in the dark of night
Written for March Madness 2022, Prompt: Knuckles. Follows another of my FN fics, 'in the light of day' and like that, no idea if this is 1985 Fright Night or 2011 Fright Night or some weird co-mingled version of the two. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!
Charley is going to be late.
Already is late, he supposes, revving his bike as he rides up the street to Jerry's house in a rush. He'd headed off campus in the short break between his morning classes, needed to grab the textbook he'd accidentally left behind there.
But, as he parks in the driveway and approaches the front porch, he notices the noises. Immediately, he's on edge. There shouldn't be any noises. Jerry should be sound asleep for the day, tucked safely away in the basement where the daylight cannot reach him. Charley is even more alarmed to find that the front door is wide open, and the front windows are shattered.
He rushes inside, sure that something must be terribly wrong here.
And, indeed, it is.
Jerry is there, in the shadows as much as he can be, fighting off some stranger armed with all the typical vampire hunting accessories. Jerry is roaring, his features contorted in the monstrous way they tend to when he's really using his powers, at his most dangerous. The fangs and the claws and the glowing red eyes.
But, the hunter is not dissuaded, is too busy shouting about how Jerry killed his brother, how he'll get his revenge. The man starts mumbling some prayer in Latin and Charley watches as the man drives a stake into Jerry's shoulder, not quite on target.
Charley realizes that this man is likely related to the vampire hunter who'd tried to use him as bait to lure Jerry out. That man had nearly killed him, and Jerry had come to his rescue. This time, it looks likes Charley is the one in a position to help. He is unaffected by the weapons this hunter bears. He does not give a shit about the cross the man wears about his neck or the pretty words spewing form his lips. No, the only thing affecting him right now is the sight of his vampire lover being harmed. And he can certainly do something about that. He grabs up the closest thing at hand (ironically it is his missing textbook, he's glad to see the heavy volume on organic chemistry is useful for something, at least, because it's certainly not doing his GPA any favors) and promptly swings it at the stranger's head. It hits with enough force to break the man's neck with an audible crack and he drops instantly.
But so does Jerry.
"Shit," he says, scrambling into the shadows, pulling Jerry's limp form along with him – an arm is already startling to sizzle where it's landed in the scattered sunbeams. He gets him into another room where the blacked-out windows are intact, seals them in. "Jerry? Jerry, come on," he says, trying to rouse the injured vampire in his arms. "Are you okay? What can I do?"
His vampire hisses, and a clawed hand curls around Charley's forearm, holding tight. "Get… it… out…" he manages, grappling at the stake still lodged in his shoulder.
"Okay, okay," Charley says. He takes a deep breath and curls his free hand around the wooden stake and pulls just a little, trying not to cause any undue harm. It wiggles a bit but does not come loose. Jerry's got a white-knuckled grip on his arm, the points of his nails digging into the flesh so deeply that they are very nearly drawing blood.
"Please…" Jerry chokes out, face still warped with pain. "It's… tipped in holy water."
Charley pulls harder this time, desperate to get that poison out of Jerry's body before it can do any more damage. Luckily, the stake slowly slides free with a wet squelch, coated in the gross black ichor that is Jerry's blood. The vampire goes slack against him, groaning in relief as his powers start to struggle to heal the wound as Charley cards his fingers through Jerry's hair. His grip on Charley's arm finally drops away but Charley's sure he's not done helping just yet.
"Here," he says, offering up his wrist without the slightest bit of hesitation. It is not the first time Jerry has fed from him, nor will it be the last, he's sure. "You need it."
He can tell Jerry wants to argue, but he does not have the strength or the willpower to do so right now. He sinks his fangs into Charley's flesh and drinks his fill. By the time he finally breaks away, Charley is dizzy and drained. He wants to sleep, curl up around Jerry in their room, but he can't, not yet. Not yet.
"The body…" he says, knowing there is still more to do. Surely someone will notify the police about the smashed windows, and surely the police will notice the corpse, and surely there will be questions. And given the sunlight, Jerry cannot deal with the body himself. "I have to…"
Jerry silences him with a sound kiss before he moves to heal the bite wound on his wrist. "Don't worry about the body. I'll handle that. Rest now," Jerry tells him, holding him close. His face is normal once more, and the hole in his shoulder mostly healed over already, the skin fresh and pink. He'll be fine. "You've done more than enough."
And, well, Charley can't find the energy to disagree.
When he wakes again, it is full dark – definitely missed that class – and he is comfortably settled beneath the warm blankets on their bed in their room.
Jerry promptly appears in the doorway, no doubt alerted by the change in his breathing upon waking. He comes bearing gifts – a glass of orange juice and a small plate of eggs on toast, which he sets on the bedside table. "This should help," he says, settling at Charley's side and coaxing him upright. "I took too much from you."
"You took what you needed," Charley assures him, leaning into the comforting hands that settle on his shoulders. "Did you… the body?"
"Handled," Jerry answers. He does not provide further clarification and Charley does not ask for it. "I'm sorry you had to do that."
But Charley isn't. As much as he'd first been drawn into Jerry's life because of the things he'd witnessed him doing from the imagined safety of his own bedroom window, and as much as he's not quite willing to let Jerry turn him so he'll have to do those things himself, he isn't sorry for protecting the man he loves from some deranged vampire hunter. He pulls Jerry into a sound kiss. "I'd do it again," he says, resolutely, "For you." If he can help it, no one else will ever get the chance to harm his vampire ever again.