Author's notes:
Ran - It's official...okay, it was official last chapter, but Kage is back.
Kage - That's what happens when you start talking to me about them! It reminds me how much I love David.
A huge whoop escaped his lips as he led the way into the old abandoned lobby. The group of teens trailed in, drinking and falling into each other, celebrating their discovery of a new hangout. They had literally stumbled on the place the day before and figured it would be a good place to party away from prying eyes. Especially since it seemed like no one knew about it.
"Hey, Fred! Look at this!" A blonde young man said, holding up an old magazine, "Playboy of the '80's!" He started flipping through it while one of the others came over to look over his shoulder. The pages stuck to each other from moisture which he hoped was only water. Images of buxom bleachy goddesses with tastelessly teased hair and perky plastic breasts seemed to melt into each other through the articles, which surprisingly wasn't too bad-looking from an oversexed teenage boy's point-of-view. More to love at once in a very literal sense.
"This place is a dump." A skanky looking redhead sneered, crinkling her nose. Her eyes landed on a group of skittering roaches near one of the rusted-out oil barrels, and she bit back a horrified screech, putting her hands over her mouth and stumbling back with mincing steps, her heels wobbling over uneven ground.
A blonde girl rolled her eyes, flopping onto the ratty old couch, "It's not that bad Samantha, don't be a wuss." A billow of dust and rotted cushion stuffing floated up around her, sending her into a coughing fit, "We could fix it up, clean up some of this dust, it could be a clubhouse," she gasped in between breaths, though her enthusiasm seemed to be fading with each puff of dirty air. There was a distinct aura of mildew and must in the place that begged for about half a dozen gallons of bleach and sumo-strength air freshener.
"There are probably reasons they've got those warning signs on the gates outside," Samantha worried at her bottom lip, just narrowly avoiding slipping into a puddle dripping behind her, "this place is probably a death trap." She paused, looking back at the roaches, "let me rephrase that. This place is a freaking death trap."
"Well, I wouldn't call it a death trap, besides, it's our clubhouse. Welcome to the party."
They didn't see the four teens circle around them, didn't see them block the exit, but they did see them when they finally stepped out of the shadows. Three blondes and a brunette, all with matching grins on their faces.
"Hey…" Fred drew an arm around one of the girls protectively, "you guys...look real familiar…" he stammered, eyes widening. He didn't like the look of those grins one bit. It spelled trouble. He had a distant memory of licking sticky cotton candy fingers and his mom pulling him closer to her while they passed some guys who looked a lot like this on the carousel. But...it couldn't be them. They'd be older now. Not hanging around in some dank cave, looking exactly the same...three of them looked like they could still pass for seniors, and one of them maybe even a sophomore.
The one with the blonde mullet smiled wider, "The new generation doesn't know who we are boys! Fresh meat." He chuckled softly, "I think I remember you, runt of the litter, weren't you? Yeah, you were." He paused briefly, "How would you like to join us for dinner?" He sauntered forward, hands in the pockets of his duster.
"Umm…" Fred swallowed hard, looking at the others, "N-No, I think we're gonna leave, sorry we came into your little clubhouse…"
The one that looked like an '80's rocker grinned, "Nah, we insist! Join us for dinner."
All four of them laughed, "Dig in, boys!"
The last thought that went through Fred's mind as the little one bit him was, 'holy shit, vampires are real.'
Michael got a sudden twinge in his stomach as he raised his hand to knock on Sam's old bedroom door. Mom had calmed down enough to at least take a couple of valium, but one way or another he was going to have to get some facts straight from his little brother if he wanted to help him.
Rubbing at his stomach, he took a deep breath and waited for an answer. He had an odd sort of defensive feeling about Sam right now, and he wasn't sure he was too happy with it. "Sam, open up," he ground out between his teeth, trying not to raise his voice. Despite his best efforts, it still sounded harsh.
Sam pulled the door open, looking up at him, "What?" He ground out in return, on the defensive.
Michael raised an eyebrow, putting a hand on Sam's chest and pushing him further into the room, "cut it with the attitude," he told him firmly as he closed the door behind him. Mom didn't need to hear this. Nanook was safely outside to air out the remainder of the skunk smell, because it still hadn't worn off, so they didn't have to worry if the old husky got worked up either. "We need to talk."
He scowled, sitting on his bed, "About what?"
"You know what, Sam." He crossed his arms and stared his little brother down, "you're my brother, and I love you. But if you snap or step out of line, I'm not afraid to beat the crap out of you. Got it? No killing." He couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth right now, as if Sam would even think of doing something like that. Still, there it was. And he felt a little better after saying it. Because sure, Sam wouldn't kill, but this wasn't just his little brother he was talking to right now. It was the hunger. The beast growing inside him.
"Dude, why would I eat someone?" He glared at him, "Why would you think I would kill anyone?"
"Because I fight the urge to do it every day," Michael replied flatly. "It's a losing game, that's all I'm saying. I know that. You know that. We don't stake whoever did this...and I'm guessing it's Alan, based on what you said downstairs..." he trailed off. It was a hell of a chore making himself drink several pints of Thumper or Bambi a day, with the occasional Bullwinkle, and he seriously doubted Sam had half as much self-control as he did. The several years of spoiled and hastily re-wrapped Christmas presents were evidence of that.
Then there was the fact that grandpa wasn't getting any younger, and Michael wasn't too sure he'd be able to spare the time to hunt twice as many animals down if the old man kicked the bucket...he wasn't too sure he wanted to bond with his little brother chasing raccoons around the backyard or stray dogs, when other options were scarce. He shook himself from those thoughts, scowling at Sam, "if we don't stake him...eventually you could slip up."
Sam couldn't help what he said next, "What if I did? What if I slipped up and killed someone, what would you do?" He had no idea why he was challenging him like this but he couldn't stop now that he had.
In a flash, Michael leaned forward until he was barely inches away from Sam's face, lips curled back, but not quite angry enough to change his face, "then you're gonna have to run. Because that means I'm going to have to deal with you."
Michael paused, blinking several times as he pulled back and put a hand to his face, hardly believing he'd even done that. Sam was his brother...but...fuck, he wasn't lying. He probably wouldn't be able to control his temper if Sam got out of line. That was an eye-opener, for sure…
Sam's throat worked as he swallowed, "Fuck, Mike…" He swallowed again, "You'd...You'd kill me?"
Michael hesitated. Would he? "...No," he began slowly, picking his words carefully, "I don't think I would. Not if I was in my right mind. Let's not test it, huh?"
"Yeah, let's not." Sam bowed his head submissively, "So, umm, was there something else?"
"Right," Michael dug into his coat pocket, relaxing a little. It wasn't the old jacket he'd bought years ago, but something a bit sleeker, less zippers. Even if he kept his hair the same, he wasn't going to let his wardrobe stay in the 80s. He could just forego wearing a jacket altogether, but he was cold. Always cold.
"Here," he held out a gray flask, "bet you're probably getting hungry. Saw the shifty looks you were giving grandpa downstairs. Look like you're gonna snap soon if you don't do something about it."
Sam snagged the flask from him, bringing it to his lips. His eyes were pitch black, teeth hanging jagged in his mouth as he took a slow drink, his eyes fluttered closed.
Michael jumped in surprise, "holy shit, man."
He stopped drinking, scowling and looking up at him, "What?"
"Your eyes and teeth...Christ…" Michael ran a hand through his hair, "what the fuck are you, Sam?!" He definitely hadn't been prepared for that.
"I'm a shit-sucker." He growled angrily, "Like you, a goddamn shit-sucker."
"Look, maybe when I'm a bit hungry I could use a bit of filing in the front, but damn, it'd take a whole army of dentists to deal with whatever you've got in your mouth...and your eyes...not even Max looked like you. I mean, yeah, he looked like a big ugly freak even when he was normal...and you're not pretty to look at anyway...but...damn." He smirked, sitting down at the edge of the bed beside Sam. Now that he'd put his foot down and told them where they stood, a lot of the tension had melted away.
"When we were killing those asshats I didn't really pay attention to what they looked like. What do you look like?" He nudged his shoulder.
"Dude, don't you remember? You saw me when we had that fight..and when you wrecked my old bike...I haven't changed. At all."
He shrugged, "Trying to lighten the mood. You're fugly."
Without a word, Michael waited until Sam had re-capped the flask, then pulled him into a headlock, pressing a knuckle to the top of his head, "I'm sorry, repeat that," he advised the younger Emerson with a pleasant smile.
"You're fugly! Cut it out! Asshole!"
It was the most merciless noogie session Sam had ever received at the hands of his cruel overlord of a brother. "I'm sorry, repeat that," he said again, "I think I could start a fire doing this…"
He whimpered, "Nothing, I didn't call you anything, you're a god among men." He squirmed, "Come on, let me go."
Michael hummed thoughtfully, giving a few more good twists of his knuckles just to be sure, and finally releasing Sam with a laugh as he jumped off of the bed and tore out of the room. Sam swore and gave chase, running as fast as he could after his brother. Then they both collided with their grandpa, who had a thunderously dark expression.
"Rules," the old man intoned, climbing slowly to his feet with a groan, "there's still rules around here!"
In all honesty Alan didn't want to be here but he wasn't left with too many options. Sam was out, it was his fault he was in this mess. He would just have to bite the bullet and get this over with. With a sigh he reached up and pounded on the door of the trailer his brother called home.
"Ed! Let me in!"
The door slowly creaked open, to reveal his brother dressed in the usual camo pajamas, covered head-to-toe in calamine lotion, "Alan.." he grunted, "you're alive...that's good." He peered over Alan's shoulder, "where's Sam?"
He pushed his way in, slamming the door and locking it behind him, "I don't know, that's the problem."
"What do you mean?" Edgar lifted up a garlic clove and took a slow bite out of it, spitting bits of skin onto the carpet below him and eyeing his brother with a confused expression. Confusion and distrust were his two main emotions. Nothing new there.
"I need your help to find him, alright?" He rubbed his temples, Edgar was so hard to deal with sometimes.
"He land you with the hotel bill or something?" Edgar asked, licking his teeth and spitting out another piece of garlic skin. Why he never bothered to peel them, Alan would never know.
"No! I don't wanna talk about it, I just need your help, alright?"
"Help with what?!" Now Ed was getting flustered.
"Help me find Sam!"
"WHY?!" Ed threw the half-eaten garlic clove to the ground. "JUST TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON!"
Alright, if he had to spill it, he would, "Because he fucking made me half!"