Call of the Wolves

by kuku88

"I'm not what you think I am," breathed the spiky, black-haired bad boy, leaning in. "Sure you aren't," she muttered, pushing him away. He raised an eyebrow. "That's what you think," he replied evenly. Rated T, R&R!

75. Chapter 75: Drowning Wolves

CHAPTER 75: DROWNING WOLVES

ME: Ha! I updated!

BUTCH: Dude, where've you been?

ME: School. And dying. It's already December 21 and I only just finished with my exams yesterday. At least my holidays can finally begin though.

BRICK: Do you ever not have excuses?

ME: *wags finger at him* I'll have you know school will continue to be a viable excuse for quite a long time.

BUBBLES: Hey, at least you're back for now!

BOOMER: Yeah, enjoy the chapter, guys!

ME: And happy holidays! Merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, have a joyous Kwanzaa!

Chapter 75: Drowning Wolves

---

Michael awoke the next day feeling melancholy. He wasn't sure why. He'd been happy when his sister had come back, with him feeling as though the world was finally cutting a break—finally, finally letting him be happy again.

He wasn't jealous of his sister anymore. At least, not to the extent he'd been. He admired her more than anything else. She'd been through so much lately, with Damon for some reason constantly choosing to target her.

Was it because she and Vix had grown so close? Was that why Damon seemed to have an obsession over capturing his sister? Or was it because of the value she held as a hostage?

Michael could just imagine Damon's disgusting grin, full of arrogance, knowing he could never be beaten by the likes of Michael. It filled him with rage.

But even when Michael tried to think of happier things, like Cassandra's smile, he remembered last night and again felt that sense of melancholy. He was hiding something from her, but even then, he had a strong feeling she was also hiding something from him, and that filled him with disappointment. He knew he shouldn't be a hypocrite. The two of them weren't even that close yet.

He wondered if him being so attracted to her and her kindness really was just because Banana had broken his heart so badly. He swallowed, not wanting to confront the question.

So instead, he chose to confront the day.

Michael hopped off of his bed and headed to the washroom. Once he was finished with his morning routine, he went downstairs for breakfast.

He was joined by Christie, who shared a smile with him before also sitting down. The rest of the breakfast went quietly, until the PA began crackling and Danes' voice came on.

"Every soldier outside now. Gather at the courtyard. I repeat, every soldier outside right now."

Michael and Christie exchanged confused looks. They could hear the stomping of footsteps and sudden ring of voices, and they jumped up as well.

As they all congregated outside, they watched the others arrive.

The scene reminded Michael of awhile ago, before Vix had disappeared. They'd been outside again, for a briefing, and Vix had been acting a little strange.

Flashback

As if he sensed her glance, Vix turned and looked Christie over with an intent gaze that made Michael's hands itch to grab him and to demand what he was thinking, what he was doing.

Does he like my sister? He won't stop mooning over her like some lost wolf pup. But how can he, when he's...what he is, and she's what she is? He'd shaken his head in disbelief. He may be my friend, but it'll never work between them. I ought to smack some sense into him.

Michael wrung his hands.

Nothing out of the ordinary, he reminded himself. Nothing to make you stand out. He forced himself to look away. Confronting Vix in front of the entire army would definitely qualify as out of the ordinary.

End Flashback

Michael glanced back up at the sky. Now he missed Vix as a friend so much, even the idea of his interest in Christie didn't bother him as much anymore. He just wanted Vix to come back.

He trusted Vix as a friend, and he missed Vix also as a friend. Michael knew he hadn't always had the best time at the Hawthorne mansion, but he hoped the older boy knew he still had friends there, who would wait for him no matter how long it took.

Christie was thinking about Vix as well. She twitched just slightly, as if she wanted to head out to where he was, but before she could do anything, the sergeant-at-arms marched into the courtyard.

"Attention."

An entire army of boots stomped together, an entire army of bodies straightened, as if yanked into perfect posture by a puppeteer. The silence that followed was deafening as everyone held their breaths, waiting for their leader to speak.

Danes' approach was soundless even in the face of such quietness. Instead of hearing their commandant, they felt him, the way one would feel a storm coming. There was something different today.

Michael swallowed. He'd always been used to his uncle's deathly solemn attitude, but for a time now Danes had seemed to let his guard down a little. Today he seemed to have gone back to his past self, exuding a deathly chill, as if his cut-glass features and cold gray eyes were carved from the underbelly of a mountain.

"Good morning, everyone," Danes spoke, his voice booming out around them, monotone and cold. "I have called you here today because of a scientific advancement that I have just been informed of. My scientists have proven their worth and completed the secret task I have given them."

Michael furrowed his brow. This was the first time he'd heard of this. "Secret task"? So secret even Uncle's inner circle wasn't informed of it?

"My scientists have been working on this for months now," Danes explained. "It is time for the reveal."

He swept his gaze over the stage, seeing the faces of his parents beside Danes. The only one who seemed truly unsurprised, however, was DJ Sr.* Even Maggie and Chris exchanged questioning looks.

Danes said nothing more, watching and waiting patiently as a group of scientists arrived. Two of them were wheeling a large item covered by a white sheet, and they stopped when they were right beside Danes. One of them took his place beside Danes, folding his hands behind his back. He nodded at the leader.

Danes turned back to the crowd. "I now present to you…"

The scientists, faces blank and unreadable, ripped off the sheets just as Danes announced:

"The latest additions to our army: genetically modified, mutant bat soldiers."

Almost immediately there were gasps, and very quickly roars of protest.

"What are these monstrous, hideous creatures?" demanded Coal, his golden eyes flashing with disgust. "I refuse to fight alongside such miscreants!"

"This… This is an abomination against nature!" Maxim spluttered in agreement. "Excuse me for stepping out of my place, but sir, is this not you playing God? Creating such…such Frankenstein's creatures?"

The head scientist pushed his glasses up his nose as he remained impassive. "Science is an art form within itself, Maxim. Not an act against nature. I hope you will respect that."

"Sir!" the older man attempted once more.

"Silence," Danes commanded. "This is for the good of our people. This war has dragged on long enough. It is time to end it."

More protests rang out as the voices rose in volume, shocked and disturbed.

Michael didn't know what to think. He could only stare, his blue eyes stretched wide. He could feel himself trembling, and he wondered if it was from fear. He swallowed, tightening his hand into a fist.

The mutant creature lay motionless inside the giant glass tank, its long, spindly arms dangling by its sides. The claws were huge, with this particular physical attribute being obviously very different from those of a real bat's. Its fur was shaggy, messy—not at all the fluffiness Michael was used to. Its eyes were closed, and it had an upturned snout. Parts of it were fleshy and pink—especially the giant ears that seemed to even twitch every now and again.

"In time, we will test their usefulness on the field. But for now they are still working on it. I am telling all of you know so as not to cause panic when the time does come, and you see these beasts lumbering about."

"Sir, listen to reason!" Maxim cried, attempting to say something one last time.

Danes jerked his head back, his gray eyes a slicing glare that cut through the older man. "This is reason," he hissed. "And you should be glad, old man, that less people will not be sacrificed in battle. Dismissed."

Maxim was silent, his eyes wide.

Danes whirled back around and began stalking off.

"Danes…" DJ Sr stepped forward, looking troubled as he grabbed the other man's wrist.

Michael saw a brief flash of emotion in his uncle's darkened expression as he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath that bordered on a sigh. "We can talk later," he murmured.

DJ Sr seemed hesitant to let him go, but he backed off. He watched as Danes exited, followed by the entourage of scientists with their giant tank. Michael also watched, his eyes trailing after his uncle in disbelief.

"This is insane! Am I… Am I dreaming?" DJ Jr exclaimed, rubbing his eyes as if to try and wake himself up.

"This is all too real," Michael finally whispered.

Darkai glanced back at him. "Michael…"

"Why…Why did he make those things?"

Ross placed a comforting hand on Michael's shoulder. "It's been difficult for him—"

"But he is a leader!" Michael cried, spinning around toward his friend. "Why is he letting this get to him? Are we not good enough?"

The other boy could only stare back at him, looking lost.

He looks so much like a little boy. Michael realized just how much they hadn't grown. How they were all still only children.

"Dude, look at Raymond," DJ whispered.

Michael turned to where the man was standing. Raymond's eyes were stretched wide, his irises tiny pinpricks. He seemed to be shaking, and he looked horrified and devastated.

"What do you think has gotten into him?" asked DJ.

"You know how deeply connected he is to this war," Ross hissed back, elbowing his friend sharply. He ignored DJ's protest of "ow!", continuing on to say, "It's his brother we're fighting against. And if we're unleashing these beasts on our enemies…"

"He's right though," muttered Michael, his tone bitter and his eyes dark. "We should all be afraid."

The group turned silent then, until a new person's voice sounded from behind them, causing them to all turn around. "That may be so, but we also know better than to question Danes when he's like this."

It was Christie.

Michael looked away as she approached, his blond hair falling in front of his eyes.

Christie stopped before them and sighed, smiling a small, feeble smile. "I know this doesn't feel right, but we can't stay here for much longer. This is the worst time to have our loyalties be questioned or to show dissent. We need to stand together right now."

He said nothing.

"Come on. Let's go. If we linger, it'll be suspicious." Christie rounded the boys off and gestured for them to leave. "I'll go talk to Raymond."

The boys nodded before walking away, all looking lost. Michael stayed where he was.

As Christie turned to go, she noticed that her brother had not left with the others. She paused. "Michael," Christie tried again, urgent now. "Move. They'll see you."

"I need a minute," he replied. "You go on."

She clearly wanted to argue with him, to even drag him away, but she also couldn't stay for much longer. With their parents still standing at the front, glaring at anyone who was lingering for too long, her presence became conspicuous. She left with a last backwards glance. Michael obviously wasn't budging.

When she was out of his line of sight, Michael looked up to see their parents already watching him. Maggie's gaze, as always, was the more intense one. He could already guess what she was thinking—what she wanted to say to him.

"Why are you still here? Didn't you hear your uncle? Dismissed! You can go now! Go before you're questioned on your loyalty!"

Chris looked more subdued, but when he seemed about to speak, Maggie pulled him aside and shook her head, whispering into his ear. Finally, Chris nodded and began to walk away, rounding up the remaining soldiers who still stood there helplessly.

As if her father's exit was a cue, Christie began gently guiding the still silent Raymond away. He still looked shocked, and Michael figured it would be quite awhile before he'd recover.

Maggie remained standing there, until she was sure Chris and the others were gone. She called out to her son. "Michael."

He looked up.

He knew these were trying times. And while his parents had never been hesitant about showing their love, he also knew how dangerous it was to show favouritism during parts of the war where they were supposed to be level-headed leaders. Leaders without emotional attachments giving them bias or weakness. In other words, leaders without strings attached.

All things Michael was starting to realize he couldn't be.

"You should go," she murmured.

He squeezed his hands into fists, staring back up at his mother with defiance. Mother. It wasn't always the right word—not in situations like this.

But even then, anyone who saw them together would know who she was to him. He had her cheekbones, and as people liked to say, her green eyes were what attributed to his turquoise ones. But most of all, she gave him the ruthlessness and strength that made him a good soldier.

Even though her red hair was a far cry from his blond locks, and his pale skin didn't echo the warmer tinge of hers, they were clearly related.

Her mouth was ever disapproving or angry, just as it was now, but energized with a toughness he could only wish he had, while he looked tired or amused even when he wasn't. Michael tore his gaze from hers.

Maggie had always stood for what she believed was right. Michael now wondered if he should do the same. He was stubborn like his mother, but he didn't have her courage. Most people he knew didn't. If he stood up to his uncle…

Michael hated the formalities. He missed the simplicity of family. Before his parents had disappeared. Before the war. When he'd been unconscious, the genuine joy and love from his parents that he'd awoken to had been so refreshing. It had been nice while it lasted, but things quickly returned to normal.

Even now, when they expressed happiness, Michael was overtly aware of the rage that lay beneath. They were at war, and now that celebrations for Christie's safe return were over, Michael knew they had to prepare once more for the battle. His parents were ready; they wore masks of icy indifference, while their hatred burned deep within. He wished he could forget the happiness of family as easily as they could.

Michael searched the now empty garden for his father, but he was gone. The things he'd taught his son were quite different from his wife. Control was one of them. While his mother's temper was a burning flame that scorched all those who angered her, his father's composure was ice-cold. Michael tamped down on the fury and disgust he felt at Danes' new project, emptying himself of all feeling. He reminded himself that it was for the war—that everything was for the war.

Above him, his mother frowned, a slight twist to her mouth. She looked like she was about to say something again. He expected her to approach and demand to know why he was still there, why he challenged her with his stare.

She didn't. Instead, she watched him for a moment longer before turning and disappearing beneath the arches.

And then he was truly alone.

---

Danes sighed, walking into his office. The announcement of the mutated bats had certainly not gone well, but it was a result he'd been expecting for some time now.

"Danes?" a familiar voice called, with a gentle knock on the door.

"Come in."

DJ Sr entered, his brow furrowed and ice-blue eyes glowing with concern. "You okay?"

"Just exhausted," Danes muttered back. "But I'm alright."

DJ smiled. "I know you better than that. You're disappointed, aren't you? That everyone reacted so negatively."

"So what if I am? There's little I can do, but there's no reason to be worried. They must obey me either way anyway."

"Such a dictator," his companion teased, sitting down on Danes' desk. "Is this how your father taught you to run the household?"

Danes paused, thinking back to his father, Don Hawthorne, and how hard it was for him to be a leader, dealing with insubordination, betrayal, and an attempted coup. Being a leader was indeed a difficult task. Don constantly had to defend the adoption of Damon by his second-in-command James Patterson.

Flashback

Everyone was huddled around in the foyer, blankets draped over their shoulders and mugs of hot chocolate in their hands. Danes was sitting, pressing his hand over a wound on his side that was bleeding heavily, watching as his father paced back and forth in front of them, his eyes narrowed in deep thought.

Danes glanced at Damon, who was clearly troubled. The injured soldiers had just fought a battle against the leader of Damon's old side, before he'd been rescued from death and transferred to the vampire side, so it was clear the boy was struggling with the fact that both of his families were fighting each other. He was with Sylvie and James Patterson, Tyrone and Shamus' father, along with several other medics, all attending to everyone gathered in the little circle. Most soldiers had gone home for the night after a brief treatment out in the field, ready for a good night's rest and a more in-depth visit to a doctor in the morning planned. Others had been sent straight to the hospital.

The large group in the foyer was made up of Don's most elite soldiers, the ones who got special privileges or were even allowed to stay in the mansion. Danes went through a mental checklist of soldiers there, such as Maxim, who was standing by the fireplace. There was also Coal, a younger soldier, lounging on a couch.

Don was muttering dark curses underneath his breath, glaring at nothing in particular as he walked back and forth, back and forth, his mind obviously occupied by Oreon and his recent attack.

James reappeared, carrying a tray of freshly made hot chocolate and a plate of cookies for those who wanted them. He set it down and immediately returned to attending to soldiers' wounds, cleaning and dressing them with expert efficiency.

"Now that we're all gathered here," rumbled Don, "it's time we hold a meeting."

"About time," yawned Coal. "I was getting bored."

Don ignored him as he continued: "All of you witnessed firsthand the kind of bullshit Oreon was spewing today, about this war and taking Damon home."

Every head swung toward him, and Damon winced as their gazes slashed through him, many of them accusing and filled with disgust.

Danes felt a stab of pity for the boy. Despite his initial coldness when Damon had first come to the Hawthorne household, the two had grown to be really good friends—this was mostly thanks to Tyrone, who worked hard to make sure all his friends were getting along. Damon was a nice kid, and Danes knew how much he felt guilty over the fact that an entire war was being fought over him.

"Oreon believes he may storm into my home and demand of me what is under my control," Don hissed, picking up his pacing again. "But he is wrong."

"Yeah!" several soldiers cheered, advocating for their leader. A few remained silent, their unsaid thought lingering in the air:

Why don't you just give him what he wants?

Damon shrank into himself, clearly wanting to disappear from those watchful eyes.

"We must be prepared to fight back at all times," Danes' father announced. "Double the patrols. Hunt down every miserable wolf you can find."

Damon's eyes widened. "But Don—" he gasped, choking on his shock.

Don met his gaze. "I'm sorry, Damon. But this is war. And there must be no mercy in the heat of battle."

"But they're my friends!" he spluttered.

Several soldiers began muttering mutinously, their faces dark and shadowed.

Damon withered a little as the warriors whispered among themselves and Don replied, "I swear we will do the best we can not to harm them all, but there is only so much I can do. Oreon has every intent on destroying men, and I cannot allow that to happen. I cannot allow him to roam free, killing and doing as he wishes. We must be like him, vicious and brutal and uncaring, or we will lose men and he will lose none, and soon we will be overpowered. Do you understand, Damon? I do not wish to harm your friends, but I am left with no choice."

He hung his head. "I understand," he whispered, feeling tears threaten to fall. His stomach was flipping and his throat burned with the desire to throw up. He felt sick.

"But I don't understand," a voice piped up.

Danes had wanted to go over and help him, but this new voice caused him to spin around to face the speaker. Everyone else's heads also shot toward Coal, who looked even more arrogant than before as he leaned against the pillows of his seat. He was smirking.

"Pardon, young soldier?" Don asked through gritted teeth.

Coal held up his hand, waving it slightly. "See, what I don't understand is... If we are supposed to kill every last miserable, pathetic wolf we see, then why"—he gestured with his hand at Damon—"aren't we slaughtering the one right before us?"

The whispers returned, this time louder.

Danes glanced at Damon, who had tears in his eyes. The voices grew louder and louder, and Danes could see the other boy getting lost in the swirl of words and hatred.

"—he's got a point—"

"—that boy's the whole reason we're in this bloody war—"

"—might as well let him go—"

"—killing him really would be the easiest way—"

"Coal." Don's voice was menacing and threatening, low with warning.

The male shrugged. "I'm just asking," he said lightly. "It's not like I'm trying to start a riot or anything." While his face remained innocent and calm, a flicker of smug amusement entered his eyes. "Because really, he is the cause of all our problems. Why complicate things further by protecting him?"

Tyrone jumped upwards, ever the first to act, as Shamus stepped in front of Damon protectively. "Now you look here, you fucking jerk-face, don't you dare threaten my best friend and my brother like that!"

Coal looked bored as he responded, "I haven't threatened your brother at all. Shamus will be safe, and I am only asking about Damon." His tone resembled one someone would use to reprimand a young, naïve child.

Danes held himself back, although a low growl escaped his throat. He was tempted to join Tyrone, but he knew his father would be displeased—and besides, Tyrone and Coal were quickly becoming a one-on-one fight.

"I was talking about Damon, you useless piece of shit twat," Tyrone hissed back, "because he's my brother too."

The other teen raised an eyebrow. "Really? You're brothers with a dog?"

Tyrone bristled and Danes almost spoke up, but then Don shouldered his way forward. "Stand down, Tyrone!" he barked. When the boy didn't listen immediately, he growled again, "I said, stand down!"

Still glaring at Coal, Tyrone sat down with an angry thump. There was a smug sense of satisfaction and victory on Coal's face as he watched the boy step down.

But then Don turned back to him, and the flaring anger in the man's eyes word the smirk off the boy's face. "You are way out of line, soldier," he growled. "I once would have agreed and given Damon up in a heartbeat, but he's proven himself time and time again. He's truly earned his position among my men, and even my family and friends. So I ask that you shut your fucking mouth because you clearly do not know what you are talking about. I have answered your question. One more outburst like that from you and I will see to it that you are justly punished, because in case you've forgotten, soldier, threatening one of your own men is considered a traitorous action."

Coal's lips became a thin line. "I was simply asking," he said quietly, golden eyes glittering.

"And ask away." Don's eyes narrowed. "But watch what you say."

"Of course, sir," he replied smoothly. "I wouldn't dream of insubordination."

Don frowned but turned away, and almost immediately Coal sent Damon a glare filled with hatred and spite, as if his little lecture from Don was all the boy's fault.

Tyrone placed an arm around his friend. "Just ignore him," he offered. "Coal's an idiot with a big mouth. He doesn't mean anything."

Damon looked down at his hands, looking scared and ashamed.

If only it were really as simple as just that, Danes thought with a sigh.

James leaned in close to Don's ear and whispered something. The other man paused, contemplating his friend's words, before nodding. Danes wondered what they were speaking of.

"Let us go inside and discuss this further," Don finally said flatly, ending their quiet discussion. He glanced at the crowd gathered around him, awaiting his command. "Return to your chambers," he ordered. "Get some rest. It will take time to heal these wounds, and I want all of us getting a good night's sleep." He slipped out of the foyer, followed swiftly by James.

Tyrone and Shamus exchanged bewildered glances. "What was that all about?" Tyrone wondered out loud.

Shamus shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine," he answered.

Danes frowned. His father didn't usually act so secretive about his plans, but he and James clearly had something in mind that they weren't yet ready to share with the rest of the soldiers.

Damon stood up, helping Sylvie up as well. He coughed before raising his voice to announce, "If you still need medical help, then Sylvie and I are more than happy to assist you, as James' pupils."

A thunderstorm of muttering returned, just like on the battlefield, and tension crackled within the room.

"I won't trust two outsiders with my body even if I'm on the brink of death..."

"They're not one of us..."

"He's one of them..."

"He's a sneaky wolf..."

Damon winced, visibly trembling.

Tyrone jumped up. "Enough!" he yelled. "Shut the hell up, the whole lot of you!"

The crowd immediately hushed up, stunned into a sudden silence.

The son of James glared back at them. "You will accept Damon and Sylvie's help if you need it, whether you like it or not. I trust them, and so do my friends, as do my parents. So you better start trusting them too, or you won't last very long in this war."

"Perhaps they have a right to be cautious and wary," someone called.

Tyrone spun around, eyes flashing. "You!" he hissed, now glaring at Coal.

The other boy grinned back at him. "After all, he's more wolf than man."

"He's also a human being and a boy," retorted Tyrone. "He's one of us, whether you like it or not. So you might as well get fucking used it, instead of running your mouth with things you don't understand, trying to start a damn mutiny—"

"Tyrone." Damon's voice came soft but firm, weak but strong. "It's okay."

He glanced at his friend, now hesitating. "Are you sure?" he questioned. "I don't want Coal to spread any more bad rumours about you—"

"It's okay," he repeated, even more firmly. He met his friend's eyes, his gaze glowing with sincerity. "I'll be fine."

Tyrone hesitated some more, before backing down. "Alright," he said. "If you say so."

Damon nodded. "I do say so. Thank you." He turned to meet Coal's curious eyes. "I know you don't trust me, nor do you like me—"

He snorted. "That's a bit of an understatement."

"—But I must request that you refrain from spreading unrest amongst Don's men until after the war, because the last thing we need is a civil war along with the battle against Oreon." He met his eyes head-on now, letting challenge seep into his gaze and his voice as he added, "And anyone with half a brain can see that. So, Coal... Do you have half a brain?"

The other boy bristled obviously, golden eyes flashing anger. "Of course I have a brain, dog," he snarled. "I know what you're saying."

"And yet you insist on causing chaos among us anyway," he pointed out. "And you keep calling me 'dog'." He slowly pulled out his blade, causing the men around him to begin murmuring quite loudly again. "I suggest you don't do that again anytime soon, you pompous bat, lest alone I hurt you in battle."

Danes raised an eyebrow, impressed that the other boy was standing up to the soldier.

Coal's grip tightened on the armchair of his seat. "You wouldn't dare," he hissed.

Damon met his eyes. "Try me."

"That would be treason!"

"But you are not leader, so no."

"You are a hypocrite then, you d—you child!" Damon knew he was about to call him "dog" again, and was ruefully proud to hear him not dare to call him such an insult again.

"How so?" he asked, forcing himself to stay calm and collected. Focus, he reminded himself. You must stay strong and sure; you're trying to crack his wall of defense, not your own.

"Because that would incite a civil war!" Coal screeched. "You fool! How dare you accuse me of such things and yet here you are, parading around as if you even have the power to make such claims—"

"I am not a part of your little team, am I not?" he interrupted, repeating the words of other men. "You've all said it yourselves. I am not one of you. I am an outsider."

Danes shared a look with Tyrone, who grinned back at him. A smile even tugged at his own lips, and he nodded his head to show his approval.

Coal looked about ready to lunge at Damon, but Sean, one of the highest-level soldiers there, stepped forward with outstretched hands. "Enough," he ordered. He looked around. "And that goes for all of you. Go. Don told you to get some sleep. If you don't want Damon's help, then don't get any. It's as simple as that. So leave."

Murmuring, the crowd got up and moved as one, all slowly filing out of the foyer.

As they left, Coal let out a low, guttural hissing noise, but said nothing more on the matter. Instead, he jumped up and spun around, whisking away so that he could exit through the door. He stormed out, sullen and sulky. His boots clomped heavily against the floor.

Danes turned to Damon, wondering how the other boy was feeling. Was it triumph? Pride? Excitement?

What he couldn't have guessed though, was that Damon found himself watching Coal leave with mixed feelings of disappointment and relief.

End Flashback

"I can't believe we fought a war for him," Danes muttered, massaging the area between his eyes.

DJ was quiet at first, before making his way over and placing his hands on Danes' shoulders. "He was our friend," he murmured. "And we trusted him."

"Much good that did us." There was a bitterness to his voice as he remembered all that had happened after that. The fights, the attempted coup, the defeat of the traitor… And yet, in the end, Damon himself had become a traitor as well.

DJ smiled sadly, massaging the other man's shoulders comfortingly. "I know it hurts. Especially because of what the war did to your father, and what Damon did to Tyrone despite our trust. But we believed in what we were fighting for back then, and we fought hard. We had good memories and good friends, even if the end of that story ended up being a sad one."

Danes stared out the window, still frustrated, even though he knew DJ had a point. He sighed. "Damon was a good man once."

"He was."

"Humph. Love. What a troublesome thing. It's even brought me difficulties as well."

DJ's smile grew amused as he bent down and murmured teasingly into Danes' ear, "But oh, love isn't that bad. After all, Danesy, don't you love me? And you don't regret that, do you?"

"Shut up, DJ." He rolled his eyes. "Any love that I feel for you will be retracted if you keep up with your teasing. I am your commander."

"And so much more!" DJ laughed back in response, before adding, "Okay, okay, I'll stop." He paused, his face becoming solemn once more. "But every word I just said, I meant it, Danesy. We fought for what we believed in, and we made good memories and good friends. And as for love…"

"Yeah. I know." Danes' gray eyes met DJ's blue ones, and his voice lowered into a rumbling murmur. "I know."

DJ smiled again, this time a sad yet happy one, and he leaned in closer to continue their discussion.

Danes knew he was right. Damon had been a good friend, and the war had been fought with rigour and good intentions. Even when most soldiers despised him, Damon had remained a good friend, and Danes knew the war was hardest for him most of all. After all, he'd lost his real family, and he then had to watch his two non-blood families, one old and one new, fight each other, resulting in many deaths.

Danes had suffered, as had James and Shamus, because of what had happened to their fathers during the coup, but Damon had suffered most of all. And yet he'd done his best to stay kind and caring.

If only you hadn't let yourself give into jealousy, Damon, Danes thought. I wonder what you are doing now…

---

"Your injuries aren't healing properly," Damon reprimanded as he wrapped bandages around the teenage boy's arm. "It would probably help if you didn't keep opening them so much."

Vix snorted, rolling his eyes. "Maybe I just like to suffer."

"This hurts you more than it hurts me," retorted Damon, tugging extra hard on a knot. Vix winced just slightly, and Damon smirked. "Told ya."

"So maybe I'm doing this because I want to get back at you." He turned away. "But right now, my body is one of the only things I can still control."

The older man sighed before standing up, already beginning to put away his medical supplies. "It would be a lot easier if you just submitted," he remarked. "I'm trying to help you, you know."

Vix stared after him. "You could at least care a little," he whispered.

Damon paused as his extra-sensitive hearing picked up on the bitter, disappointed words. Vix knew he heard him because he could see Damon's ear twitch. But as he gazed at the man's back, Damon made no move to say anything else.

"Get some rest," he finally murmured, before exiting the room.

The door shut behind him, and Vix stared down at his crossed legs. He was surprised to see droplets fall from his face and land on the bed, staining the bedsheets a darker shade.

He blinked, before rubbing his tears away.

What has become of you, Damon? Where is the man I used to love and admire?

Where is my father?

Vix knew there were no answers waiting for him. He sighed as he stood up, hobbling toward the door. He tried it, and was surprised to find it unlocked.

He peeked outside. The cabin seemed suddenly deserted, with Damon being nowhere to find. He swallowed before stepping outside. The floorboards creaked beneath his weight, but no Damon jumped out to shoo him back into his room.

So Vix continued his journey, until he was finally outside the cabin. He sniffed the fresh air, glad to have gotten out of that haunting smell of rotting, burnt wood. The grass felt cool beneath his bare feet, and even the slightly chilly breeze felt comforting. It was refreshing.

Vix walked around, kicking stones and chasing wild animals he saw. He wondered how far he should wander—if he'd really be allowed to leave.

But something felt wrong. This was so sudden, and too easy. Is it a trap?

Damon is so unpredictable these days. I don't know what to think. He could've just really forgotten to lock the door, or maybe he felt guilty about—

Vix stopped his train of thought, and it felt like an oncoming headache, as if that train had smashed straight into a brick wall. About what? he wondered bitterly, his inner voice sarcastic.

"Would the Damon of now really feel guilty about not being fatherly enough? Riddle me this, world!" Vix muttered aloud, kicking a rock extra hard.

It flew into the air, but rather than smash into a tree trunk or hit the ground like he'd expected, a hand shot out from behind a tree and the rock flew into someone's open palm. They caught it expertly, their fingers curling around it tightly.

"I don't know. You tell me," the person said, their voice calm and flat.

Vix was surprised to see someone else out and about. He immediately felt self-conscious, considering how much he knew he looked like a mess. Wild, red hair, an eyepatch over one eye, no shirt, bare feet, bandages all over his body…

"Who's there?" he demanded.

The person emerged from behind the tree.

Vix's eyes widened. It was like looking in a mirror.

It took him a few seconds, but he finally remembered the other person was someone else, and that they had a name. "Vincent?" he asked, his surprise audible.

"Am I really that forgetful?" Vincent grinned, his green eyes amused. But something felt off.

"No, I'm sorry, I…" Vix trailed off. "My thoughts are really muddled."

"Oh, I'm not surprised. Look at you! You're in such bad shape! What happened?" the other boy asked incredulously, stepping forward.

Vix took a step backwards almost involuntarily. "I…I got into a fight," he said lamely.

"But that can't be all, could it? I'm sure there's something more to it—"

"Why are you here?" Vix interrupted in a splutter, not wanting to answer his probing. "It's dangerous! Don't you know there's basically a madman living here?"

Vincent stopped. "Oh, I know," he finally replied, his voice now low and quiet. "Believe me, I know."

Vix looked up, once more taken aback. "You do?"

"It's hard not to." The other boy's face was turned away, so Vix couldn't read his expression. Even his tone, while it seemed almost bitter, was still relatively flat.

"What do you mean?" He furrowed his brow. "Do you live around here?"

"I guess you could say that." Vincent finally looked up and smiled, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Anyway, I could be asking you the same question."

"I don't live here," he said quickly.

"No, you know that's not what I meant." He raised an eyebrow. "Why are you here?"

"I…got dragged here. I don't want to be here." He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to hide his injuries, even though he knew it was impossible.

"So…you're here against your will?"

"Yes." Vix squeezed himself tighter.

Vincent was silent for a long time, before he finally whispered, "Maybe you deserve to be."

Vix's head jerked upwards as his eyes widened. "What?"

"I said, maybe you deserve to be." He narrowed his green eyes, and now his smile suddenly seemed sinister. "Now you know how I feel."

"Vincent, why are you…? Why would you want me to know how you feel…?" Vix was very, very confused. "I-I barely even know you…"

"Exactly. You were never aware I existed," Vincent muttered back. "Even though I was so close to you."

"If you're talking about being friends with my friends…"

Vincent grinned, shaking his head. "You may not know me, but I certainly know you. And I know you live in your own little world as if there were no one else outside."

The tonal shift had come so soon, Vix was still taken aback, but there was a part of him that was also very, very afraid. "What are you talking about…?"

"Of course you wouldn't know," the other boy responded. "But I've been part of your world for so, so long now." He rolled the rock Vix had kicked in his hand, before drop-kicking it into Vix's shadow, causing the boy to flinch. "If your brain can't comprehend it, then how's about your nose?"

"What are you going to—?"

Vincent smirked, pulling out a blade from his bag and slicing his wrist open.

Vix immediately cringed at the sight of blood, but his nose began twitching and the heavy, tangy scent of iron hit him—even just from one little drop—but that wasn't the only thing. He was suddenly having flashbacks to the last time he and Vincent had met, back at the superstore, when he'd caught this very scent…**

His eyes widened. "Oh my God…"

His grin stretched wider. "Did you finally get it?" he asked quietly.

"Oh my God…" Vix repeated, too stunned to say anything else. He spun around and began running back the way he'd come.

Vincent watched him go, before tilting his wrist down so that blood could fall. "Don't think you can escape the truth just by running away," he murmured quietly, before closing his eyes.

Then he smiled.

Meanwhile, Vix didn't stop running until he found himself back at Damon's cabin, which caused him to skid to a stop. He glanced behind him, panting, and saw that no one was behind him. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes in relief, he waited for his heart and mind to calm down before he questioned what the hell had just happened.

Why was he acting so weird? Did it even really happen? And why… He opened his eyes, staring at the cabin looming above him. Why does it feel as though I was driven back here? He shuddered involuntarily.

The door creaked open and damon appeared, leaning against the doorframe. "Welcome home, Vix," he whispered.

He knew what he really wanted to do. He wanted to run far, far away from this place: run all the way—Vix paused—run where?

Damon was watching him, his head tilted down just slightly but his gaze lifted upwards.

Vix almost laughed. The place I never wanted to go to and never belonged in has become my home. And the place that I once called my home… He glanced at Damon, feeling the humour leave him.

"Come on, Vix," the man said softly. "Let's get you inside. It's getting late, and it'll be chilly out."

It's already chilly. He shivered, but he could feel his legs mechanically walking towards the cabin. Damon waited until he was at the doorway before turning inside. Vix followed, but glanced back one last time.

He imagined Vincent's green eyes again, filled with a frustration he didn't understand, and he shuddered involuntarily before retreating inside.

---

"Fucking finally," Christie muttered, shaking her head in irritation. She was glad to be finally rid of her bodyguards—this time plural.

After that stunt her uncle had pulled, the entire house had been a flurry of shock and panic. No one wanted to use the new soldiers. No one trusted them. It's almost ironic, in some ways. We all know what the enemies think of us vampires. And now we're disgusted by giant bat mutants because they seem too monstrous? Maybe we're the hypocritical ones.

Christie knew she was just feeling bitter because of everything that had happened. Despite her talk with her parents during the party, she was still annoyed at them for shoving suitors at her, and she wasn't happy with Danes' increasing anger. But most of all, she was frustrated at the lack of concern surrounding Vix.

He's still out there, all alone, she thought to herself. When she thought of her two current stupid, bumbling, vapid bodyguards, she realized how much she missed Vix's sarcasm. At least he used his brain and said useful or interesting things. He felt like an actual human that I could converse with.

But most of all, he was a friend.

Fuck. I'm getting too sentimental for my own good. Christie felt her cheeks warm as she ran through the woods. She didn't even have a plan anymore—she just wanted to see him one more time. To try and save him one more time.

This is a bad idea.

The sliver of doubt wormed its way in, and she tried to shake it off, but she could feel it clinging to the corners of her mind with a death-like grip. Christie didn't stop though—she couldn't stop. Every second that passed was another second Vix was in danger. She'd wasted enough time, what with the stupid party, Danes' morning announcement, and then trying to shake off her stupid bodyguards.

When she finally arrived at Damon's cabin, she let herself be stopped by her doubt. What if I fail? What if I get myself captured again and we'll both be stuck there again? Will Damon give me another opportunity of escape?

She knew it was unlikely there'd be a third chance. But if that's the case, if I don't go in…will there be another third chance then?

She hesitated, taking a step back.

"What are you doing back here?"

Whirling around, she was startled to see green eyes and flaming red hair. "Vix?" she gasped, rushing forward to grab his hands as soon as she'd recovered from her shock. "You surprised me! Are you okay? Has Damon hurt you since then?"

He grimaced for one brief second, but Christie figured it was from the pain of his still-fresh wounds. Then his face was overtaken by a small, warm smile as his gaze softened from hard, glittering emeralds to soft, lush grass. "I'm alright," he murmured, reaching out to touch her face, "now that you're here."

Her eyes widened and she blushed, causing her to pull away. "Dammit, Vix. Now isn't the time for…whatever game you're playing."

"Oh, it's not a game."

Christie ignored his comment, trying just as hard to also ignore the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, even as she felt their wings brush insistently against her skin, her heart, and her mind. To distract herself, she looked over his body for any injuries, ignoring the attractiveness of his muscles. "Did Damon treat your wounds okay?"

"I'm fine—"

"Oh my God, these are terrible! Does he really not care enough about you that he decided to do such a shitty job? Look at your wrist—it's practically still bleeding! And here I thought he was a healer!"

Vix's eyes widened in surprise at her anger, but then he smiled. "Thanks for your concern, Christie. I'll be sure to let my 'father' know."

"Don't call him that."

"Hm?" He blinked.

"Don't call him your father," she repeated, tugging on his arm so that he would sit down with her. "He doesn't deserve to be called that, after what he's done to you."

Vix obliged her silent command that he sit, watching as she undid his bandages to reveal fresh, red marks. A small smile tickled his lips again as he closed his eyes. "Noted."

"I'm serious, Vix." She began applying ointment she'd tucked away in her bag. "Look at these wounds!" She paused then, noticing something. "Hey…didn't you have a scratch on your right hand? Where'd it go?"

His eyes fluttered open. "On my right hand…?"

"Yeah, I could've sworn—"

"It must've healed thanks to my eye," he replied. "It's been pretty overworked, but it still managed to heal some of my injuries."

"...Oh. Okay. That makes sense." Christie continued her work. "But see what I mean? Damon's treated you so awfully your amazing eye can't even fix it all!"

"You think my eyes are amazing?"

She turned to see his bright, spring-green gaze, and she flushed red. "Eye, Vix. Singular. Your healing eye, remember?"

"I remember." He chuckled softly. "How could I forget?"

Christie was silent for awhile, before saying gently, "Vix, I'm worried about you. Let's get out of here. Let's leave this place and never come back."

He didn't reply.

"Vix?"

"Please…stop," he murmured.

She paused. "Stop what?"

"Stop…calling that name, stop talking to me, stop worrying about me, stop trying to get me out of here," he responded, his voice growing faster with each word. "I…I can't leave. This is where I belong right now."

"No it's not!" She grabbed him by both of his shoulders. "Your home is with me—with us, I mean. You're not tied to this awful place anymore! You have a new home and new family—"

He shook his head. "I'm still tied to this place. I can't let go just yet. I'm still tied to him."

"After everything that he's done to you?" Enraged, she rampaged on. "Vix, listen to me. You're being a fucking idiot if you think you're still tied to this fucking shitty place and that fucking shitty man. You deserve so much more—"

"But do I deserve you?"

She froze.

Vix smiled. "That's what I thought." He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Christie collapsed into his arms, her turquoise eyes wide as her cheeks grew beet-red. She was so close to him that she felt like she'd just been engulfed by her own shadow, her ear pressed against his warm chest. She could hear his heart beating fast, hear his breathing come out slow and shaky, feel the tremble of his arms, and see the bright red of his bleeding wounds pressed against the white of the bandages.

"Vix…"

"Shhh," he murmured. "Don't say that name anymore. Don't think about Vix anymore. Forget about everything involving Vix. Erase Vix from your worries."

"I can't just…"

"You can." She felt his lips pressed against her forehead as he continued to whisper, "You will. I already have."

"Vix, what are you doing…? Stop it and just come home with me…" She trailed off, already feeling drained of her energy.

"I've always been alone," he was commenting. "I never had someone worry about me. But I'm glad that you care so much about me."

The warmth now emanating from his otherwise cold body made her even more sleepy, and she could already feel her eyelids closing.

"Goodbye, Christie."

"No…" But the protest came out weak and small, barely audible—just a breathy whisper against his chest.

He stroked her hair, and she felt her mind drifting off into an ocean of darkness—a place with no stars. As the deathly quiet descended on her, she thought she heard the quietest whisper slither into the black, fuzzy silence.

"I think I might love you."

And in the next instant, her mind was gone, with only the bright red of blood stabbing at the corners of her vision, enveloped by the starless sky like the arms of a trembling, scared teenage boy, with bright red hair and emerald-green eyes, a heart beating fast and breathing coming out shaky as his cold skin began to thaw.

---

Michael and Ross were sitting silently in the former's bedroom, simply flipping through their schoolwork mindlessly.

Ross groaned, throwing down the green notebook that contained all his Socials homework. "I can't fucking concentrate!" He dragged his hand down his face. "I keep thinking about last night and this morning—hell, I keep thinking about this whole fucking messed-up week!"

Michael didn't reply right away, finishing the last sentence he had to write before glancing up at a pouting Ross. "Whining won't help."

"I'm not whining." The other boy sighed now, slumping against his chair. "I'm worried. I mean, do you think DJ and his dad are okay right now?"

"I don't know. You tell me—you're the one who knows some oh-so-great secret," Michael responded, turning away. He then felt the smack of a notebook hitting his head, causing him to whirl around and glower at Ross. "Hey—!"

"Don't act so cool," he muttered back, his green eyes harsh. "I know you're just as worried as I am."

"Yes, well, what can I do? Obey, don't question, and all that fun stuff, remember?" Michael shot him an irritated look.

Ross rolled his eyes. "You're being so immature about all this."

"Oh, you forgot? 'Immature' is my middle name."

"Okay, enough. Get over yourself," Ross grumbled, hitting his friend on the arm with his book.

Michael opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, they both heard the doorbell ringing. He paused in surprise. "Someone's coming here? At this hour? How the hell did the guards let them past?"

The PA system loudspeaker clicked on, and Danes' voice boomed out: "It's for you, Michael."

Ross and Michael shared a look.

They went down to the front doors together, where a maid was waiting with her head bowed. She opened the grand doors and Michael froze.

Banana.

"What…" As he recovered from his shock, his voice hardened. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," she said, clasping her hands in front of her.

His gaze remained cold, but he could feel his heart fluttering like a trapped bird in his chest. "Well, I don't want to see you."

"Shall I send her away, Young Master Hawthorne?" the maid asked blankly, her head still lowered.

"No, wait," Ross said. When Michael glared at him, he raised a challenging eyebrow. "I think you two need the talk." He glanced back at the maid. "Thank you, Louisa. You may be dismissed."

"Yes sir." She slowly backed off.

Michael turned to Banana. "Alright, fine. Since Ross has trapped me with you, come on in." He whirled around and stormed off.

Banana hesitated, but Ross joined her side encouragingly. "Don't worry about him," he murmured. "Follow me."

She took a deep breath and nodded, plunging further into the Hawthorne mansion. They climbed up the stairs and headed into Michael's room, where the boy immediately plopped down on his chair and angrily folded his arms.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"I just wanted to speak to you." She sat down gingerly on the bed.

"I'll leave you two alone—"

"Don't you fucking dare. You made this happen, so you're going to stay," Michael snapped.

Ross rolled his eyes but sat down anyway.

Banana waited until he was seated before turning back to Michael. "Mikey…I am just so, so, so sorry for that day. I never meant for what happened. I am the one at fault. Completely at fault. I know I was a shitty girlfriend that day and I…" She trailed off, before whispering quietly, "I'm just so sorry."

He was silent at first, before asking lowly, "Do you regret it?"

She jerked her head upwards. "Of course I do!"

He met her eyes. "Do you really? Or are you just sorry you were caught?" He waited, but when she didn't reply, he added, "Do you love him?"

Banana visibly hesitated. "I…"

"Do you love him, Banana?"

"I don't know!" she burst out, shaking her head. "And that's the most frustrating part. I don't know if I…if I feel that way about him…" She grabbed her head in her hands.

Michael could feel himself shaking as his throat closed up. He found himself struggling to say his next words. "I…really fucking cared about you, you know," he choked out. "I thought…I thought I fucking loved you! That's—That's how foolish I-I was…" He rubbed at his watering eyes, hating himself for the tears. "I wanted to be with you…"

"Oh, Mikey… I never meant to hurt you like this…"

He was crying harder now. He hated the pity in her eyes even more than he hated his own weakness. She doesn't deserve to look so innocent after everything she's done. And yet, there was a part of him that knew—she'd been his girlfriend, after all. She wasn't the kind of person who would purposefully do such a thing.

But it hurt. Because once again, Michael hadn't been good enough. He'd given it his all, and still he wasn't enough.

"I'm so sorry I put you through that," Banana said, making her way over to him.

He pulled away, causing her to pause. "Please, don't," he croaked, wiping his eyes quickly. "I'm alright."

She sat back down, looking guilty.

"I can't stand having you be that close to me," he explained, not able to meet her eyes. He stared between his fingers at the floor. "I'm afraid that if you are…I'll remember everything I've missed."

"You deserved better," Banana replied quietly. "I don't know what else I can say besides apologize for it over and over again. You never have to forgive me. I understand why you're angry. What I did was absolutely awful, and I hate myself for it."

He closed his eyes, not wanting to hear any more. Stop berating yourself, he thought, just stop it. You don't deserve to be the perfect image of guilt. Don't make me feel sorry for you.

"Michael…" Ross' voice sounded.

"Are you going to tell me to forgive her too?" he asked, almost accusingly. He glanced at his friend from between his fingers.

Ross paused. "No," he finally clarified. "I'm not forcing you to do that."

"Thank you." Michael dipped his head. His heart was thundering in his chest, and his hands were shaking. "Banana…"

"Michael, I'm sorry. I really am." She paused. "If…If you never want to see me again, I'd understand. I'll leave now, if you want."

"No…No, wait." He shook his head, taking a deep breath. "I want…to ask you some questions."

"I'll answer them as best I can," she promised.

He was silent for awhile, before murmuring, "Did it feel good?"

She grimaced, not answering right away. When she finally replied, her voice was slow and hesitant; very, very quiet. "You deserve total honesty," she murmured. "And I'll admit, it didn't feel bad. But it wasn't good either. It was done from sudden, irrational feeling. Desperation."

"Because you loved him?"

Banana shook her head. "I don't know if it was…to that extent. Maybe just jealousy. Fear of losing him."

Michael felt a tired exasperation wiggle around in his stomach. "Losing him to what?"

"To…To—I don't know," she said, although Michael had a feeling the image of Christie had popped into her mind. She buried her face in her hands. "Maybe I just wanted him to still care for me the way he'd done when you and I…" She stopped.

"When we got together," he breathed, before pausing briefly. "Do you think he liked you? And you enjoyed the attention?"

"I don't know about the first question, but maybe I did like the fact that he seemed envious. I don't know. It was all so irrational." She looked off to the side, before adding softly, "I guess I felt sorry. He seemed so angry that I was with you, and I wanted to make peace with him. So I started making dresses from his designs, which all seemed so sad. They were titled things like 'Heartbreak'—and it made me think that maybe he did like me.

"But then maybe I got too close and began…feeling other things that I couldn't fully understand. And just as I'd worked so, so hard to get close to him again, before I could even finalize everything, he was getting so far away…"

Christie again, Michael thought with a tired sigh.

"...And when I showed him the dresses, he seemed to be getting even farther… So far that I just…I wanted him to stay. And in a sudden rush of stupid irrationality, I guess I just…decided to…kiss him."

"Did he forgive you?"

This time the answer came promptly and clearly as she shook her head: "No. At least, not right away. He screamed at me to get out. Braker brought me back and he was nicer about it the second time, but that doesn't mean he's forgiven me."

Michael was taken aback. He'd expected Blaster of all people to be quite forgiving—although he knew the yellow Ruff had an infamous temper. "Why not?"

She hesitated. "I hurt him just as much as I hurt you. Too much."

He closed his eyes.

"Michael…" Ross' voice was thick with concern.

He faced Banana again. "Do you want me to forgive you?"

She looked down. "I…yes. But I'd understand if you didn't."

He wondered what she was going to say. "Banana…" He stood up and walked over, sitting down beside her on the bed, taking her hands in his. He lifted them so that he could rest his forehead on them. "I want you to do me a favour."

"Anything," she responded, her voice breaking.

"Forgive yourself first," he breathed. "Then maybe I can learn to forgive you."

"Michael…?"

Her audible surprise caused him to smile slightly despite his forming tears. "I still like you," he admitted. "But I'm really, really mad at you. You did hurt me, but seeing you in this pitiful state is almost just as bad. Almost just as maddening. I hate seeing you do this to yourself. I hate seeing you lie to yourself."

"What do you mean?" she asked, bewildered.

"I know you, Bansy. I dated you, after all—I love you." He looked up, smiling at her even as tears streamed down his face and his lips quivered. "But I don't think you feel the same way anymore."

Her grip on his tightened. "I—"

He let go. "I think you also have feelings for him now. Feelings you need to figure out."

Her eyes were tearing up now too, and even as she shook her head, no words came out.

"It's alright." Michael swallowed. "I'll…I'll see you later. Please."

She hesitated, before nodding and standing up to leave. As soon as the door closed behind her and Michael could no longer hear her footsteps, he broke down.

Ross rushed to his side, gathering his friend up in his arms while he cried.

"I thought I was over her. Over all of it. I thought I could move on," he mumbled, sniffling.

"Michael…" Ross' gaze softened. "I thought so too. You were getting so close to Cassandra, so I thought it'd be safe to have you two just talk things out… I-I didn't expect you to be so hurt after it."

"I still love Banana. The reason I've gotten so close to Cassandra is because she's not like us. Because she's free from these secrets and the drama. Because she's happy."

"A friend?"

He nodded. "She's a sweet girl. But I'm hiding so much from her. I realized it last night at the party. I'm lying so much to her, and I hardly know anything about her either. I-I have a feeling she's lying too. I guess I was just trying to fill the void Banana left with someone else—she was already so distant when I came back from consciousness, and Cassandra was so nice to me. But I can't…I can't just do keep doing that. Keep pretending things are okay."

Having finally admitted it, Michael felt that sense of melancholy he'd felt when he woke up return.

"I'm sorry, Michael. I'm sorry I made you confront it," Ross murmured.

He shook his head. "No—thank you. I'm glad you had me face it." He swallowed, sniffling. "I needed to face it."

---

"Vampires? Brick, what are you talking about?" Blossom asked incredulously, her pink eyes wide.

He took a deep breath. "Exactly that. Vincent's friends—Ross, Michael, and the gang—they're all vampires. Every single one of them."

"You're…telling me they…drink blood and stuff? They turn into bats? And they're weak to garlic and stakes to the heart?" She shook her head, her tone growing more disbelieving by the second. "They burn in the sun? Or do they sparkle?"

"Bloss, that was from a fictional book."

"Well, it's not any less believable than some of the other things I just listed."

"I'm serious," Brick said flatly, arching an eyebrow.

"Excuse me if it's a little hard to wrap my head around," she responded sharply.

He sighed. "I know it's a lot to take in, and I don't blame you if you don't believe me. But we're both superpowered beings made from nursery rhymes who fight crazy, out-of-this-world creatures on a daily basis. Hell, my parents are a talking, mutant ape and an actual demon. What's not to believe?"

"I've just…never ran into a vampire before." She shook her head. "I need a moment to process this."

"Of course." He reached out and took her hand. "But Blossom…"

She looked up at him to see red eyes brimming with love and affection, and she felt her icy disbelief melt a little.

"Would I have any reason to lie to you?"

Blossom shook her head.

"Do you trust me?"

She nodded, causing him to lean down and kiss her hand.

"And you know I love you." He smirked halfheartedly. "You and your sisters always did want my brothers and I to be more honest and less secretive with you guys, so that's what I'm doing now. I promise you what I am telling you is the truth."

"Oh, Brick…" She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, her shoulders loosening. "I know you wouldn't lie to me for no reason. I'm just a little shocked and in disbelief right now." She paused, resting her forehead against his. "Can you tell me about them then?"

"Sure," he responded. "What would you like to know?"

"Just…how many of the questions I listed were true?"

"All of it is true," he murmured back.

"Really? But it seems so scientifically illogical—"

"Bloss," he chuckled, "these are vampires we're talking about. But you're right—parts of it is quite illogical, which is probably why vampire species have since diverged into various types."

"Like…in evolution?"

Brick nodded. "So we have pureblood, purebred vampires. They're the stereotypical kind you see kids dress up as on Halloween, the kind featured in old black-and-white monster movies. They've got basically all the tropes covered: they're pale with long, pointy fangs and are basically immortal. They're almost inhuman-looking. They do burn in sunlight, and can be killed by stakes, and are weak to garlic. They can also transform into bats, don't have reflections, and have pointy elf-like ears."

"They sound ridiculous."

"They are," he agreed. "Which is why they're pretty rare."

"So what are the other species?" asked Blossom, tilting her head to the side.

Brick smiled. "Always inquisitive, aren't we? But yes, there are also just general vampires. It's cited that these vampires are essentially evolved from a half-blood vampire, and are now a species of their own.

"Traits include retractable fangs, and they're generally pale but can have different skin tones. They also have a less strong thirst for blood and even eat human food, drinking blood from volunteers or animals or donors. This means it's much easier for them to blend into human society, so they're much more common. They do sunburn very easily but it depends on the individual, and they can transform into bats. They can seem blurry in reflections, are less weak to garlic, and do live for a very long time."

"So general vampires can feed on volunteers?" Blossom's voice was intrigued.

Brick nodded. "There are humans who offer themselves for feeding. A vampire has different kinds of bites, and feeding bites don't transform people into vampires. They also often get blood from vampire-run blood banks."

She shook her head. "To think you could donate your blood to a blood bank, only for it to be given to vampires."

"Yeah, it's pretty wild." He paused. "Vampire genes can be diluted if they mate with a human—hence the idea of purebreds. So we do get 'lesser' vampires. They're so human they can feed on simply the colour red, just tan pretty badly in the sun, are generally pale, just have kind of pointy teeth, may be allergic to garlic, and live quite long—but only by human standards."

"Wait, you said vampires can also transform people, right?"

"They can, but it's not done a lot."

"Then what kind of vampire do humans that are bitten turn into?"

"That depends on who bit you, but generally you'd be much closer to a general vampire. If a pureblood does try to transform you, you may gain traits like theirs, but they're usually quite weakened because of the human body's limitations."

Blossom shook her head. "This is insane," she commented.

"I know it's a lot to take in," Brick agreed. "But I swear it's the truth."

"I believe you," she replied. "It's just a little hard to process." After a pause, she added, "So you think Vincent's friends are vampires?"

"Oh, I'm completely, totally, 100% sure. Haven't you noticed their weird obsession with 'tomato juice'?"

"So they're…general vampires?"

He nodded. "You're catching on quickly," he tried joking.

Blossom smiled, but wasn't in the mood to quite respond to it. "So about Vincent…" She hesitated. "What is he?"

"That's just it. I can't tell. He'd logically also be a vampire, but I don't want my own"—he paused, frowning—"dislike of him cloud my judgement."

"I trust you," Blossom said, placing a hand on his chest. "I shouldn't have doubted you so much the first time around, so I'm remedying that now. And maybe you should trust yourself too."

He glanced at her in surprise, before smiling. "Thanks, Bloss. I love you."

"I love you too. But Brick…" She pulled away, opening her mouth to ask something, but before she could, the voice of the Professor sounded.

"Banana, Blossom! It's time to go!"

Blossom hesitated.

"You should go," Brick said, kissing her softly. "Get some rest. We can talk later."

She gazed into his red eyes before nodding slowly, floating out the door to join the Professor.

"Oh, Blossom! There you are. I was starting to wonder where both of you had gone. Have you seen Banana? She doesn't seem to be around here anywhere…"

Blossom hardly heard him at first, completely spaced out as her mind raced through the new information it had been given. Vampires are real. They're real. And Vincent may be one.

Then she remembered the question she hadn't been able to ask Brick:

So are you a vampire as well?

---

I guess I should grow too.

That was the message she'd sent Sophia the other night, but Bubbles didn't even know where to begin. She knew she'd hurt Sidney, and she knew she didn't deserve a chance with him. But letting people go really was so, so hard.

Bubbles sighed, tilting her head back so that she was staring at the ceiling. Where do I go from here? She really wasn't sure how to answer that question.

As she wondered this, she heard the door creak open downstairs. She jolted to attention, her ears perking.

She knew Banana and Blossom had gone to the Ruffs' house with the Professor, so she wondered if they were all back. Floating out the door and taking a peek, she was surprised to instead see that it was only Banana.

Banana stumbled in, looking exhausted, immediately collapsing on the couch and burying her head in her hands. Bubbles could hear the sobs wracking her sister's body.

She rushed down to Banana's side. "Bansy, what's wrong?" she asked urgently.

Banana jumped, just noticing her presence despite her super-hearing—clearly very absorbed in her emotions. After she'd recovered, she mumbled, "I-I'm just exhausted, I guess."

Bubbles turned quiet for a little bit, before saying softly, "You can talk to me about it if you'd like. I feel like all of us don't really communicate about our troubles anymore. I wish we could all stop being so miserable and just be happy again."

She became silent as well, sniffling as she rubbed her teary eyes. "I-I guess you're right." Banana stared out into the living room before sighing. "I'm sorry. I…fucked up recently, and I kissed Blaster in front of Michael—when he was still my boyfriend too. So of course they're both really, really mad at me."

"What?" Bubbles' eyes widened in shock.

"I know, I'm horrible," Banana cried, shaking her head.

"No, no, no; don't think that! That's not what I meant. I was just surprised." She quickly wrapped her arms around her sister. "It was just a mistake. You didn't mean to do it. It doesn't automatically make you a horrible person."

"But it should." She buried her face in Bubbles' shoulder, hugging her back as she cried. "It might as well! Blaster and Michael are both really pissed off and understandably so. I want them to forgive me, but I don't know if I could ever forgive myself."

"Oh, Bansy…" Bubbles stroked her hair, her gaze softening. "I'm sure they'll be willing to give you a second chance. As for forgiving yourself…" She paused. "I-I don't really think I'm capable of saying how to do that because I'm struggling with it myself—but you have to at least give yourself a chance to heal. And the first step to that is acknowledging that it was just a mistake."

Banana pulled away, sniffling. "What do you mean?"

"You're not a terrible person just because you made a mistake—"

"I mean…what did you mean by you're still struggling with forgiving yourself as well?"

Bubbles looked down. "I was a really bad girlfriend to Sidney too. I used him to make myself feel better when Boomer hurt me. I used him as a rebound guy—and he had genuine feelings for me, but I screwed that up because I was so hung up over Boomer."

Despite herself, Banana's lips curled just a little. "That's not nearly as bad as what I did," she chuckled weakly.

"Bansy…"

"No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to undermine your problem." She drew her knees to her chest, looking down at the ground. "At least you've acknowledged it."

"It wasn't hard to when Sidney literally told me that to my face when we broke up." Bubbles smiled back, also weakly. "And the problem now is that I'm also hung up on him. But I know he doesn't want to get back together. He told me he was happy just being friends.

"I know I should let him go, but I'm finding it so hard to do. I still like him…at least, I think I do. Why else would I be thinking about him so much now, in comparison to Boomer?"

"Maybe it's because you feel guilty? You want to make it up to him, and you want to treat him better in a second chance."

"So you think…I don't actually like him in that way? That I'm just feeling guilty for what I did?"

"No…I mean, you're talking to the person who kissed a boy because she was afraid to lose him while still dating someone else." Banana smiled again, but its weakness was tinted with bitterness. "So I know more than anyone else that you can have some sort of confusing feelings for more than one person."

Bubbles hugged her again. "What you did wasn't right, but you didn't mean it maliciously. It'll be alright, Banana."

"I hope you're right, Bubbles. I just talked to both Michael and Blaster and neither of them were really happy with me—for obvious reasons. Michael was hurt and upset, while Blaster was hurt and angry."

"You at least did talk to them," Bubbles sighed back. "I'm too scared to talk to Sidney or Boomer again."

"Then how's about we make a deal?" suggested Banana. "You talk to either of them and I'll start trying to forgive myself for what I did. Michael and even Blaster did say they wouldn't be able to forgive me until I somehow come to terms with my horrible act."

Bubbles smiled a little, glad that her sister was finally willing to pursue self-forgiveness—even if it was in order to get the blue Puff to face her problems. "Promise?"

"Promise." Banana smiled back.

Before she could reply, the door opened and a pink streak zipper into the room.

Blossom skidded to a stop on the couch as the Professor followed close behind. "Why didn't you tell me you'd left?" she cried, grabbing Banana's hands. That's when she noticed the other girl's red eyes. "Oh no, Bansy…"

"I'm fine." Sniffling, she wiped her eyes and turned to smile at Bubbles. "I've done a lot of talking, and I feel a lot better now."

"I'm glad to hear that, dearie." The Professor bent down to kiss the top of her head before digging through his bag. "I'll be out for awhile longer, girls. I have to get some herbs for Blaster's injuries."

"Herbs?" Bubbles perked up. "Where are you going?"

"Mojo mentioned to me a famous Dr. Curan?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "It's hard to tell sometimes, what with his ranting and all, but I think I got the address down. His name was Sampson, I believe."

"Wait, I know a place!" Bubbles exclaimed without thinking. "I can go get them for you. You and Blossom and Banana should all get some rest."

"Where are you thinking of?" he asked.

"It's the Chamomile family. They're known for their natural remedies and abundance of herbs. They live in the forest right beside a meadow that's basically their garden."

"Alright, but your curfew…"

"I'll be okay. It's still early," Bubbles said quickly.

The Professor hesitated before nodding. "Okay. I think you could use the fresh air. Be careful out there, okay? Watch out for gangs."

"Of course, Professor." She floated over to give him a kiss on the cheek before waving goodbye at him as he left the room.

"Bubbles…what are you doing?" asked Blossom, her brow furrowed.

She glanced at Banana, who nodded encouragingly. "Just facing my problems," she murmured under her breath, before hugging her sisters goodbye and flying out the door.

Her body was on autopilot all the way to the Chamomile house, still familiar with the way there. But as soon as she could see the cottage-like appearance of the home in the distance, she felt her nerves begin to get the better of her. Slowing down, with the baby-blue streak disappearing behind her, Bubbles took a deep breath.

He's not going to be happy to see me. He's going to think I'm being desperate again. She pushed those thoughts from her mind. She'd promised Banana she'd face these issues, and she couldn't back down now. If she did it, it gave Banana more of a reason to try and forgive herself for what she'd done—and Bubbles had a feeling her sister needed that more than anything at the moment.

She landed in the meadow before the house, too nervous to keep going. Even as she tried to take deep breaths and calm down, her anxiety made her begin pacing up and down the lines of flowers and herbs, eyes glued to the grass beneath her floating feet.

He's going to react with disappointment if he sees me again. He'll think I just want to get back with him. But Bubbles, it'll only be a brief moment. Remember your promise to Banana. And what about Banana? Will this really guarantee anything? Yes, it will! Stop trying to chicken out. But what if it's not him who answers the door? What if it's his judgemental twin sister or that Sophia? You made yourself look like the jealous ex to her last night when you sent those texts. But this is part of it, isn't it?

You said you were going to start growing too, so that's what you're here to do.

Bubbles paused, taking a large, deep breath and closing her eyes. When she opened them again, she spotted the colourful flowers brushing against her skin.

That's right. I'm just here to grow, and nothing more.

She lifted one of the flowers, caressing its soft petals beneath her fingertips. As she glanced out into the meadow, she realized just how beautiful it really was. She hadn't quite seen it at first, considering the anxiety that had clouded her mind, but now she felt as if she were on the outside looking in. She felt grounded, like she could really see things around her more objectively.

Bubbles landed gently on the grass, the green blades soft under her shoes.

She swallowed, breathing in again to try and contain her nervousness, before she began making her way to the house, the flower still in her hands. She knocked on the door and waited, still feeling as if she were more aware of her surroundings. It was like she was seeing things in clarity for the first time in weeks.

She now noticed the floral arrangements hanging from the eaves of the house. Lavender and roses and peonies were all over wooden diamond frames. She gently slipped the flower in her hands into the pocket of her blue dress.

The soft-blue door creaked open slowly, and Sophia poked her head out. She was visibly startled. "Bubbles…?"

Bubbles smiled at her. "Is Sidney inside?" she asked gently.

Sophia scrutinized her briefly, before seemingly deciding that Bubbles wasn't here to cause trouble for Sidney. She nodded. "I'll go get him for you."

"Thank you," she breathed.

She could soon hear urgent whispers inside, but soon the door was opening and Sidney was staring back at her with his wide, pink-brown eyes.

Bubbles smiled slightly. "Hey. Can we talk?"

"Umm…yes, of course," he mumbled. "Would you like to come in?"

"It's alright. I won't keep you for long."

Sidney nodded awkwardly, stepping out. He winced at the late day sun, pausing briefly to glance nervously at the sky.

"We can stay in the shade of the house," Bubbles offered, floating to the side of the building.

He followed suit, visibly agitated. "Bubbles…"

"I know what you must be thinking." She glanced back at him. "You're probably wondering why you can't seem to get rid of me, huh?"

"No, I…" He trailed off, only able to shake his head.

"It's okay." She glanced at the meadow nearby. "I'm actually here to get some medicinal herbs for the Professor. But I figured I'd talk to you too. I know I've been saying this over and over again, but I really am sorry." She turned around. "But before you say anything, I'm not here to try and get back together with you. At least, not anymore. People have helped me realize that I was being selfish, and I really should let you go."

Sidney's surprise was written on his face, his eyes large.

"I really like you, Sidney. But it wasn't enough at the time. And I'm sorry I treated you so poorly." She offered him a smile. "But it really was one of those 'smile-because-it-happened' things, wasn't it?"

His surprise faded as it was replaced with realization, and he smiled. "It really was," he agreed softly. He turned around. "I'll go get those herbs for you—"

"Sidney, wait."

He paused.

"Before you do that, I just wanted to say one more thing—I'm glad it was with you. So thank you—for everything." She floated over to him and handed him the flower tucked away in her pocket. "And I look forward to our continued friendship."

He glanced down at the flower. It was a yellow rose, its petals soft and its aroma rich with a spicy sweetness. His fingers ran over the smooth, silky petals, its bright colour a light in the shade. "The unofficial flower of friendship…and new beginnings." He looked up at her and smiled.

She felt her heart flutter, but it was different this time, because it was a warm feeling of happiness and relief. He looked so bright and happy despite standing in the shadows, his freckles like stardust and his eyes like planets. The world was still so sharp and clear, so colourful and beautiful, Bubbles felt as if she'd finally done it.

She'd finally grown—at least a little.

Bubbles beamed, her heart bursting with joy. She flew forward and hugged him, and he squeezed her back.

Meanwhile, Sophia watched from the door, an ambiguous little smile on her face. She glanced up at the flowers hanging from the eaves, where she noticed pink roses hanging, while Bubbles and Sidney's laughter filled the air.

---

"Buttercup…slow down," Butch tried saying again, flying faster in an attempt to keep up.

She put on a burst of speed as well. "We finished our Egg Day meal, Butch. It's done. I don't feel like talking to you, and you can leave me alone now."

"Wait," he called, pulling up closer and grabbing her wrist. She jerked to a stop, and he rushed to say what he wanted to say: "BC, I'm sorry, okay? I really am. I didn't mean it back there."

She was turned away from him, her dark hair framing her face. She was quiet at first, before murmuring, "Do you mean this?"

"I do—"

"Well, it's not enough, alright?" She whirled around to glare at him. "I don't know what you're hiding, Butch, and I'm really starting to not care. If you don't want to talk to me ever again, then fine. You don't have to. I won't bother you if you won't bother me."

"You know that's not what I meant. Why else would I chase you to apologize?"

"Because you still have a little bit of a conscience?" she snapped back. "Just a little bit of guilt?"

"No, I-I realize what I said was cruel. I'm genuinely sorry, BC."

"I don't need this." She tried to pull her wrist away, shaking her head angrily. "I don't need you. I have Ross now."

For some reason, the words felt like a slap to the face. Butch almost let go, and Buttercup got ready to bolt. "Wait, please," he said quickly, his grip tightening again before she could fly off.

"Let go of me, Butch!"

"Buttercup!" he shouted, his voice rising so many decibels that birds squawked and flapped out of the trees. "Listen to me!"

She froze, her face still turned away.

"Listen to me," he repeated, his voice quieter now.

"What else can you say except sorry?" she muttered, her voice bitter and cold.

"I…don't know," he admitted, causing her to scoff, but he rushed on, adding, "but at the very least, please hear me out."

"...Fine." Buttercup turned around. "How do you want to say this?"

He stared back at her, searching her face as his mind searched for words. As he noticed how her eyes shone like dark jade with the fading light of the late day sun, he remembered how much they'd glittered like eggs of hard crystal back at the café.

"Well?"

"I'm a jerk," he blurted out. "And I'm sorry I was being such a dick back there. I don't mean to keep shutting you down like this, but there's just so much fucking shit going on and I can't…I can't put people in danger. I care about you, Buttercup, even if that's really hard to believe. So even if you're more than capable of taking care of yourself or you're curious about the problems I'm facing, I'm sorry. I can't tell you."

Buttercup's eyes widened at the sudden tirade of words, but she soon frowned once more as her eyes narrowed. "So you'll just keep doing this then? Keep pushing me back out? You don't think I'm worried about you as well? That I don't care about you either?"

"If you do, then please understand," he replied, his grip on her wrist tightening. "This is my will."

"Then it's your funeral."

He paused, looking down. The world beneath their feet seemed so far away, and he briefly asked himself what it would be like to crash and burn. "Maybe it is," he finally answered quietly.

"Butch…" Her gaze had softened. "Why can't you just tell me what's going on? I'm Buttercup Utonium. A Powerpuff Girl. You know how tough I am. And Ross has told me that he's a vampire. I know now. So why can't you let down your walls?"

He hesitated, before shaking his head. "It's not as simple as that," he whispered.

"But Ross trusts me enough—"

"He loves you."

The words made Buttercup freeze, and when she met Butch's eyes, they were shining.

"He trusts you enough because he loves you," he continued. "And I…"

Her eyes widened. Wait…this feels wrong… Don't do it…

"I care about you—"

Don't say you love me, don't say you love me, don't—

"—as a friend. But that's a different level of trust."

As soon as she heard "friend," her shoulders relaxed, but her feelings continued to stir in a confusing mixture of relief and disappointment. "That's ridiculous—"

"He trusts you more than I do," Butch stated. "And it's not like it's deniable. Because you know me: I don't love you, and you don't love me. You don't want me to love you."

Buttercup paused. "No…I suppose I don't."

"So that's the thing."

"And you're saying friends can't trust each other that much?"

Butch looked a little pained. "I don't think we'll ever quite be at that level," he responded quietly. "We were never best friends, BC."

Despite everything—despite the fact that she knew the words were true, despite the fact that he had a point—the words still stung. "But why does it have to be this way?" she asked, her voice low.

He shook his head. "You said it yourself. You don't need me. You have Ross."

It was like tearing a wound open even further. Why are you making me the guilty one? "Butch, dammit, don't—"

He let go of her wrist. "That's all I wanted to say. So if you want to avoid me the way you said you would, then I get it. I just…wanted to say this and"—he paused—"sorry again, BC." He clearly hesitated, wanting to say more, but then he quickly turned away and flew off.

Buttercup stared after him, watching his forest-green streak fade away from the sky. Sorry is all you ever say.

---

"Who is the she in your song?" Bunny was asking him, her voice soft.

Bandit froze, his heart leaping into his throat as the colour drained from his face. Despite his terror, a small part of him whispered, This is your chance! Tell her how you feel! Then maybe this Humpty Dumpty eggshell heart of yours can be fixed. But even with this thought, and the memory of Braker telling him to confess, Bandit hesitated.

She still loves Darkai. And I said I wouldn't take her away from him. Because I don't deserve her. Because—

"Bandit?" she pressed. "Bandit, are you still there? If you don't want to answer, you don't have to."

"W-Wait," he said quickly. He glanced down at his guitar, playing around with one of its strings with his lavender guitar pick. It let out a metallic twang. "I-I want to try and tell you," he finally managed to mumble, "but not like this. Can you…meet me?"

She was silent at first, and Bandit felt his face turn bright red.

"I-I mean, I know you were just here, but I still…I want to…" He cut himself off, mortified.

"Okay," she finally murmured. "Where would you like to meet?"

His mind blanched, until he remembered a place that he felt at home. "At the school's animal sanctuary," he requested. "Is that alright with you?"

"Of course. I'll see you there, Bandit."

She hung up, and Bandit melted into his bed, wishing the blankets could swallow him up like a black hole. Why did I go and do that? he wondered, wanting to scream into a void.

Pulling himself up, he strummed the guitar with his thumb extra hard so that the metallic twang rang out like a hollow cry for help, and he wondered how hard he'd have to strum before his fingers started to bleed.

Sighing softly, he placed the pick inside his pocket as if it could serve as a sort of good luck charm and ascended into the air. As he flew downstairs, he noticed Blaster and Braker sitting in the living room, enjoying cups of hot chocolate as they spoke in hushed voices.

"Bandit! Wanna join us?" Braker called.

"No time," he responded, trying to ignore the butterflies flapping frantically in his stomach. He zipped out the door.

"Where are you going?" Braker shouted after him.

Bandit ignored him. You got me into this mess, and I'm not letting you make this any worse than it already is!

He rehearsed his thoughts a million times as he raced to the animal sanctuary, but he couldn't quite seem to get the words right. Every time he got even close to the important words, he would falter and stumble and his face would grow red. His heart seemed to beat even faster than he could fly, and when he finally arrived at the school, he felt sick and dizzy.

Bandit sat down on the grass, trying to take deep breaths to calm down. As he did this, a few curious critters poked their noses out of their dens and approached him. He opened his eyes and smiled, tittering to them in their language as he petted them.

Doing this helped him calm down, and he soon felt his heartbeat return to a more slow and steady rhythm.

But then her voice rang out, so soft and gentle: "Hey, Bandit," and his heartbeat immediately spiked back up.

Jumping, he whirled around, which startled away a few rabbits in his lap. As they hopped away, he let out a shaky breath. "Hey, Bunny."

She picked up a little gray rabbit that had been trying to flee, murmuring comforting words in its ears. As the animal relaxed, she sat down beside him and asked, "What did you want to say to me?"

Even though he'd rehearsed in his head so many times, the words still seemed to leave him now that the moment was happening in real life. "Bunny, I…I don't actually know how to say this…"

Bandit put his hands on the grass in an attempt to ground himself, and he felt a little nudge. He glanced down to see a small brown bunny poking at his hand, so he began stroking it. It calmed him down somewhat, giving him the courage to continue: "I watched us as we changed, and we've grown so much over these past few years. Everything's different now, even though so much of it is still the same.

"And I'm…scared. I'm scared of ruining it all, especially if I…" He stared at her, not able to say the words that he wanted to come next: if I let myself love you. "Sometimes we're fine as we are, but we want more. I guess that's just human nature."

She gazed back at him, her gentle lavender gaze unreadable.

"I don't want you to go."

"I'm not going anywhere," she reassured him.

But you are. You're going to Darkai. He smiled sadly. "We've—changed so much, haven't we?" he managed to muster. "All these years of being friends…"

"Yes." She hugged the rabbit closer to her.

"I've watched our bodies turn to ghosts." He smiled weakly. "I watched the feelings in my headspace get rearranged." He pulled in closer, the anticipation inside him building to an almost unbearable degree as his trembling lips grew close to her own.

Her eyes widened. "Bandit, no," she whispered.

He froze, pulling away quickly.

She lowered her head, her shoulders shaking as she began to cry.

He watched her, and he closed his eyes as tears began streaming down his face as well. "I'm sorry," he managed to say.

She shook her head. "I don't…I don't understand you, Bandit," she tried to say. "You keep pushing me away, and then pulling me back in… And I can't…I can't keep doing this. You know who my heart belongs to now."

He kept his head bowed, his gaze shadowed. Finally, he said, "It was cruel of me to do this to you."

"Yes, it was," she said, startlingly fierce in her tone for such a shy, quiet girl. "I used to have feelings for you, but that was back then. And you're right—we've changed so much since then… I'm no longer that girl, and you're no longer that boy.

"Don't rekindle those old flames, please. It's all in the past now. You pushed me away then, and while I've tried to grow closer to you, I can't keep playing this game of tug-of-war with you anymore."

Bandit fell silent.

"Just tell me how you really feel about me and let us get some form of closure," she continued. "Just tell me honestly, and I'll answer you honestly. Was the girl in your song meant to be me?"

I already know your answer. "I'm sorry. I'll…I'll leave you alone," he whispered.

"Bandit, wait!" she cried, jumping upwards. The gray rabbit in her arms started, jumping and running away.

He stared back at her, tears streaming down his face. He shook his head, whispering something before he flew off.

Bunny stared after him, wondering if she'd read his lips correctly: It was you in the song.

We were such good friends. Does this have to be the way it ends? She hugged herself, remembering when Bandit had once kissed her, leaving her stranded and confused. And then her mind flashed back to Darkai, who currently seemed so far away from her, his walls going back up as his doors closed, casting long shadows of loneliness on her face. But I guess sometimes…those hardest to love really do need it most.

---

While his father had said he would talk to DJ Jr about his family, he refused to speak at the party. Now that it was the day after, with Danes' announcement done and past, they were back home. DJ Sr closed the door quietly behind him. Slicer hadn't returned yet, so it was just the two of them.

The house was dark and gloomy—almost ominous.

DJ Jr furrowed his brow, once more wary and suspicious. "What do you want to talk about?"

His father was visibly hesitant, with the quiet stretching out between them.

"Well?" he demanded, crossing his arms.

The older man looked pained, and he sighed as he shook his head. "I…wasn't sure when I was going to tell you this," he began. "I knew it would come someday, but this just feels so soon…"

DJ waited, his stomach sinking. "What do you mean?"

"DJ, haven't you noticed…? That you're a little different from the other vampires."

"No," he said slowly, "I haven't."

"I guess these are just small, little details. But you might have noticed during feeding time that you may eat less than your friends."

DJ remembered all the times he drank less blood and finished much faster than Michael, Ross, and Darkai—but he often seemed to be done even before Sidney. As his stomach continued sinking, twisting and turning uncomfortably, he tried to ignore the thoughts racing through his mind.

"You don't have as strong a thirst for blood, and sometimes you may crave solid food and meat more," his father pointed out.

"I thought my appetite is pretty normal," he protested stubbornly, still refusing to acknowledge the possibilities whispering in the back of his brain. "Aren't you and Uncle Slicer like that too?"

He shook his head. "We try to be, for…for your sake, but…" He cut himself off.

"But I lashed out at Bliss," he said softly. "When I confronted Sampson, Harry, and that woman in the alleyway, and Bliss got a scraped knee, I went wild with hunger. I nearly hurt her."

"Oh, DJ…" His father reached out and gave him a hug, but he didn't return it. "It is always terrible when our hunger causes us to act wild."

"So what are you talking about? What do you mean my appetite is weaker?"

He didn't reply right away, but when he did, his tone was quiet and almost melancholy: "You only lashed out after you saw the blood, didn't you?"

DJ hesitated. "Yes, but what does that prove?"

"A lot of vampires get hungry just from the smell of blood, especially from a human we know and love. We have to constantly fight our thirst in order not to hurt them. But this is especially hard when it's a human, and someone that you care for so much you just want to devour them."

"So what does that mean? That I just got weaker vampire genes from my parents?"

"No, DJ… You know that wouldn't be all."

He swallowed. "So if I am in fact my mother's child, then…you're saying…she was a human?" His voice rose a few octaves. "Are you saying—that I'm half-human?"

His father paused, looking even more pained—and even guilty—now. "No," he finally sighed. "I'm not saying that either."

"What else is there!?" he demanded.

"DJ, your mother… She certainly wasn't a vampire, but…" He trailed off. "Well, your fangs are less narrow and more animal-like, aren't they?"

"So what?" He tried to fight down his rising panic. "And what does that prove? That somehow I'm—"

"Haven't you noticed when you get most hungry and cranky, almost in accordance with the lunar cycle?"

"—more wolf than anything else?" he finished, his voice teetering until it cracked and broke off at the end. He collapsed in a chair, shaking his head violently. "No, no, no, no, no. That can't be true. My mother couldn't have been…"

His father walked over to him, reaching out.

"Don't touch me!" he snapped, slapping his hand away.

DJ Sr looked down at him apologetically. "I'm sorry, il figlio. But it's true." He hesitated. "You've always wanted to know where your mother was from, haven't you? Which family she hailed from?"

He paused, before saying quietly, "Yes."

His father was quiet for awhile, but then he murmured, "She was from the van Hissmant family."

His eyes widened, his mind flashing to the only van Hissmant member he knew of. Fillip van Hissmant. Sampson's friend. The one who'd recently been killed in battle.

As if reading his thoughts, DJ Sr said quietly, "He was her brother."

He leaped upwards. "No!" he shouted. "That's impossible! I can't be… He can't fucking be my uncle! He's the enemy!"

"She has a sister as well—"

"Don't…Don't keep talking about this bullshit," DJ cried. "I don't want to know who they are. How many of them we must've fought and killed. What kind of animals they are." He shook his head wildly. "I was always taught that they were nothing more than animals after Damon betrayed us and left, restarting the war. Why would you tell us that and yet marry one of them? Why make me hate the people of my own mother? And if they're all so horrible, why did you marry her?" His tone grew more and more accusing with each word.

"We aren't always at war," DJ Sr replied, facing his son. "When the second war ended, we wanted to cement the treaty."

"No…" His eyes widened, before he slammed his hands onto his ears. "NO! You told me you loved her! You told me you two met in Italy, and that it was love at first sight!" Tears started streaming down his face. "You said it was true love!"

"DJ, I…I'm so sorry."

"You never said you two got married because of a fucking treaty!" he screamed.

His father was silent.

"You never loved her, did you?" he cried accusingly.

DJ Sr hesitated. "We had a relationship of…mutual understanding. A friendship."

"How can I trust anything you say now?" DJ glared at the older man through his tears. "Why did I even have to be born? It killed her! And you're happy about it, aren't you? That you don't have to live or deal with her anymore?"

DJ Sr winced. "No, when she died, I…" He trailed off, looking like he was wounded and at a loss for words.

"No wonder you never told me anything about her! You never even loved her. And no fucking wonder you're never here!" he spat, now on a rampage. "You hate looking at me, don't you? Because I'm a disgusting half-breed? Because I came from that woman? An animal?"

His father's eyes widened. "You know that's not true. When my father opened his club, I—"

"Oh, don't bring that fucking club up! You what, experimented? You decided to let your wild side out and try out dating these animals just for fun? Don't even fucking remind me about Ruby and all the others!"

DJ Sr snapped his jaws shut, clearly hurt. "Il figlio…"

"Don't call me that," he cried, the tears still running down his face. "A father wouldn't abandon his son the way you've done. A father would never lie to his son the way you've done. Did you ever even love me?"

"Of course I love you—"

"Oh, the way you loved Mom?" he snapped back sarcastically. "True love at first sight, huh?"

DJ Sr grimaced, falling silent. There were tears in his eyes now too, and he shook his head. "Let's not do this…"

"It's too late. You've ruined everything. Everything I thought I knew about you, about my mother…all gone out the window. No wonder you gave me the ring. You never treasured it or my mom in the first place.

"Everything I knew is a lie. How can I keep loving someone from a side I've been taught to hate?" He spun around to leave, only pausing at the door to ask quietly, "I remind you of her, don't I? That's why you're never home. Do I disgust you? Or is it your guilt?"

"I love you with all my heart, DJ, really I do! I just have a lot to attend to—"

"It's always like this with you. Always lies, always excuses." He turned back to glare at his father, eyes wet and hateful. "I don't want to talk to you again, Dad. You can board a plane for Italy tonight and get the fuck out of here for all I fucking care. I don't want you or need you—the way you never wanted or needed my mom."

He slammed the door shut behind him, leaving his father to stand there with tearful eyes. DJ Sr stared at the door for awhile, then stumbling backwards into the wall. He then buried his face in his hands and began to cry.

DJ Jr, meanwhile, stayed on the other side of the door for a little while, trying to recover from his shock and pain. He leaned against the door for support, before collapsing against it as his tears continued to fall.

I thought he loved you.

He pulled out the ring, staring down at its rose design. Oh Mama, did you really love roses? And in all those photos, were you really ever happy? When you pulled Papa out from the shadows into the streets for a dance, was it all just for show?

Why did you have to have me? Why did you have to do this to me and my heart?

DJ got up and left before his father could catch him, transforming into a bat and flying as fast as he could. He wanted to scream and cry and beat something up—he wanted the world to feel his hurt.

You know, Mama, what's even worse is that if you were still alive, I would probably have known the truth because you two wouldn't have stayed together. But why did I ever believe my father, the player, was ever capable of true love and commitment? Why did I ever believe in true love at all?

I guess he never really ever loved you…and I guess that means he never really loved me.

---

*(A/N: Reference to chapter 70!)

**(A/N: Reference to chapter 72!)

ME: So that's that. I know it's a sad tone for Christmas, since I made basically all of them cry this chapter—

BRICK: Except Bubbles, surprisingly enough.

BUBBLES: Hey!

ME: —Except Bubbles—yeah, hey!

BRICK: It's just that you always seem to write her as depressed.

ME: It's for the drama, the plot, the intrigue, okay?

BRICK: Are you saying she's boring otherwise?

BUBBLES: Hey!

ME: That's not what I'm saying at all!

BRICK: *smirks* Just teasing. Merry Christmas, Kuku.

ME: *gasps* Brick? Being nice? To me?

BRICK: Don't make me regret it.

ME: Okay, okay. But yes, happy holidays, folks! Have a great winter break, and be sure to stay safe and celebrate it with loved ones! Hopefully you'll hear from me soon.

BLOSSOM: Don't forget to leave a review!