DISCLAIMER:

I own nothing. The Clan names, discipline names and structure, titles and other such things are copyrighted to White Wolf Game Studio. Neither I, nor this story, are affiliated with White Wolf or any of their associates or subsidiaries, nor do I receive any monetary compensation from the publication of this narrative.

._..~~~**~~~.._.

Chapter 29: Homeward bound

It wasn't long after they past the Las Vegas Speedway when Mary insisted they stop as the jostling of the van was making surgery near impossible. She managed to remove much of the bullet, but there was damage to Stephan's kidney she was trying to repair. Mary chases every one of the van so she can focus her attention on her patient.

Jeremiah naked for rom the waist up and, being the hard as nails cowboy he is, is digging the second projectile from his arm. Once the metal slug drops in the dirt he releases the breath he was holding, and accepts Patches' help in stitching the wounds closed. Jeremiah hisses and occasionally yelps as the needle pierced his skin.

"Dammit," he hisses when she takes his flask and dribbles a little of the drugged booze over the stitches.

"You are one bad ass cowboy," she smiles and slaps him on his good shoulder.

"Benefit of growing up in a rougher time, I reckon." He takes her compliment with a nod of his head, accepting her help in pulling on his stained shirt. John can see many nasty looking scars telling their story of just how brutal those times really were. He looks down at his watch, it's been an hour since they pulled over.

"He's bleeding a lot," Patches turns her head towards the van.

Absinth growls stepping between Patches and the van. Her head is lowered and cocked to one side, her hands curl as if preparing to attack. Her dark eyes hold a warning look.

"Come at me bro," Patches holds her arms out, daring the scrawny woman to attack.

"Ladies," Jeremiah's tone is calm as he approaches the two women, careful to not get between them. "I think we need to calm down. Patches ain't planning on going after Lolli's boy, are ya darlin'?"

"He's not even my type," she snarls while maintaining eye contact with Absinth.

"See," Jeremiah continues his role as peacekeeper. "She ain't planning nothing."

After several tense minutes, it's Absinth who backs down first, allowing both John and Jeremiah to take a breath.

Patches walks next to John and leans against the front grill of the van. She crosses her arms and looks at the ghoul to her right who's admiring the stars.

"So tell me handsome," she gives him a pleasant and charming grin. "What blood type are you?"

John looks at her uncertain if he should answer or not.

..~~~**~~~..

Frank and the primogen huddle around a medium sized circular table reviewing maps and going over their plan. A few kinks are worked out and several questions answered. The meeting is well underway when Lady Peltier walks into the room.

"Pardon my tardiness," she closes the door behind her. "There was a situation that needed my attention."

"It must be serious if you're just now showing up," Chase doesn't look up from the map.

"A fire on one of my properties."

"I didn't get any reports from the emergency services," Chris' glances at the reports on his desk, just in case he missed something.

"It was a minor fire. My people were able to deal with it, but I prioritize the cleanup. Frank," she redirects her attention. "If I may be so curious, what business did you have last night that kept you from the primogen meeting?"

"Before leaving, Lolli asked if I would bring something to Jeremiah in Bullhead," he shrugs.

"What was so important that she would turn you, the Sheriff of Las Vegas, into a delivery boy," she chuckles at the notion.

"I owed her a debt. The last time we were in the tunnel, this thing we think is Bruno caught me off guard. Lolli saved my life, by doing this favor she said it would erase that debt," there's no emotion in his story.

"What did she want you to bring," Peltier finds room at the table, her amused expression never leaving her face.

"John Michaelson."

That catches the Ventrue's attention and her head snaps up, her eyes narrow and her jaw clenches with anger and hate.

"I see," her words are curt and cold. Mentally Frank admits that Lolli was right, when Peltier is scheming one can see the wheels turning.

..~~~**~~~..

Nearly two full hours have passed and Sister Mary finally emerges from the van, pulling off her blood covered gloves.

"How is he," John stammers as he moves away from Patches, he finds her sudden interest in him unnerving. Flattering, but unnerving.

"It's not good," her voice is grim. "The bullet shattered and tore through some of his internal organs I was able to stop the bleeding and repair some the damage," she sighs. "But it's likely he'll lose the kidney once we return to Dr. Morgan. However, this may be all moot as he's just likely to succumb to blood loss before making it back home."

"We could use Lolli's blood to embrace him," Patches suggests in all seriousness. Absinth tilts her head and gives her sister a dangerous look, but knows that this might be the only way to save Stephan.

"I'll not stand by and allow you to condemn a man's soul while he lays unconscious," Mary's voice is full of righteousness. If necessary, she will defend Stephan's mortality with steel and prayers.

"The fuck is up with everyone tonight," Patches throws her hands in air in exasperation.

"I'm O Positive," John suddenly voices. "That's the universal donor, right? I can donate," there is a desperate tone in John's words.

"That may just work," a smile graces the nun's pleasant features. "Come with me," She gestures for John to follow her. Leaning heavily on his cane he follows the pious sister.

"God," John breaths upon entering the back of the van. "Sorry," he says quietly realizing his proximity to the nun. Stephan is nearly as pale as Lolli and almost as still. John has to stare to see his friend's chest move. He can see the long incision Mary had to make as well as several small pieces of gore covered metal in a small pile on a piece of cloth.

"I think I got all of the pieces out, but there may be some still in the kidney," seeing his gaze. "Please roll up your sleeve," she navigates about the confined space prepping everything she'll need for the blood transfusion.

"It's against medical practice to transfer blood directly from one human into another, so I do hope you won't report me to the AMA."

It takes John a few seconds to realize she made a joke, and laughs apprehensively.

"I hope this works," John rolls his left sleeve. "I don't think he wants to be Kindred," he pulls his gaze from Stephan and fixes them to the nun. "Our former regnant offered it to him years ago and he never told her yes," he chuckles at the memory of how political Stephan could be. "He would always say that he was 'considering his options'. It was the best way he could delay…anything. The Brunos weren't known for taking 'no' as an answer," he takes in an anxious breath. "I apologize, sometimes I babble when I'm nervous."

"You'll be fine," she assures, placing a hand on his shoulder. He finds her presence to be a comforting on, putting him at eases, despite his anxiety.

"I don't like needles," he confesses.

"It's a common fear," her tone if gentle and full of kindness. "Make a tight fist. Normally for people like you I would use a neonatal needle as they are very small and hurt less," she preps his arm and finds a promising vein. "Regretfully, I don't normally stock those. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize to me," he tries to look anywhere except at his arm. "I'm just a ghoul."

"You're a good man," she brings his eyes to meet hers. "And deserving of respect. Never let anyone tell or treat you otherwise," her voice is stern driving home her meaning. He's shocked at her words, and it's evident on his face.

"I now understand what Lolli meant when she said the Bruno's were strict regnants," she sighs in understanding. "On behalf on my species, I am truly sorry for how you've suffered under our care."

"I...I," he doesn't know what to say. It is the first time a vampire has ever apologized to him. He's about to say something when Mary drives the needle into his arm.

"OW!" He looks down at his arm, as she's removes the tourniquet and places a few pieces of medical tape over the needle, keeping it in place.

"There's less pain when you're distracted," she at least has an repentant tone as she encourages his fingers to uncurl. "He must be a good friend for you to have done so much for him," she looks back at Stephan's still form.

"We've survived much together," again John looks over at Stephan. "And such events do form a strong bond."

"Well," she grins while checking on Stephan. "That's a rather long winded way to say yes," she sits back and places a hand on his forearm, pulling his eyes from the prone form of his friend. "What happened to your leg?"

"It was shattered and improperly set," he follows Stephan's example of distancing himself from the horrific event.

"Was that deliberate?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Why? Why did they do that to you," it's obvious she's appalled by the barbarity he suffered.

"It's a memory I'd rather forget," he lowers his eyes.

"Mr. Michaelson, sooner or later you will have to face that memory, and deal with the emotions that come with such trauma."

..~~~**~~~..

"Patriarch," it's one of the hooded ones who pulls Bruno from his musings. Bruno can tell from the faded and ripped black hoodie and the skull bandana that this one goes by the name 'Red'.

"Yes," his shroud shifts at he looks up at his visitor, his face still concealed in the darkness.

"We knew losing was a possibility," it's a reassuring tone, but the words are useless to Bruno. Twice he's tried to purify the unworthy from Vegas and twice he has failed. "Those who have fallen died for our freedom," he continues, mistaking Bruno's silence.

"What news do you have, Red," Bruno is careful to keep his tone soft and free of the building irritation.

"They have a survivor," he doesn't have to specify that 'they' are the primogen. "She's been turned by the Nosferatu and they are planning on an interrogation tomorrow night."

"A survivor," he straightens up. "Do we know who?"

"We think Margaret she was once a Toreador, and if that's the case," Red let's his words trail away.

"She'll tell them everything in the hope they'll destroy her," Bruno finishes. "We have only a hundred or so left in numbers," he leans back, thinking. "Where are they holding her?"

"Underground," he pulls out a folded map of the city and lays it before Bruno. "This area," he points to a spot on the map, and then produces a hand drawn map of the underground section in question. "Specifically here."

It would be suicide to have the remaining few launch a rescue, or assassination as the case may be. He picks up the drawn map and studies the crudely drawn schematic and notices that there are very few point for an ambush.

"Where did we get this," he holds up the page, referencing all of the information they've received about Margaret.

"Albert, his cover hasn't been blown," the hooded figure answers.

"Albert," Bruno rolls the name in his mind, trying to place it with a face. "Albert," the connection is made. "He's 'ghoul' to Nate, isn't he? One of the Nosferatu's Network Security specialists, right?"

"Yes sir, but he's still loyal to us."

"Of that I have no doubt," Bruno rises to his feet and moves to the smoldering fireplace. "He's proven himself several times over with the information he's supplied." There's a nagging sensation in Bruno's gut.

"This feels like a trap," Bruno voices his feeling.

"How?"

"It's been almost 2 weeks, why are we only now finding out about this survivor and their plan," Bruno returns to the table and surveys the map with new and distrustful eyes. "And look at this location," he points to the room. "The only one way to this room is through a long corridor. They're setting up an ambush."

"Are you sure? What do we do?"

"Fetch Maston, I need to speak with him."

Red hurries from the room to find Maston, Bruno's second in command. Picking up the maps Bruno returns to his seat. His question is whether they are planning an ambush for him or for the rest of the orphan ghouls. The trap must be tripped or else everything is lost. Margaret doesn't know everything, but she knows enough to be dangerous and to undo decades of planning.

He finds himself contemplating what is more important. His existence, or his desire to purge the unworthy from Kindred society.

..~~~**~~~..

Due to the approaching sunrise Jeremiah was forced to find a place to sleep in the small town of Mesquite, Nevada. Due to their blood splatter, and beaten condition, Jeremiah had asked Mary and John to get them rooms. Before leaving the van, Mary reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a few items to make her habit appear more traditional before exiting the van. As he follows her, John finds it to be a miracle that there isn't even a microscopic speck of blood anywhere crisp, white of her uniform.

The check in process went smoothly as the hotel had many vacancies, the clerk was even able to grant Sisters Mary request of two rooms, next to each other in the back of the hotel on the ground floor. The you man had a puzzled look, but didn't question the request. He did however, offer a suite with two bedrooms, asking if that would work better. Mary smiled, accepting the offer while producing a corporate credit card for her church. Once the payment was processed, the clerk produced a paper map and drew lines and circles showing the pair where to park and how to access their room.

Getting to the room proved a little trickier as the corridors were well lit and offered little in the ways of shadows, yet somehow the group managed. John and Patches are fast to close all of the blackout drapes while Absinth and Jeremiah carry Stephan and Lolli into one of the two bedrooms.

Everyone meets in the modest living room, situated between the two bedrooms.

"Ladies, there isn't much time, but I suggest you try to wash the blood off before getting into bed. John and I will stand guard, and tend to the minor details."

Absinth didn't even wait for Jeremiah to finish his suggestion before she was stripping. She let the clothing drop to the floor a s she made her way to the bathroom in Lolli and Stephan's room. Jeremiah and John and quick to turn their backs to the unabashed waif. Jeremiah clears his throat and directs his attention to Sister Mary, who is shaking her head at the shameful display.

"Is there anything we can do for Lolli or her boy?"

"He will be in a great deal of pain when he wakes, I'm not sure if we can legally acquire the medication he'll need."

While the nun distracted with the ghouls, Patches slips into the second bathroom and enjoys the long hot shower. The blood on her throat had long since become sticky and itchy.

"Will these help," John pulls out his pill bottles from his jacket pocket. "I use them when my leg is bad," he explains handing the medication over.

"You are full of surprises," Sister Mary's face brightens as she reads the labels. "It's at least a 12-hour drive home," she opens the containers and counts the pill. "And this should be plenty for both of you," she replaces the caps. "Assuming your leg doesn't get too bad. Jeremiah," she turns her attention to the cowboy. "Will you please give him another dose from our flask to help him sleep through the day?"

"Yes ma'am."

"I'll make a list of things we'll need before leaving town," she heads towards the small desk in the room and finds a pad of paper and pen in the drawer. Jeremiah slips away to give Stephan another shot of his drugged whiskey.

"Ma'ma," with hesitant feet John approaches the Malkavian. "Will he live?"

"It's difficult to say," she sighs while setting the pen down. "He's strong, and being a ghoul does increase his odds, but it may be touch and go until we can get him into a proper operating room. Your donation helped, you saw how his color returned," she smiles. "That's a very promising sign," She turns her face to the curtained window. "The sun will be up soon," she looks back at John. "Keep him in your prayers."

..~~~**~~~..

"You sent for me," Maston stands in the doorway.

"Yes I did," Bruno waves the young man in, asking him to close the door. "You've heard about the survivor?" When Maston nods Bruno asks him for his thoughts.

"It's all to convenient. I don't like it."

"I agree," he sighs as he rises to his feet, grasping his hands behind his back. "They're out for blood," he begins pacing the room. "Literally," he glances at Maston to make sure the seriousness was not lost on him. "Most likely they know I'm the leader, and believe my death will end any further attacks."

"Are you planning on going," he hopes Patriarch has another plan.

"I am," there's a finality in his tone that dictates his mind is made up and can't be swayed. But that doesn't stop Maston from trying.

"It's suicide," he calmly argues. "We can rebuild, and make a second, less direct, attack. We can reclaim Vegas, but we need your leadership."

"They will have you," Bruno smiles.

"You're being dramatic."

"No, I'll become a martyr."

"You're not going to be talked out of this are you," Maston sighs heavily, realizing his arguments are falling on deaf ears.

"It must be this way. If I don't go, they will hunt us down, no matter how long it takes. Kindred are, if nothing else, a patient race. You have the knowledge and resources to rebuild and relocate."

"The first thing we'll need to do is establish new safe houses, and move some of our donors. If she gave you up, I suspect our more commonly known blood banks were given up as well. I'll pull people out."

"You are the son I was always denied," Bruno places his hands on Maston's shoulders. "I know you'll make me proud and lead an army to victory."