I'm on that vampire shift
Late night running, red lights in the taxi cab
I'm on that four a.m. kick
Closing down the bars on a late night drag
Is it wrong to be out here wasting away
On a vampire shift like I'm hiding from daylight
Vampire Shift – All Time Low
There was a sharp ringing in my ears, and my entire world seeming to be tilting towards the floor, threatening to tip me over in my sorrow.
Vaguely, past the horrible, piercing ring, I could hear John screaming, a loud, desperate sound that would have given a banshee a run for her money. I didn't have a heartbeat, the organ dead inside my chest, but in that moment I could swear I could hear my pulse beating in my ears...or maybe that was just John's.
The vampire in the room gave a wicked chuckle, then he was gone. I made no move to follow him, rage yet to appear beyond the haze of grief.
At some point John had tripped to his son's side, clutching his body in his arms, tears pouring from his blue eyes. The ringing in my ears slowly faded, replaced by John's pained breaths, like he just couldn't get enough air into his lungs, and what air he did manage to inhale, hurt like a bitch.
I knew I had to be calm. I had to be the rational one. I had to be the one to break the news to this anguished father; the news of what his son was now on his way to becoming. Because he wasn't dead – at least not in the way John thought he was. I couldn't imagine, however, that this would be as much of a comfort to him as it was to me.
"John," I said in a voice hollow to even my own ears, and he looked up at me blearily, making me realise I had yet to move, seemingly rooted to my spot in the doorway. "John, he's not dead," I said, attempting to sound confident in my own words, then denying it to myself when my voice wavered.
"He is," cried John brokenly, clutching his son's unmoving form closer to his body. "He's dead. Stiles is dead," was all he could say, over and over, wailing and distraught as he held Stiles' corpse to his chest, rocking on the spot.
Finally I forced my legs to cooperate, and I moved forwards, putting one foot in front of the other until I'd reached them. Bending down, muscles coiled against the onslaught of emotion I was making an attempt to fight back, I grabbed ahold of John's arms, forcing him to let go of Stiles' body, wrenching him to his feet and away from his son. He struggled against me, but I remained firm, pulling him back and pressing my hands against his shuddering shoulders.
"John," I said sharply, my voice commanding his attention. His eyes were whirring around the room, struggling to focus on any one thing. I pressed my hands harder against him, trying to ground him to the present. "He had my blood in his system, John," I told him factually, fighting to keep the wince from my face.
"What?" cried John, still hysterical with grief. His gaze finally locked on me, filled with a hurtful disgust. "Whatis that supposed to mean?" he demanded hotly, eyes glassy with agonised emotion, like someone had shattered his very soul itself. I understood the feeling.
"It means he isn't dead," I said, hope clinging to my voice even as it wavered. "It means he's transitioning."
"Transitioning?" he echoed me, rage finally beginning to gather in his eyes. "Into what?"
I hesitated, unsure how my next words were going to be taken. "Into a vampire," I told him with all the confidence I could. An array of expressions played out across his face. I couldn't have named them all if I'd tried. Finally it settled on one very clear expression, one I would have been able to name in my sleep.
Fury.
"A vampire?!" he finally exploded into a burst of emotion. I was surprised when I physically had to keep myself from flinching away at the unexpected volume. "You did this to him!" he bellowed, violently shoving me backwards. I let him move me, taking a few calm steps backwards and waiting until his storm of grief had passed. I would let him tire himself out by yelling at me; it wasn't as though I didn't deserve it. He was right, I did this to him. I did this to Stiles.
John continued to have what could only be described as a panic attack. He held his head like his brain was trying to leak through his ears, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight, wet tears trickling down his stubbly cheeks as he struggled to inhale and exhale normally. My own eyes stung, but I bit down into the flesh of my cheek until I tasted my own unappetising blood, the swell of emotion inside of me causing a physical pain.
I wanted to lash out, but I knew Stiles wouldn't want me to. I knew I had to be mature, I had to take charge and do the right thing. I was the resident expert on vampires, and I wasn't about to let anybody else take the reins on this one. Stiles was my responsibility – and I wouldn't have had it any other way.
"We need to get Stiles somewhere safe," I said, relieved my voice came out steady and even, lacking the tremor I felt in my bones.
"What happens next?" John asked, having finally pulled himself together, although his heart still pounded from within his chest. His cheeks were damp, eyes still a raw, bloodshot red, but he was trying his hardest to be okay.
"Help me get him to his room," I said rather than answer. I could have gotten him there without help, but John needed to be as involved as I could make him, for his own sake. "He needs to be somewhere secure for when he wakes."
"Why?" he asked as he bent down. I stepped forwards, prepared to help, but he ignored me, hefting his dead son into his arms without looking in my direction, holding him tightly to his chest and slowly moving towards the stairs.
"The sensory input will be too much," I told him. "Put him on his bed, I'll be right there."
John didn't reply, moving past me and slowly making his way up the staircase, his footsteps heavy, echoing throughout the otherwise silent house. Once I heard him on the next floor, I took a moment to squeeze my eyes shut, shoving stubbornly at the influx of emotions assaulting me, locking them away to be dealt with later.
Coming back to myself, I wrenched open the fridge, digging in the bottom drawer for one of the blood bags from my stash. Standing back up straight, I stared down at the little bag grimly, trying to imagine Stiles craving it in the same way I did, trying to imagine the need for it consuming him, as it did to all vampires, at one point or another.
Stiles' room was silent when I entered, the kid himself laying limp on his bed. If not for the chalky pallor to his skin and the lack of heartbeat, I might have been able to believe he were simply dozing. John had dragged the desk chair to the bed, and his face was still damp as he stared brokenly at his son. I was silent as I moved, so he didn't know I was there until I stepped into his line of sight, and he flinched, making me wince in regret.
"Why do you need that?" he asked before I could say anything, a note of unmistakeable contempt in his hardened voice. He was frowning at the blood bag in my hand, and I placed it gently on Stiles' desk, before taking a seat on the end of his bed, reaching out to press a hand against his lifeless leg, covered by those scuffed up jeans he so loved.
"Stiles will need it when he wakes," I told him, dragging my thumb over my love's ankle in a soothing motion, despite knowing he wouldn't be able to feel it.
"How does this work, exactly?" John asked, the disgust in his voice never wavering. He hated this. He hated me.
"Eventually, Stiles will wake," I began, my own voice soft and patient. I couldn't bring myself to look up at him, keeping my eyes fixed on Stiles' unmoving form. I hated not seeing his chest rising and falling with breath. I missed the familiar sound of his heartbeat more than anything. "When he does, he'll have roughly twenty-four hours to complete the transformation."
"Complete the transformation?" John parroted me darkly. "How? What happens if he doesn't?"
"He'll need to ingest human blood to complete the change," I said, clutching Stiles' ankle tighter. "If he doesn't, he'll die."
"Isn't he already dead?" John sounded pained and bitter.
"Depends on your definition of the word, I suppose," I replied simply, a rueful smirk on my lips that didn't linger long, disappearing into the abyss.
"Are you saying he has a choice?" he questioned after a few long, tense minutes where the only sound filling the room was the suffered thrumming of John's unsteady heart and the soft ticking of the man's antique wristwatch. "When he wakes up, he doesn't have to become a vampire?"
"No, he doesn't have to," I allowed weakly, closing my eyes against the pain rearing its head in my gut. "But his only other option is death," I said, the very thought of it like vervain to my veins. Unbearable sorrow. The thought of my continued existence without him was too much to handle, almost impossible to imagine.
"Is there a cure, for...for vampirism?" John stammered over his words, staring down at his still son despondently.
I lifted my shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. "There have been myths, rumours of cures floating around my circles. But I doubt any of them are real."
"Will you look?"
I turned to blink at John, confusion and startled by the request.
"Will you look for the cure?" he pressed when I didn't answer. There was a haunted desperation in his eyes, one echoing the pain of past loss.
I almost felt guilty for my reply. "I know men who have wasted hundreds of years consumed by obsessions such as this," I answered him gently, meeting his eye in my sincerity. "I intend to live my life with Stiles, I intend to make him my family. I won't let the barest possibility of something as unlikely as a cure come in the way of our happiness."
The look in John's eyes became defiant. "What if it's what Stiles wants?" he demanded.
There was so much he didn't know, so much he didn't understand. "John," I began, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Stiles and I have been talking about this for awhile now. He wants this. He wants to be like me."
John grew furious at my words, shifting in his chair like he was fighting to keep from flying to his feet in his anger. "That's not true," he growled, gripping his son's hand like a lifeline.
"I was going to do it myself," I revealed hesitantly. "In a few years, once he'd graduated and when he felt ready."
"Why did he have...have your blood in his system now, then?" he asked me, lip curled in disgust.
"When we knew we were going to Mexico, we knew there was a chance he could get hurt – or worse," I told him evenly, continuing to stroke my thumb over Stiles' ankle, the motion more soothing for me than I'd have expected. "He wanted insurance. He wanted to make sure he'd come home to you, and to me, no matter what."
John didn't want to believe it, I could tell, I could see it in his eyes. I attempted a smile, but it fell flat, and the man looked away with a sniff. "He's only a kid," he said, his voice broken, and I wondered whether he'd ever be able to pick up the pieces after this. "He's only a kid, and now he only ever will be."
"We're going to travel," I told him, not sure what made me say it exactly, but his eyes snapped to me in shock. "I'm going to take him everywhere. He wants to see Germany, and Nepal, and Australia and Japan. We've talked about drinking mulled wine by a fire in England, and walking up the Swiss Alps by ourselves, having a picnic at the very top. He wants to swim with sharks and meet warlocks to see real magic. He wants to study criminal justice in Washington and, since he'll have the time, maybe do a side degree in social studies..." I trailed off, realising abruptly that I had been rambling. John's eyes eyes shining again as he stared at me, and I bit my lip, turning back to Stiles' legs and tracing invisible patterns in the material of his jeans.
"You love him?"
Shocked that he even had to ask, I looked back up at him imploringly. "More than I ever thought was possible," I promised fervently, meeting his gaze, my eyes glinting with sincerity.
"And he loves you?" he asked.
Smiling gentle, a couldn't help but give a weak chuckle. "Yes," I said gently, glancing at my Stiles with a fond smile. "It's rather miraculous, really."
"What if he becomes a vampire, but then five years down the track, the two of you break up?" he questioned me sharply, tilting his head as he frowned at me. "Then he's stuck like this, alone, forever."
I chewed carefully on my next words, debating whether to say them or not. In the end, I knew John deserved the truth. "Vampires mate for life," I told him seriously.
"Like penguins?"
I gave a bark of laughter, suddenly seeing such a strong resemblance to Stiles in his father that it nearly floored me. There was no doubt whom had raised him. "Something like that, yeah," I chuckled again, but the sound petered off into nothing, leaving us in silence again, and I knew I had to continue. "We can have other relationships. We often do – fill our lives with meaningless connections in a misguided attempt to feel something other than bloodlust and hunger-" I cut myself off abruptly, taking note of the green tinge to John's lined face. "Sorry," I apologised quickly. "What I'm trying to say is, when we fall in love, that feeling never leaves us. We're like photographs, frozen moments of time. Once something is changed, it's changed forever."
John stopped looking sick, instead staring down at his son in saddened thought.
"I will love him for eternity, John," I swore, knowing that I had never said anything more true.
"What if he wakes up, and he doesn't feel the same way?"
The very thought made my throat close with distress, and I looked away, squeezing my eyelids shut tight, forcing the gut-wrenching feeling of panic away, just barely keeping it from swallowing me whole.
"I'm preparing myself for that outcome," I replied hollowly.
"And if it happens?"
"As much as it will kill me, I'll walk away," I said, the words painful to even think, let alone say. John nodded, pleased with my answer. We faded back into silence. The wet thumping of his heart the way I kept the time. "We'll go to my house when he wakes up. The further away he is from humans, the better."
John looked repulsed by my words. "Will he be bloodthirsty?" he asked weakly.
"He'll still be Stiles," I replied, all the answer he needed. He nodded, and I got the feeling he understood. I let the silence stretch on for a few more minutes, then I knew I could hold off the inevitable no longer. "I need to call the others," I told him gently, and he looked up in confusion. "The pack," I said in explanation, but he still didn't seem to get it. "Scott, Malia, Lydia and the gang," I said, attempting another smile. John swallowed, reluctantly nodding his head. "You stay with him. It'll still be a few hours until he wakes up, but I'm sure you don't want to leave."
John didn't answer, but I saw his grip tighten on Stiles' hand, and with a nod I turned away, pulling out my phone as I stepped from the room, hitting the speed-dial that Stiles had set up for me, waiting as the phone rang.
"Jules?" Scott's voice sounded sleepy in my ear, and I held my breath, tears appearing in my eyes. How would he react? Would he blame me? Would he hate me? "Jules?" he pressed, becoming more alert by my silence.
"Something happened," I told him in a whisper, stepping out onto the Stilinski's porch, wrapping my arms around myself for comfort.
"What happened?" he asked, growing nervous. "Jules?!"
"Everything's technically okay," I assured him weakly. "But you need to get to Stiles' house," I said, voice cracking over his name. "Now."
He wanted more details, but I couldn't handle it, and I hung up, tossing the device onto the railing and turning away. I knew he was on his way, but I had a few minutes to finally let my carefully constructed walls crumble, allowing a wave of grief to flood me.
Stiles wasn't gone, he was fine, and he'd wake up and he'd drink the blood and we'd be happy forever – but my human still had his neck snapped right in front of my eyes. If he hadn't had my blood in his system...just the thought made me feel sick.
An unwelcome tear trailed down over my cheek, followed by another, and another, and suddenly I was crying like some kind of child, huddled on Stiles' front porch, curled up into a pathetic little ball and letting out all my pent up emotion.
That was how Scott found me, and I could hear his hurried footsteps as he rushed up towards me, practically reeking of anxiety. "Jules!" he exclaimed, no doubt astounded to see me actually crying, and he crouched by my side, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side, his heartbeat frantic in his chest. "What's wrong? What happened? Where's Stiles?"
I didn't know how to reply, but his presence was enough to have me pulling myself together. Sniffling sadly, I let him guide me to my feet, reaching up to run my fingers under my eyes, wiping at the tears lingering on my cheeks.
"Jules," Scott said imploringly, growing scared. "Where's Stiles?"
"He had my blood in his system," I began, my voice trembling and weak. I reached for his shoulder, gripping it almost too tightly, staring into his eyes, begging him, pleading with him not to hate me. "He's going to wake up, and it'll be fine."
"He'll wake up...?" he trailed off, not seeming to piece it together, but I couldn't find it within me to say the words. Finally understanding dawned on his face, followed quickly by a growing horror, and he didn't wait as he burst inside the house, all but sprinting up the stairs.
Collecting my phone, I moved inside after him, locking the door behind me before taking the stairs one by one. When I finally reached the room, it was to Scott struggling not to have a panic attack, staring at his best friend's limp, lifeless form. John was standing beside him, arm locked around him, struggling to provide comfort.
Scott was crying, muttering something about how it was 'happening again' that broke my heart, and I collapsed down on the end of Stiles' bed, returning my hands to his legs, stroking the cool flesh over and over, soothing myself.
Scott grieved. It took a long time for him to get through it, which I understood. I was just glad John was there to guide him through it, because fuck knew I was hopeless enough at that moment, too consumed with my own pain and guilt to be of any help.
Finally, once Scott had calmed himself, claws disappearing back into his fingertips, he took a heavy seat in the chair that John had vacated.
We were all silent, then John spoke up, surprising me. "I'll make some tea," he offered in a croaking tone. I could have done with something stronger, but I wasn't about to ask for it, so I nodded gratefully, and he cast a final look down at his son before reluctantly wandering from the room.
This left Scott and I in an overwhelming silence. He stared at his best friend – at his brother – desperately trying to come to terms with this new reality.
"I almost feel bad for being so sad," he eventually said, a grim smile on his lips that didn't make it to his eyes. I looked away from Stiles' lifeless face to blink at him uncomprehendingly. "He wants this, Jules," he told me, meeting my eyes, his voice raw from his grief. "He wants to be like you."
"Not this soon, though," I muttered, full of a bitter, self-loathing remorse.
"Yeah," Scott agreed with a quiet sniffle. He pressed a hand over Stiles' unmoving chest, sadness crumpling at his face. I looked away. "But he's going to be okay."
"He'll be a good vampire," I said with conviction. "As you said, it's what he wants, after all."
"He doesn't just want to be a vampire for the sake of it, Jules," Scott said in an uncharacteristically impatient voice.
I snorted at his words. "He's always felt left out, being the only human in the pack," I reminded him, clutching Stiles' leg tighter, forcing my grip to remain light, not wanting to hurt him any more than I already had.
"He didn't choose this for the super senses, or the strength, or the speed," he agued. Pausing, I met his eyes skeptically, and Scott gave a laugh, the first real one since he'd arrived. "Okay, maybe that was a contributing factor," he allowed, and even I managed a laugh at the words. "My point is, Jules, that he only wants to be a vampire so he can be with you, as your equal, forever."
This time it was me who sniffled, and Scott leant back, opening his arms for me. Smiling weakly, I flitted into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him into a strong hug. He gripped me back with inhuman force, and I copied him, our bones both creaking under the pressure, but it was just right. I felt like I was safe in Scott's arms, and I realised he was never just a friend, never just my 'alpha'. He was my brother. He was family.
I'd never thought I would find myself a family, but I had. It was strange, eclectic and unconventional, but I'd suddenly never felt more loved. It was different to how Stiles and I felt about one another. This was familial, it was the bond of a pack.
"You know I love you, right, Teen Wolf?" I whispered into his ear, and he held me tighter.
"Always, Bloodsucker," he whispered back, and my eyes became shiny again. I pulled away, and he reached up to affectionately wipe at my tears. I found myself surprised that I didn't even feel uncomfortable. There were only two people in this world I felt like I could cry in front of, and they were both in the room with me. "What happened?" Scott asked, and I left his lap, instead climbing onto the bed beside Stiles, threading my fingers through his. They were limp and cold in mine, and I felt another hollow throb of grief. "How did this happen?"
I didn't want to tell him, but knew I had to. "It's my fault," I began reluctantly, holding Stiles' hand tighter as I launched into a brief version of tale, eyes squeezed shut tight so I didn't need to see his reaction.
By the time I'd finished, Scott's heart rate was normal, if not thicker than usual. I timidly opened my eyes, looking up at warily. He seemed calm, staring at Stiles sadly. "Was he scared?"
"Yeah," I replied hoarsely, squeezing Stiles' hand like it would make a difference. I blinked away the traitorous tears gathering in my eyes. "Yeah, he was."
We were silent, letting this knowledge kill us just that little bit more. "I should go call the others," he eventually said, voice cracking over the words. "They'll want to be here when he wakes up."
"He'll be waking up soon," I warned him, and Scott paused on his way to the door.
"How soon?"
I lifted my shoulders in a vague shrug. "It's different for everyone," I said honestly. "But it shouldn't be more than another hour or so." Scott nodded slowly, digesting what I was telling him. "When he does wake up, it's best if it's just me in the room," I added quietly. "He won't be able to handle too much sensory input. Let him readjust slowly."
"They'll still want to be here, even if it means camping out in the living room," Scott's lips quirked up into a sad imitation of a smile, and I returned it weakly before he ducked out. I slipped off the bed, taking the vacated chair and reluctantly letting go of Stiles' hand. When he woke it might overwhelm him to have his hand held.
Through the floorboards, I could hear Scott murmuring on his phone, but I didn't listen in, focusing on keeping myself calm. I knew Stiles would need me steady and confident when he awoke, and I was determined to do this perfectly.
John appeared a few moments later with a steaming mug of tea in his hand. He padded over to me, handing it off, and I took it with a murmur of gratitude. The ceramic of the mug was hot under my skin, but I revelled in the burn, taking a sip of the scolding tea.
"Any change?" he asked, undeniably anxious.
I relayed the same thing I'd just told Scott, and though he looked reluctant to listen, he obviously knew I was right, being as knowledgable as I was, and he bent down to kiss his son tenderly on the forehead before turning and striding from the room.
Then all there was to do was wait.
I heard people begin to filter in downstairs, voices saying words that I didn't care to listen to. I just waited, silent as the dead – which I knew was a distasteful pun to make under the circumstances – watching Stiles' still form, preparing myself for when he would awaken.
It was longer than I thought it would be until it finally happened. The voices downstairs never stopped, offering one another support and comfort, convincing each other not to storm up and burst in, all desperate to check on Stiles. I understood the need, but I was glad they were listening to my orders. This wasn't a group activity. Stiles needed space.
The sun had already high in the sky by the time Stiles finally snapped awake. He jerked upwards with a gasp, instantly prepared to defend himself from his absent attacker. His last memory was of being threatened by that vampire, of course his first instinct upon awaking was to fight back.
"Stiles, love," I murmured, relief swamping me, strong and potent, nearly knocking me over with the force of it. I leaned forwards, watching as he scrambled back, wheezing in a desperate attempt to suck air into his lungs. "Stiles," I cooed, keeping my voice calm and level. "You're okay. You're fine. I'm here."
He blinked, his eyes unfocused for a long moment before he seemed to get control, staring at me with a slow sense of growing clarity. "Juliet?" he asked, sounding surprised. His voice was hoarse, and he reached up to rub at his throat, clearing it gingerly before refocusing on me. "What – what happened?"
I didn't say anything. I'd been struggling for hours to figure out how to tell him, but I'd come up with nothing. Now that the moment was here, words utterly escaped me.
"That guy," he said suddenly, a frown on his face. "That vampire – he tried to..." he trailed off, gaze going hazy again as he thought back over his recent memories. "I felt..." he reached up to grab the back of his neck, which was no doubt stiff and aching from being snapped so brutally. "I thought he killed me," he murmured, confused.
I met his eyes, my gaze serious and full of remorse. "He did, Stiles," I said, struggling to keep my voice even. I leaned closer, grabbing his hand in mine and holding on tight.
"He...did?" Stiles stammered, struggling to understand. "But I'm alive," he argued, gripping my hand back, almost absentmindedly, squeezing just slightly tighter than he used to be able to.
Wincing, I took our joined hands, moving his until it was pressed against his own chest. I held it there and waited as he tried desperately to figure out what was missing. Finally comprehension appeared in his eyes, but beyond a sudden understanding, I couldn't figure out what else he felt.
"I'm...I'm dead," he said quietly, the words barely breathed as he finally realised his heart was still and lifeless in his chest – just like mine. "The, uh, the blood worked, then," he muttered, a hollow tone to his voice that broke me.
"Good thing you insisted on it," I attempted to joke, but it fell flat, and neither of us smiled.
The sun inched higher in the sky, and its rays shot through the window. Stiles hissed, shutting his eyes against it and ducking down, holding his head in pain.
"Sorry," I apologised immediately, disappearing from the chair and reappearing by the curtains, shutting them tightly over the window, making sure the sun couldn't get through. "I didn't think," I said, voice full of guilt. "Things have been..." I trailed off, but I didn't need to finish, I was sure he knew. I rematerialised by his side, retaking my seat and grasping his hand again. He didn't flinch at the display of speed as he once would have, and I mourned the loss of the innocent little human I'd so loved. "Are you okay?" I asked him seriously, threading our fingers together and holding his hand tightly.
Stiles frowned as he considered how to answer. "Am I a vampire now?" he asked, voice lacking projection, just muttered meekly.
"Not yet," I told him. From a few blocks away there was a distant siren, and he flinched. It no doubt sounded like it was right beside him, and I winced apologetically. I squeezed his hand, then stood fluidly to my feet, moving over to the blood bag laid on the dresser, picking it up and moving back to my perch. "Here," I said, offering it to him with a steady hand.
He stared at it, an unmistakeable glint of hunger to his deep brown eyes. "Never thought I'd look at a blood bag and think, 'that'll hit the spot'," he joked wryly.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, dropping the blood bag onto the bedspread, unable to hold it any longer. His gaze followed it carefully, that hunger in his eyes only growing.
"How long do I have, before I need to drink or die?" he asked plainly, and I flinched at the casual way it was put.
"About a day, if that," I told him honestly, meeting his eyes through the dark. "But the longer you wait, the harder it'll get."
"Harder what will get?" he asked gingerly.
"The urges. The hunger. The emotion; anger, annoyance. The pain. It will only get worse until you feed."
Stiles swallowed, nodding his head. "I think, I think I want to talk to some people, before I do it," he murmured gently, staring down at his ghostly pale hands.
I wanted him to feed as soon as humanly possible, but I knew I couldn't push him too far too fast.
"The pack's downstairs," I told him. "So's your dad." His expression twisted in pain, but I knew this kind wasn't physical. "They're okay," I assured him quietly, retaking his hand. "They're waiting to see you," I said gently.
"Is it safe...for me to be around them?" he asked me meekly, glancing up to meet my eyes.
"The pack, yes," I promised him. "But your dad..." I hesitated. "He's human, so I think you shouldn't see him alone."
Stiles nodded, accepting all of this with slow, deep breaths. Every few seconds his eyes would dart to the blood bag laying idle by his knees. "Can you ask Scott and my dad to come in, please?" he asked me softly.
"Of course," I said immediately, feeling like something was constricting my throat, but talking through it anyway. "Do you want me to..." I trailed off hesitantly.
"I think I need to speak to them alone," he murmured, averting his eyes. Pain stabbed through me, along with a throb of guilt that just about ate me alive.
"Of course, love," I said, already climbing to my feet. I squeezed his hand, then reluctantly let go, picking up the discarded blood and moving at a human pace towards the door.
"Jules," he called out before I could leave. Hope scratching at my insides, I turned back. "I just..." he trailed off, a torn look on his face. I knew he was trying to apologise, but I didn't need an apology. I just needed him to be okay.
"It's all right," I assured him, and he grimaced, nodding his head and looking away. I stepped from the room, heading slowly downstairs to find the entire pack staring at me tensely. Scott and John were already set to head up, Scott having no doubt been listening in on our conversation. "Go on," I said, and they nodded with grim expressions, making their way towards the stairs. "And Scott?" I added in a whisper that I knew John wouldn't hear. He looked back at me curiously. "Watch the Sheriff," I breathed in warning. "Don't leave them alone together, whatever you do."
He nodded once in understanding, then turned and left, disappearing up the stairs with John.
Assessing the room, I noted that Lydia, Liam, Malia and Kira were all there, strewn across the room, each with mugs of various liquids in their hands. "How is he?" Lydia asked, standing to her feet, hands twisted together anxiously. Her eyes were red from crying, and it reminded me that I wasn't the only one who loved Stiles – these people here adored him as I did, they cared about what happened to him. I could only hope they wouldn't hate me for his new existence.
"Disorientated. Confused," I told her in a soft voice, averting my eyes to the blood bag held in my hands, toying absently with one of the corners. "He'll start to spiral soon, so the sooner he finishes the transformation, the better."
"Spiral how?" asked Liam thickly, a sad glint of worry to his puppy-dog eyes.
"Blinding pain. Violent outbursts. Bloodthirsty urges. The usual."
"Right," Liam swallowed, "the usual."
I leant against the wall, keeping my ears trained to the heartbeats in the room, counting them absentmindedly in an attempt to keep from eavesdropping on whatever was happening above me. Stiles deserved privacy with his family, and it was the very least I could do, after everything.
"Scott told us what happened," said Kira in a small voice, and I turned to see her approaching me, her steps slow and hesitant, hands raised in a sign of peace, like she were approaching a rabid animal – slightly insulting, but I'd put up with worse in the past. She seemed to realise what she was doing after a moment however, grimacing and dropping her hands, tilting her chin upwards as she took a large, brave step forwards. She smiled gently, a comforting expression, as she placed her hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "Are you okay?"
I very nearly let out the hysterical bark of laughter bubbling up from my gut, but I choked it back, instead giving her a grim sort of smile, the shoulder under her palm lifting in a vague shrug. "I will be," I told her quietly, and she smiled again before stepping back, giving me space I wasn't sure I needed.
It felt nice to be close with my friends. I'd never had a group of people to draw comfort from before – but that was the very definition of a pack, in the end, wasn't it? These people were my pack, my coven, and the reality of it soothed my anxiety. I leant back against the wall, content to stand in companionable silence, letting their very-much-alive heartbeats pound in my ears.
"What happens now?" asked Malia from where she was perched on the coffee table, still in the worn old cut-offs she'd been wearing the previous day. "Why doesn't he just drink the blood straight away?" she continued with a glint of impatient frustration. "If he's only going to get sicker, doesn't it make more sense to just get it over with?"
While my initial instinct was to lash out at her thoughtless comment, I knew where it was coming from – a sort of underlying concern that, as a girl who grew up being a coyote, she didn't understand how to relay. It sounded blunt and careless, but it was simply her way of showing she cared. I usually did the same thing.
"Can you really blame him for wanting to keep ahold of his humanity for as long as he possibly can?" I asked frankly, and Malia's nose twitched before she averted her eyes, toying with the frayed edge of her shorts.
"I can't imagine Stiles as a vampire," Lydia spoke for the first time since I'd come downstairs, and when I looked over, I noted the faraway look in her eyes. They were hazy, like she was seeing something we couldn't. She blinked, coming back to herself and glancing over at me with more clarity. "I mean, you're the embodiment of vampire," she told me easily, and I cocked a single eyebrow at the casual ease with which she spoke. "You're creepy, frightening at first glance – not helped at all by that stubborn glare you wear all the time, by the way – you're practically goth, not to mention the most self-isolated person I've ever met-"
"Is this going somewhere?" I interrupted her, brow pulling down into the very same glare she'd just been berating me for.
"Stiles is the opposite to you," she said as though it were painstakingly obvious.
My 'stubborn glare' turned lethal. "But opposites attract!" exclaimed Liam from where he was standing, made uneasy by the dangerous glint to my eyes.
"Yes, thank you for that reassurance, Liam," I told him, slow and patronising. He had the decency to wince, scratching the back of his neck.
"What I'm saying is that..." Lydia hesitated, taking the time to choose her words carefully. "Will Stiles still be Stiles when this is all over?" she finally asked, fear glinting in her hazel green gaze. "Or will he be...?"
"Like me?" I finished through a hint of a smirk. She grimaced, but still nodded her agreement. "Vampirism doesn't automatically make you a grumpy, old-fashioned, gothic recluse," I assured her. "I had just as much of this sunny personality while I was human as I do now."
"So, what will he be like?" Kira asked, curiosity brimming in her sweet voice.
"Himself," I promised her, letting my head fall back against the plaster of the wall. "Just...amplified." I wasn't looking at them, but the silence that followed sounded confused, so I tried again to explain it for them. "It takes everything about you – every personality trait, every like and dislike, every emotion or urge – and it dials it up to a hundred. By my estimation, he'll be just as loud and brash and wonderfully sarcastic as he is now. Just bloodthirsty and immortal."
I was met with more silence, but I didn't bother to look up to see their reactions. "That's...actually strangely comforting to know," Lydia finally muttered, and Malia gave a loud snort of agreement. We allowed the room to fall back into silence, and I had to fight to keep my attention from drifting to the conversation happening above me.
"Does anyone want tea?" Kira asked after a few long, peaceful minutes had passed.
"I could go for another coffee," said Malia, perking up at the thought.
"You guys must be tired," I murmured in realisation, tilting my head back up to eye them, noting the bags under their eyes, dark from sleep deprivation. "Have any of you even had any sleep?"
"Between explaining to our parents why we disappeared off the face of the earth and getting the call to come here, there hasn't exactly been time," Lydia said dryly as Liam gave a small yawn.
"Liam, go nap on the couch," I ordered him sternly.
"What?" he exclaimed, eyes shooting over to me stubbornly. "Why me?"
"Because you're twelve, and your growing brain needs sleep," I replied flatly.
"I'm not twelve, I'm fifteen-" he replied indignantly, eyes narrowed in consternation.
"How about that tea?!" asked Lydia in a cheerful voice, interrupting what was sure to become a very colourful squabble between the oldest and youngest members of the McCall Pack.
I decided to just quit before it got away from me, rolling my eyes and turning towards the front door. "I have an important call I need to make," I called to them over my shoulder. "I'll be right back."
"Do you want tea?!" Lydia shouted back through the doorway to the other room, seeming to forget about my super-hearing.
"Black, three sugars!" I shouted at the same volume, listening as the door to the pantry opened and the water in the kettle began to boil. Stepping out onto the front porch, I inhaled the crisp air, ignoring the prickling buzz the midday sun made on my exposed skin. Putting the still-full blood bag on the chair beside the door, where it wouldn't be seen by any nosy neighbours, I fished a lone cigarette from my pocket, sliding it between my teeth and lifting my scuffed old lighter to light the tip.
Once I had a good few lungfuls of the chemicals in my system, I held up my outdated cell phone, frowning at the screen in concentration until finally the call was going through. I held it to my ear, listening to it ring as I inhaled another lungful of smoke.
"Well, well, well," my old friend's voice practically sang once the call had finally connected, "if it ain't little miss Juliet Adams. Been wonderin' when I might hear from you again. How's California? Word with the spirits is, you've been shackin' it up with a human. "
"Cut the shit," I said blandly, not in the mood. "I need a favour."
"You only ever call when you need somethin'," she sighed in my ear. I rolled my eyes despite knowing she couldn't see.
"Hello, Althea," I spoke through a clenched jaw. "How are you? California's nice this time of year. How's Phoenix? Pedro and the boys doing okay?"
Althea gave a tinkling laugh that set my teeth on edge. "It's Peter, actually, but thank you for trying," she said happily. "What can I do for you, Sugar?"
I practically sagged with relief that the niceties were over and done with. "Feel like taking a trip to Beacon Hills?" I asked her, leaning against the porch railing as I inhaled another breath of smoke.
"Why?" she countered slowly, her voice cautious and wary. As a rule, witches didn't tend to like getting involved in vampire business. But Althea and I had been friends long enough that she knew I'd only ask her if I was desperate.
"The human I've shacked up with," I said, striving to keep my voice casual as I flicked the ash from the tip of my cigarette, "he might not be so human anymore."
"Might not?" I could hear her smirk through the line. "You're not sure?"
"Will you come make him a daylight ring or not?" I bit back, growing impatient, and also anxious to get back to Stiles.
Althea was silent on the other end for a few moments, and I grumpily inhaled more smoke, glaring irritably at the sun – it was that damn thing's fault I had to even make this stupid call in the first place. I hated the fucking sun and moon curse. Witches sucked.
"Rowan and Caspian have been wantin' to take a road trip," she finally said, albeit reluctantly.
"I'll owe you one," I promised her.
"You bet your ass you will," she replied, but I could hear the grin in her voice clear as day.
"When can you be here?" I asked, eager and excited that things seemed to be falling into place.
"Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest."
"I'll text you the address," I told her.
"Yes you will," she agreed. There was a high-pitched yell from the other end of the line, and Althea gave a loud cuss that made me grin. "Gotta go. See you tomorrow."
"Brilliant," I said, but before I could end the call, quickly added, "and Althea? Thanks."
Her chuckle filled my ear, with it coming flashes of a life that seemed to have taken place centuries ago, rather than mere years, and the call ended. Pocketing my phone, I finished off the last of my cigarette, dropping the butt into the ash tray Stiles left hidden for me in the corner then picking up the bag of blood and slipping back inside the house.
John was back downstairs now, Lydia missing from sight. Scott was gone too, and I knew they were up talking with Stiles together, which set my mind at ease. Kira moved into the room, holding out a steaming mug for me to take, the string of the teabag still hanging over the lip.
I nodded at her in thanks, taking it and moving over to the couch, where I took a seat, reclining into the cushions with a sigh.
Liam and Malia were muttering between themselves, something about their theories on the process of becoming a vampire, but I didn't care to interject with the facts, more concerned with sipping my tea and trying to practice mindfulness. Reciting Shakespeare in my head to keep from listening in on the private conversation above me, I noted that John was staring at me, his face pulled down in a frown.
When he met my eye, he didn't back down, continuing to stare at me, that hard expression lingering on his lined, familiar face.
"I'm not convinced he wants this," he finally said. Struggling to keep my face impassive, I simply lifted the mug to my lips, taking a deep sip of the scolding hot tea and enjoying the burn. "You're essentially asking him to die," he said, voice laced with pain.
"He's already dead," I replied, taking care not to flinch at my own words in the way John just had. "What I'm offering him is a chance to live – I'm saving him, the only way I know how," I finished, voice becoming soft in my sincerity.
"It's selfish, is what it is," he said, his voice as hard as the glint to his eyes.
"I never claimed it wasn't."
"So, what – my son just becomes a soulless monster?"
"Juliet isn't soulless," Malia spoke up suddenly, and I realised the low chatter in the room had come to a stop, everyone watching our exchange. "And Stiles won't be either." Her voice held a defensive edge, and despite everything, my lips twitched up into a smile.
"I'm ready," the very subject of our discussion had appeared without me noticing, and I felt my dead heart give a throb at how close he now was to the vampire end of the spectrum. I turned my head, meeting Stiles' eyes across the room. In them I saw fear and apprehension, but also an acceptance and a hint of overwhelming love as he stared back at me. I felt it threaten to consume me, and I smiled at him, pouring as much love into the expression as I could manage.
"Son, are you sure-" John began, but Stiles cut him off.
"I meant what I said in my room, dad," he said sternly, and John deflated, eyes glassy with emotion. I wondered what had been said, but I wasn't going to ask, knowing he would tell me if it was something I was meant to hear. "I'm ready," he repeated himself, meeting my eyes again.
Time had passed quickly, the sun slowly beginning its descent below the horizon. The sunlight was cutting through the atmosphere at an angle to the house, which meant the backyard was free of the deadly UV rays. I stood to my feet, depositing the mug of now cold tea onto the coffee table and flitting across the room, seemingly materialising in front of Stiles, making John flinch.
I held out a hand, and I was warmed when he didn't hesitate to take it, slipping his fingers through mine. His skin was the same temperature as mine now, not feeling as hot against me, but instead giving me a low, comforting warmth.
"Come on," I whispered, tilting my head back slightly so I could meet his eyes. I took a step in the direction of the back door, and he went with me willingly.
"Where're you going?" asked Scott quickly, a note of panic to his voice, like he thought if Stiles stepped out that door, he might never see him again.
"Trust me," I told him, and he sagged against Kira, who had moved to his side out of instinct. He nodded, and I shot them all a gentle smile before tugging Stiles out through the door to the next room. "We'll be back in a few hours," I promised the others blithely.
"A few hours-?" John exclaimed in protest.
"Stiles will need time to adjust," I replied, utterly unperturbed. "We'll come back later," I told them, pulling Stiles to a stop by the back door. The sun was almost completely gone now, and I knew it was safe to go outside. "You should all go home, get some sleep. We'll let you know when Stiles is ready for visitors," I added with the tiniest hint of a smirk.
I knew the effects of the transition were getting to him, because Stiles didn't make any sarcastic comments in reply, merely keeping his head hung low, struggling to properly breathe. I squeezed his hand, and he looked up through dark, weary eyes.
"I need to go and finish this before I throw up," he said plainly, and a small titter of laughter ran throughout the gathered pack. "I'll see you soon," he promised each and every one of them, and with a final smile, I tugged him out into the fading twilight.
We paused at his side gate, and I held up the hand not tangled with his, revealing the packet of blood that he was no doubt beginning to desperately crave. He eyed it, equal parts lustful and wary.
"Are you okay?" I asked in a gentle whisper, listening absently as the front door opened and the pack began to reluctantly filter out, heading for their cars. Stiles looked up from the blood, meeting my eyes through the thickening shadows. What I saw in them made my heart clench. "You're scared," I said. It wasn't a question.
"If I do this," he began weakly, reaching up to rub at his forehead, which I knew must have been throbbing in pain. "If I do this, there's no going back," he whispered, swallowing thickly as his eyes uncontrollably flickered back down to the blood in my grip.
I reached up, softly caressing the side of his face, the skin of my thumb brushing over the constellation of moles on his cheek. "We've already passed the point of no return," I reminded him, feeling unwelcome emotion swell in my gut. "But becoming a vampire isn't your only option. If you'd rather...die," I stumbled over the words, feeling it cause me physical pain. "I'll support that decision," I finished reluctantly, pushing myself up onto my toes to press our foreheads together, the connection I felt transcending words.
He gave a little laugh, but my eyes were closed, so I couldn't see the expression on his face. He pulled back first, leaning back to brush his lips over my brow before I felt the blood bag being gently extracted from my grip.
"I just...drink?" he asked, and I shifted back to watch him, the deep purple of the sky reflecting off his pale skin. "How much of it?"
"A sip will be enough to complete the transition," I told him, a dark smile flickering to life on my face. "But believe me, you won't be able to stop at just one."
He swallowed again, attention now completely on the blood bag. I took it from his hand, noticing how there was the slightest rumble in his chest at the action, but all I did was bite my teeth at the top of the tube, carelessly spitting the end out onto the grass, then handing it back over with a smile.
I stepped back, watching with interest as he inhaled the scent of the blood, revelling in it for a moment before finally sealing his lips around the tube and drinking. He let out a moan that was downright sinful, gripping the bag tighter, causing it to flood his mouth, some of it leaking from the corners.
The whole thing was drained in less than ten seconds, quite impressive, and when his eyes snapped open to meet mine, I audibly gasped at the red and black stare that gazed back, a beautiful, intricate network of veins winding down his pale cheekbones. From his open mouth, I clearly saw a set of fangs poking through, and I had the sudden urge to run my tongue over the length of them.
All in due time.
The vampiric expression flickered then disappeared into nothing, his eyes becoming a warm brown once again, and his fangs hiding back within his gums.
"Whoa," he muttered, blinking in surprise as he turned his gaze upwards, taking in the world around us with his new, enhanced senses. "Holy cheese fries," he murmured to himself, spinning in a circle, desperately trying to grow accustomed to the sharpened sight and strengthened scents. "It's like I've been living my world in low quality, and suddenly everything's in HD," he breathed, the wonder in his eyes making my heart swell.
"I don't understand the reference, but I take it you're enjoying the perks so far," I said, amusement lilting in my tone, and his honey eyes snapped away from where he was staring at the trees like he'd never seen one before in his life, and down to me, visually drinking me in, like he was thirsty and I was a warm blood bag.
He stared at me for awhile, eyes flickering over my face, until finally he reached out. I remained perfectly still, watching as his fingertips came up to the skin above my lips, gently tracing down the length of a near-invisible scar.
"I've never noticed this before," he whispered tenderly, thumb brushing over the mark.
"Marks made by Original vampires leave a scar," I whispered back, reaching up to grasp his hand. Now it was his turn to hold still as I dragged his wrist up to my face, blatantly sniffing the sensitive skin there, taking in his new scent and committing it to memory.
There was still hints of mint and chocolate, but it now held a dark edge, the smell of death that I picked up on every other vampire I met. It was attractive, and even better in the fact that it wasn't at all tempting. He didn't smell like food anymore; he smelled like one of my kind, but most of all, he smelled like my mate.
"Still good?" he asked, staring at me with a growing hunger, like he wanted to devour me right then and there. I shivered at the thought, but again reminded myself that there were more important things to get done.
"Perfect," I promised him in an undertone as I lifted my own hand to his face once again, but this time it was just to wipe at the blood now smeared across his chin. Pulling the hand back, I stuck my fingers into my mouth, eagerly licking the blood off, and this time it was he who shivered.
I grinned, struggling to contain myself.
Taking his hand in mine, I pushed open the side gate we'd been pressed against, pulling him out onto the street. He lived towards the end of the road, where the street met the forest. I knew the area well, taking the woods as a shortcut to get to my house more often than not. It was dark, and nobody would have thought anything of it had they glanced out their window, seeing nothing but two teenagers in love, heading towards the forest for a bit of necking in the trees.
"I can hear Mrs Baker singing her son a lullaby," Stiles said with an unfiltered wonder as I continued to lead him towards the woods at a frustratingly human pace, "and Mr Sadana from down the street is watching Deal or No Deal."
I tightened my grip on his hand, just on the off chance his instincts sent him on a rampage. He wouldn't have been the first newborn to go off the rails, but I'd be damned if I let him hurt anyone, because I knew he'd never be able to forgive himself.
"You're in a brave new world," I told him simply, swinging our connected hands in the space between us. We'd reached the tree line, and I paused, turning to face him properly.
He looked away from the street, staring at me in confusion.
"Wanna go for a run?" I suggested with a sly grin.
He looked confused for a few adorable moments, but then he realised what I was saying, perking up instantly. "Run?" he asked, turning to blink at the forest with unrestrained glee. "As fast as you?" he questioned, sounding so very childlike in that moment that I nearly forgot how old he really was.
"I think I'll always be faster," I teased, letting go of his hand and stepping back, sure I'd be able to stop him should he go for any of the humans. He wouldn't be able to get into their houses, which put me somewhat at ease, but some people liked to take evening walks, so I had to keep my wits about me.
"How do I do this?" he asked, eager and ready, turning to face the still, empty forest like it were a challenge in one of those games he so loved.
"You're taking this strangely well," I mused, and he stopped bouncing on his toes, turning to look at me with a frown.
"Should I not be?"
"I just...I've never seen a newborn take it so well," I admitted gingerly, and he slid closer. "Are you hungry?"
He paused, looking down at himself as though to assess the state of his body. "Yeah," he finally nodded, looking back up at me with his brow knitted together. "I hadn't noticed...but I am. I'm starving, actually."
I was quiet, chewing on the inside of my lip for a few moments before reaching out and squeezing his hand, the temperature of it still startling me. "Come on," I said quietly, rubbing my thumb over his pale, chalky skin. "Let's go for a run."
A/N: As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. They keep me going, they're my fuel. I hope you liked it. More to come...
