Author's Note: I'm sorry it's been so long, folks! With all my sincere gratitude, I would like to dedicate this chapter to my boyfriend who told me to get off my butt and pursue one of my hobbies, as well as Kydasam who inspires me to no end! Anyway, onward! Disclaimer is in the first chapter.

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Chapter 2 – First Steps

The rain fell in torrents now as the stranger, clad only in travel worn boots and a filthy cloak made his way down the muddy road and towards the lights in the distance. With slick ebony locks plastered to the sides of a pale face, he looked no less than the picture of abject misery. He now shivered constantly and only released his death grip on the edges of the cloak to catch his balance as he slid on coltish legs on the wet earth.

Mindful of his nakedness, an acute hunger in his belly and an ache in his muscles, the man trod onward until the lights of the village grew reasonably close. Only then did he stop to get his bearings and take stock of his situation. He wanted nothing more than to rest, but there obviously were things that needed to be done…like getting clothing, for example. He also needed a plausible excuse as to why he was wandering into a strange town at sunset, with no possessions, soaking wet and wearing little more than his birthday suit.

Deciding how to next proceed, he walked with new purpose in a direction that seemed as likely a choice as any, the point being to find a tailor's shop or clothing store. Coming upon a well used street with small buildings designed in the common style of current shop fronts, he quickly found the one he needed then made his way to the door.

He was met by disappointment, however, as the owner of the establishment stepped out the door of the shop directly in front of him, heedless of his presence. A sneeze from the tall but slightly stooped stranger immediately caught his attention.

"Oh heavens! I didn't see you there, young man, what can I do for ya'?" The elderly man, still shrewd and exuberant in nature despite advanced years, quickly took in the bedraggled appearance of the stranger and set a grim look upon his features.

"I need to buy some clothing," the handsome youth said before another sneeze shook his frame. He glanced up at the man expectantly but then dipped his head again, too modest to make eye contact in his state of undress.

"So I see. Under normal circumstances I'd be closed ya know, but in your case I'll make an exception." After unlocking the door once more and turning on the lights, the man stepped out of the way to admit his eager customer. "So, how might I ask, did this dire need for clothing happen?" The man pulled on the edge of a thick grey mustache and leaned back, one hand on his lower back in an inquisitive but open posture.

"I was accosted by a group of bandits on the road and they made off with anything of value I carried."

Not missing a beat, the shopkeeper replied, "So how would you be expecting to pay for your purchases if all you have of value was taken?"

"I still have my money."

Now the man, growing a touch suspicious, leaned back even farther as if his new vantage point would give him a better look at the stranger in front of him and raised an eyebrow. He almost didn't want to ask the next question. "So how, may I inquire, did you manage that, without even so much as a pocket?"

"I keep my purse well hidden." The tall stranger looked up from his boots at this point, almost no expression on his face, before breaking into a shy smile having realized the implications of hiding a money purse on one's nude person.

"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh ha ha ha ha!" The shopkeeper laughed long and loudly, going so far as to bend over and slap his knee. Finally the old man caught his breath and slapped the other man heartily on the back. "Son, you're alright. Now come back here and tell me what you'll be needin'."

The old man gestured to the back of the store where the men's clothing was typically kept. He wasn't sure about the young man's price range, but judging by how well groomed he seemed to be under the muddy cloak as well as the state of his hair, he looked to be well enough off. Also, although awkward, the man carried himself fairly tall if not somewhat shyly. It's almost as if he wants to avoid being seen, the shopkeeper mused as he watched his customer carefully search through the racks.

The stranger finally chose a couple of plain white shirts, two pairs of pants—one black, one brown, a long brown leather coat, and finally because of the current state of chill settled in his bones, a large, dark grey heavy knit sweater. His boots would have to do for now. Feeling adventurous, he had the feeling he wanted to stay away from black. Something told him that black was possibly the only color he would have chosen prior to this, 'prior to what?', but it almost felt like he needed something else.

Taking his new items to the till, the dark haired man took a moment to consider his next move. Unwittingly, a somber expression lay heavy on his brow.

"The name's Montgomery, by the way," the store owner said, trying to rouse the young man in front of him from his funk, "Montgomery Pertz, but my friends call me Monty. In fact, my enemies call me Monty too, come to think of it…" he trailed off as if this sudden realization baffled him beyond comprehension.

"I'm…" a worried expression passed the strangers face but was quickly hidden. So this was new. He couldn't remember his own name. He had puzzled on it earlier as he trudged his way through the mud but the thought was quickly left behind when so many other questions jostled for top priority in his head. All he got when he thought about his name was the faint impression of the letter "D". "Damien. My name is Damien and my surname is of no moment as my father is no longer among the living." There. Satisfied that his answer would deflect most other questions on the matter, Damien placed the appropriate amount of money on the counter before the man, wearing some of his new garments of course, and proceeded back into the darkness of the rainy evening.

Monty stood behind the counter deep in thought long after this young 'Damien' had left. He seemed strange. Beyond his vague answers and odd behavior, there was also the uncanny beauty attached to the younger man. He didn't seem mean or malevolent, just a touch on the odd side. There was something about him that could not be accounted for, not just the fact that he seemingly could not remember his own name or, rather, felt he had to use an alias. Not to mention how he had obviously been wearing a woman's cloak when he walked in, the length of which was far too short. He'd have to keep an eye on this one, Monty thought to himself, for his own sake as well as all those around him. Something just wasn't right.

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Damien, now wrapped in the warmth of his new clothing made his way towards what he assumed would be his lodgings for. . .at least a while. He mounted the front porch and shook off the small excess of rain water that had collected in his hair and threads of his clothing while walking from the tailor's shop. Bracing himself, for what he didn't entirely know, he took a deep breath and approached the door to the establishment. Somewhat reluctantly he turned the knob and slipped past the door and had it closed before anyone took note of his presence. To them it would almost seem as if he had appeared out of nowhere, which is exactly why the young woman behind the desk started at his seeming materialization.

He stepped up to the counter at the entrance and took to inquiring about a room for the night.

"I'm sorry, but we seem to be a bit full right now. You've come right in the middle of the trade season so many vendors have had this place booked up weeks in advance."

"Could you suggest any other place I might stay?" the youthful gentleman asked her, an almost pleading tone to his voice. "I'll even take a stable for the night, though I have no horse. Any roof in this weather would be better than none." He leaned forward and spoke softly as if he didn't want anyone in the adjoining bar room to detect his presence, hair sweeping forward onto the counter. He looked more worried than a man of his size and bearing should given the circumstances.

Feeling sympathetic, the woman thought about it for a moment before coming up empty. Finally she addressed him again. "You know what? If you come back to me a little bit later I might be able to find you some accommodations with one of our staff in their homes. There are a couple of people who wouldn't mind sharing—for a small fee, of course."

"I'm afraid I haven't got much left in the manner of money."

"I'm sure other forms of payment could be arranged," she winked at him on the last and he was too taken aback by the suggestive comment to respond. "Oh, don't look so shocked, sugar! I was only foolin' with you! No, what I meant was you could possibly do a couple of chores to earn your bed."

He nodded then in understanding and turned his eyes to the floor, fighting the blush that had taken residence in his cheeks. He wasn't sure about much but he did have the distinct feeling that he was unaccustomed to being teased.

"Why don't you go into the other room and get yourself a drink and a good meal. I'm sure you could use it."

Well, it must have been a day of firsts for him indeed because he couldn't stifle the whispered "Thank you" that left his lips as he turned away from her clear dismissal.

Still clutching his bags in his left hand he rested his right on the door frame before gingerly peering around the corner and scanning the room in both directions. He didn't know if it was instinct or habit but something made him seek out a table in a corner or hidden in shadows. Unfortunately the worn room was well lit as well as reasonably populated.

He finally stepped into the room and watched a few heads rise in his direction. He didn't understand why he waited for hateful stares from those faces or why he held his breath. When he was met by nothing but the curiosity granted to all strangers and newcomers to a bar, he exhaled in relief and found himself a small table next to a wall and near the door. As he waited for service he found the grim expression once again befall his countenance. Lost in thought, he didn't hear his waitress approach.

"Why so serious?" he was interrupted by a small woman in her early twenties openly pouting in a parody of his own grim expression.

He cast his eyes down and shrugged again, once again not used to being teased, let alone by strangers. He offered a shy grin in polite response.

Choosing not to push, the waitress introduced herself. "Let's try this again. Hello! My name is Marcel and I will be your waitress this evening. What can I get for you?"

Still feeling confused and out of sorts, Damien didn't feel up to making any kinds of decisions at the moment, even ones as small as what he felt like eating. "Get me what sounds good to you."

Smiling brightly Marcel was quick to respond, "Oh you won't want that—how about I just get you the special."

"That's fine thank you. And a glass of wine if you please."

"Coming right up," and with that she glided off to the kitchen on cats paws. No wonder he hadn't heard her approach. She moved like a shadow.

While Damien waited, he studied his hands. You could tell a lot about a person by how their hands looked. His were long fingered, fine boned, but strong. He had calluses across his palms and the flats of the bottoms of the fingers on his right hand. Once again, he couldn't help but think that there was something strange or missing about his left one.

'But that can't be the case, stupid, it looks perfectly normal to me.' It was as if a voice spoke to him inside his own head. It didn't even sound like his own thoughts! But what did he know about his own thoughts? He could only remember as far back as when he was left by the strange women at a branch in a road in the middle of nowhere. 'So just call me your conscience and be done with it. No more mystery!' Once again stunned, Damien looked around him quickly but once again concluded that it was a voice inside his own head, interfering with his thoughts.

'Maybe I fell,' the thought to himself in his own voice, 'or maybe I'm just going crazy.'

'You were already pretty crazy to begin with if you ask me.'

"I didn't ask you! Get out of my head!" Damien lowered his voice as well as his lithe frame back into his chair as he suddenly realized that he had leapt to his feet and was holding a conversation with The Voice in his head…out loud. He wished that he could be swallowed by a hole in the floor as he realized that the crowd in the bar had quieted considerably and most were now staring his way or trying not to. Just when he could take no more and was about to leave he spotted his waitress bringing his wine.

Before she could even get it to his table he was reaching for the glass and requesting another. "Better yet, just bring me the whole bottle."

"Rough day?" she asked him but didn't expect and answer. It was her job to be chatty. It usually endeared people towards her and served to gain her better tips. "Your meal should be along shortly. There was a small mishap in the kitchen," she glanced back over her shoulder in that direction as she trailed off, "but I believe your meal was still salvageable. Just give me a wave if you need anything else." With that she was off to the other end of the bar to clear the table of one of the departing patrons.

Damien downed the first glass of wine without tasting it and as soon as the bottle arrived, promptly poured himself another. A foreign warmth had started to creep up his body and into his face and a pleasant slowness gradually permeated his limbs. Everything grew to be shrouded in an obscuring fog of blurred motion and even the smallest things suddenly took on an acute fascination for this newly born human. He found the more he drank the more profound grew the bits and snatches of conversation he was overhearing. A short while later his meal arrived.

"You might want to take it a little easier on the wine, if you don't mind me saying so sir. It's a cheap vintage but it's more potent than you might expect."

Damien just looked up at her with a slight sway to his movements, blinked and smiled pleasantly.

'He looks like an angel when he smiles,' Marcel thought to herself as she set down his food. "When you're finished you can just pay the man at the bar." He looked past her at the bartender raising his eyebrows slightly then back at her again. He nodded at her and then went straight for his food.

Damien ate like a man possessed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd tasted anything so good and he couldn't even recall being that hungry prior to ordering. 'You weren't all that big on life's luxuries you know,' the voice in his head seemed to grumble at him but this time he was able to ignore it with the aide of the drink in his blood and the food in his mouth. He soon grew full and leaned back in his chair to enjoy the feeling for the first time.

'Everything seems so new. I don't think I was ever treated this well by people. In fact I think I avoided people in the past.'

'That's because you did. You're living life from the good side for a change so don't screw it up,' the other voice in his head answered back curtly. It was starting to actually strike him that he may very well be insane. Who else did this happen to? Did everyone have open arguments or refutes with their conscience? It's not like he could exactly just go up to someone and ask either. Maybe he had a friend who he could discuss it with?

Once again straining his memory until his head hurt—or maybe it was the wine, Damien seemed to understand that he didn't have any friends; or a wife, or children, or any contacts that he could actually call upon in his time of need. That was rather depressing he decided so he poured himself the last glass of wine and finished off the bottle.

Once again, Marcel came gliding up to his table and waited until she got his attention. "Tara, the girl at the front desk?" Damien nodded his recognition so she continued, "she says you need a place to stay."

"Mmm hm."

"Well, I live with my father in a big old farmhouse at the edge of town. If you wanted to you could stay with us for the night."

"Did Tara mention—"

Marcel cut him off, "Don't worry about money. You can work for my father for a couple of hours doing some of the chores and I'm sure that's all he'll ask for payment."

"Thank you. I don't know what else I would do at this point…I guess I could always sleep outside or something but…" he trailed off, honestly grateful for her offer.

"Don't worry about it. Please." She reached out and gave his arm a reassuring pat. "Now I get off in an hour. I just have to clear the tables of the dishes and wash them and we can go. You can just wait for me here if you like. I don't think you've got any more choice as to where to go."

He let her finish then put down his glass and stood. He leaned into her and softly asked, "Where's the bathroom?" The room was spinning mildly now and the formerly pleasant fullness of his stomach was quickly being replaced by a frantic need to evacuate its contents.

"Just right through there," she pointed out the way he had entered earlier and he was gone before she had the chance to drop her arm again. "Strange for such a big young guy to not be able to hold his liquor." Little did she know his degree of true inexperience in the matter. She passed it off with a shrug and cleaned up his table before he could return. She also took care to nudge his bags farther under the table with her foot so as not to draw attention to them being left unattended. You never knew who was prone to theft around here and with so many strangers about at this time of year it was better to be safe than sorry.

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'Good job, big guy. You showed that bottle of wine. Did a great job of shutting me up too, didn't it?' the voice inside of Damien's head taunted him. He had locked himself in one of two available stalls in the bathroom and was waiting in silent torture as he felt the pressure building in his stomach and the contents start to rise. He breathed deeply through his mouth but it could only stall the inevitable as a horrible clenching gripped his guts. He quickly flipped himself around and expelled his stomach contents into the less-than-shiny porcelain bowl. 'Well, it was a good meal while it lasted.'

"Shut up! Who are you anyway, and what the hell are you doing in my head!" he panted in torment at the voice that would not go away. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and lifted himself off the floor, once more taking a seat on the toilet.

'Don't worry. You're not as crazy as you may think; believe me, I know.' Damien waited patiently for the voice to continue. 'By the way, stop talking out loud. It makes you look like and idiot and I can hear you just fine when you only think what you want me to hear. Oh yeah. I also hear all your other thoughts too. I thought you were boring before but this just confirms it. It's a lot emptier up here than even I could have anticipated, whew—"

'Could you just answer my question?'

'Right. Well, I'm a part of you as I have always been a part of you. But now, I'm just a different part of you! He he he. Wait. Now you're probably more confused.' Damien rubbed his temples in exasperation but didn't interrupt despite his better judgment. Finally what he wanted to know came out. 'I was sort of like your guide in the past. I'm really a sort of parasite, but I'm a helpful parasite. It's just that now I'm not a physical part of your body, I only exist as a sort of conscience. I'm going to be helping you make some decisions from now on but you'll probably be pig-headed as always and ignore perfectly sane advice. Except maybe now that you're human you won't have the same kind of kamikaze tendencies you used to have—oops.'

'Wait a second. You said 'now that you're human'. So what was I before?'

'I'm sorry,' the voice did sound truly repentant, 'I've said too much. You're not even supposed to know that you're not really you. I'm sure you've noticed that everything seems a bit out of place lately?'

'Yeah.'

'Well it feels like that for a reason and will continue to do so until you've lived out the span of your days. Like I said before, you're the other half now. You got your wish, D.' and with that, the voice fell silent leaving Damien to his own bemused thoughts.

After his very enlightening conversation with his head he walked in a daze back to his table and put his head down on his arms, the thick wool of his new sweater acting as more than an adequate pillow. He was so tired now, the dizziness adding to his fatigue but the sick feeling all but forgotten. He would straighten this out tomorrow. Meanwhile he waited patiently for Marcel to get off work. He just wanted to sleep.

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Ta-Da! Pats self on back and gives Puddle (my 10 lb pussycat) a big hug I'm finally back into the headspace of this fic. It just took my boyfriend going out and buying me the Vampire Hunter D soundtrack to get there. I should also rent the movie again as well. Due to his circumstances, I felt I could play with D's character a little bit but I didn't want to wander too far from what he's supposed to be. But, let's let the boy have a little fun, shall we? Naaahhhhhhhh.

THANK YOU, once again, to KYDASAM! You're name is a banner hung in my head to march at the head of my fanfiction muses' army.