Nothing compares to you...

For Larten, the best old grumpy vampire ever.

By Inyx, who is trying to get over her hate of songfics by writing one.

Notes: song called 'Nothing compares to you' by Sinead O'Conner. Changes have been made to it. Huge spoilers book 9.

-

It's been seven hours and fifteen days
Since your love got taken away

Darren sighed and stared out in front of him. He sat in front of the abandoned warehouse they were sleeping in. Still the same city. One of Mr Crepsley's capes was in his lap, part of it pressed against his nose as he tried to inhale more of the mans scent. He closed his eyes and savored it, pretending the man was there, next to him, smiling at him, holding him.


I go out every night and sleep all day

He rubbed his eyes, trying not to notice how heavy they were. Every night he would go out to the local bar, dancing, drinking, trying to forget. When morning came he usually found his way back to the warehouse, curling up with Larten's cape pressed against his nose. When he was too drunk to remember which way to go, he would stumble into an alley and pass out between the garbage bags. That happened more frequently now.

Since your love got taken away

Every night, after several warnings from the bartender that he had consumed too much alcohol and if he should call someone to pick him up (like an ambulance), the Prince would feel the alcohol kicking in. The pain would numb, and he tried to think about things he liked. He liked alcohol. And dancing was fun. He liked bunnies, with those sweet fluffy tails. Blood was nice, too. Lartens blood, flowing from his body... No, not those thoughts.

Since you've been gone I can do whatever I want

I can see whomever I choose
I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant

He had tried listing all the things he could do without the man with him. He would never have to worry about shelter from the sun, or when to travel. He would never have to hear that he was doing everything wrong. He would never get whacked against his head again. He would never have to obey orders from anyone again.


But nothing
I said nothing can take away these blues

He would never be held close to the man again. Never hear his advise what to do when he was in doubt. Never tease and make jokes with him. Never see him smile, or even frown ever again. He would never be able to press his face against the man's chest again when it was cold, never feel his warmth again. He would miss Mr Creplsey's usual mornings rituals; the scratch on his scar, hand through hair. All that was gone now.

Cause nothing compares
Nothing compares to you

It's been so lonely without you here
Like a bird without a song

Every time he woke up and rolled over in half-sleep to search out the man's body heat he felt the hole in his heart widen further. The feeling he was missing something, something he knew could never return, was with him every moment. The feeling of emptiness. Loneliness.


Nothing can stop these lonely tears from falling

Darren gave another shaky sigh and pressed the red cloth against his face. Not too much, the scent will vanish! He pulled back, watching two tears dropping onto the cloth. He still hadn't truly cried, only a drop of water sliding out of his eyes every now and then. He couldn't cry. Crying made it real. If he cried, he would admit the man wasn't coming back. He couldn't admit that.

Tell me sir, where did I go wrong?

He shouldn't have let Mr Crepsley fight. He should have helped the man. He should have made sure that Mr Crepsley would be fine. He shouldn't of let him give up. If he had just agreed and fought with them, this wouldn't have happened. If he had asked -begged the man not to let go, he might have still been alive. It was all his fault. He could have prevented this. He should have prevented this. Why didn't he? He was a failure. It was his fault.

I could put my arms around every boy I see

Sometimes, he would curl up against Vancha, or Harkat. They would let him wail and shout till he couldn't use his voice anymore. When he was sad, they would comfort him, hold him close. When he was angry they would let him beat against their chests, cursing at everything and anything. They let him vent whatever pain he could. Vancha would tell him myths and stories about great vampires to keep my mind off of anything else. Harkat would squeeze his hand in a silent gesture of comfort.

But they'd only remind me of you

Nothing helped. The vampires in the stories didn't compare to the great things Mr Crepsley did. Harkat's hand on his shoulder would remind him of the silent gestures Mr Crepsley would give him when he was sad, or scared. The arms around him weren't the right ones. The things they whispered weren't the same as his voice. They would never be his Mr Crepsley.


I went to Harkat and guess what he told me
Guess what he told me
He said: you better move on

Look at what's happening to you

One time, when he had stumbled back into the warehouse Harkat had waited up for him. They usually didn't wait for him, didn't talk about where he went, what he did. He had slurred something unintelligent at him before collapsing in the corner, with Mr Crepsley's cape. Harkat wouldn't let him. He had pulled him up, gave him a glass of water. The Little Person had told him he couldn't go on like this, he was hurting himself. Darren vaguely remembered himself shouting that he didn't care and that he wanted to be left alone. Harkat had wanted to press on, but Vancha had called for him not to.

But he's a fool

Harkat was wrong. He wasn't hurting himself. He was making the hurt go away. He couldn't move on, couldn't. Everything was wrong and this made things seem more right. Why couldn't they understand that? He knew Vancha and Harkat were going to make him let go soon, move on. He knew he had to. And eventually, he might do it. For Mr Crepsley. He would get better for his Mr Crepsley. Just... not now.


Cause nothing compares
Nothing compares to you...