make a choice for the greater good, and-"

"Sam!"

"Alright, alright! I was getting to it. I swear...I really was, mom. I really was getting-"

"...Sam."

"Mom. I promise you I'm about to tell you what I did. This isn't easy. It's really tough. I'm scared, okay? I'm scared."

"Of what? Of me?!" She looked up at him, astonished. As if she'd ever raised a hand on him in his life!

"No..." Sam looked down at his feet and then back up at her...and then up at the ceiling. His eyes pretty much roamed just about everywhere they could, as long as they didn't have to focus for longer than a second. Lucy was getting tired.

"Samuel Emerson, if you don't tell me what you did right now, I promise you I'll make your punishment twice as bad. No matter what you did. So tell me. NOW."

And somehow, as if by an insane twist of irony, or simply because Sam really had been stalling long enough, the phone rang inside.

"I'LL GET IT!" Sam shouted, practically screamed, tearing off back into the house, and leaving Lucy dumbfounded. Well, at least he'd admitted he'd definitely done something wrong. She pressed a hand against her temple and stood up from the chair. If Sam did anything, the evidence was likely in his room. She hadn't seen any of his underwear in the wash recently either, so she figured she might as well check on his dirty clothes and start a load while she was snooping. It would be nice if she'd found out the straight-forward way, but this would just have to do.

Really, what could be so bad that he'd be freaking out this much about it? He'd pretty much reached the limit of what he could possibly do to upset her, and the monster responsible for that mess was (from what she gathered) dead now. Sam had probably just stained one of her good towels, or something else so unbelievably silly that she'd be too busy laughing at it to get mad at him. The more she thought about this as she headed inside and passed her son in the kitchen to gather a laundry basket, the firmer that conviction became. It almost made her feel like things had finally gone back to normal.

Alan wiped a shaking hand over his sweaty brow, clutching the phone tightly to his ear. Edgar was in the living room, pouting. Trapped in his whole little small box, unable or unwilling to face facts. They'd both screwed up big time, and now mom and dad got caught in the crossfire. That old man he'd been spying on...he was a werewolf. And he knew Alan had figured it out, or been on the verge. So he must have found out where they lived, transformed, eaten dad, and decided to come after them. He just couldn't understand exactly why mom had chased the thing outside...or why she still wasn't back. The only explanation he could come up with...she had to be dead.

There were other little things he still hadn't quite pieced together. The lack of blood, for one. Or why they'd been left alive, unless it was just their punishment for sticking their noses in places they didn't belong. He didn't even know why he was bothering, but he knew the only thing he really could do right now was call the one person on the planet who might possibly help them, if he was just willing to talk it out. Even given what had happened on the beach, or with the vampire surfers, and the many little things they'd both done to make Sam's life (admittedly) a miniature living hell...he owed them. He owed them for helping to at least save him and his mom from becoming the 'Bloodsucking Brady Bunch'.

It seemed like the phone rang for ages. Maybe nobody was going to pick up. God, he hoped that wasn't the case. If they didn't get any help, it was very possible the old man monster would come back tonight to finish what he started...

"Hello?"

"Oh god...oh thank god...oh god..."

"Alan? Alan, what do you want?" Well, he didn't sound pissed off anymore. That was a good sign.

"Sam. Listen. Please don't hang up. I've gotta tell you something...something big." Alan twisted the phone chord around his finger nervously, pressing it closer to his ears when he heard Edgar shuffling in the living room and straightening furniture. The house really was a war zone now. Not as bad as the Emerson's place had been before they'd helped fix it up, but definitely worse than they'd ever seen it before.

For a solid ten seconds, the line was silent, and Alan thought he'd hung up. But there was no click or dial tone...

"Alan, I'm sorry. If it was a bad dream, that was my fault. But I had one of my own, and I know I shouldn't have done it. Even if you're both jerks...and even if you've both almost managed to ruin my life a dozen different times...I'm really sorry."

"What?" Alan asked, confused. Sam wasn't making any sense. "No. I didn't have any dreams last night. Sam...your boss is a werewolf, and I think he killed our parents. And look, yeah, I know it sounds like I'm just coming up with some dumb idea to get you to hang out with us again...but I promise I'm not. We need your help. There's still a chance mom's alive out there somewhere, but I don't think we can do this alone."

"Do you have to go with me tonight? Do you honestly still think I'm going to try to make a break for it?" Michael demanded as he climbed onto his bike. This babysitting shtick with David was starting to get on his nerves. They all knew where he was going. He knew it would be dumb to spend the night. Hell, they hadn't gotten into an argument in two days! That had to be some kind of record. To top it off, he'd even given up bickering about their sleeping arrangements.

David eyed him thoughtfully, clicking his tongue against one of his fangs. And if Michael needed to breathe, he would have been holding his breath. He shouldn't really care what David had to say about it. But...the fact that fighting anything his pack leader did seemed to inevitably lead into entirely different sorts of struggles...it was enough to persuade Michael to let things go more often than he would have before he'd turned. He couldn't honestly see himself ever being completely happy with this arrangement, but it was becoming disturbingly comfortable. A smaller part of him even actively admitted that the other parts...the parts that involved all that mating bullshit...if he wasn't pushed into it...that could almost be something he wouldn't mind either.

...and then David had to ruin his thought process by plastering on his smug grin. "Fuck, David, stop listening in on me like that!" Michael snapped aloud, immediately tempted to just ride off in a huff.

"I can't help it," David protested. "You're loud."

"Loud?! I'm LOUD?! That doesn't even make any-..." Michael trailed off, scowling. "You're doing it again. You're trying to piss me off. I thought we agreed you wouldn't do that anymore."

"Maybe when it's with the others, sure. I'm not a god damned saint. Get used to it." And with a flair, David seemed to pluck a cigarette from the air to tuck between his lips.

"...so can I go alone this time, or what?"

"Yeah. Sure. But...remember when you get back, you still owe me a favor. I think I want to collect on that tonight."

Michael honestly didn't know how to react to that. But...could it really be any worse than anything David had already done to or made him do? Doubtful. "Bring it," he snorted in response, before driving away.