Author's notes: We're going crazy with this one. Expect the unexpected, I guess?
David stretched, dropping down from his spot. Michael was already up, was missing from his perch. He scowled, heading into the main room, he couldn't have gone far after all. He stepped into the lobby only to be greeted by the strangest sight he had ever seen. Trash bags piled several feet high in the corner of the lobby, the chandelier in the fountain polished into practically pristine condition...as pristine as rust could get, with fresh candles in every holder, a clean red sheet draped over the couch, and Michael on his hands and knees feverishly scrubbing the side of the fountain with a bandana on his head tying his hair back. Not the idyllic image of rebellion or dark evil the boys tended to project.
"The fuck, man?" Paul asked behind him, nudging David's shoulders while the others filed into the room and surveyed the lobby. They hardly recognized the place. Michael glanced up at them, slowly dropping the scrub brush he was holding as if he'd been caught in the act of robbing a bank.
"I...I got bored…" he explained, climbing to his feet and dusting at the knees of his jeans, which had been soaked through with dirt and mud.
"Holy shit, last time I saw it this clean it was operational." David chuckled, "Just, wow, I kind of like it."
"Do you have any idea how many dead rats were under that bed, man?" Michael wrinkled his nose, "it was like a fucking colony under there…"
"I was collecting those!" Marko exclaimed, rushing towards the bed in question and pulling up the blanket draped over the side to reach under and grasp at the empty space below.
David glared at him, "No more dead rats, I told you that before!"
Marko's head fell to the ground as he pouted, "it was just a few dozen...I never get to keep anything nice…"
Dwayne flopped down on the couch and kicked up his heels, snorting.
"Oh god...am I going to find something worse if I clean another room?" Michael looked around, rubbing his hands together to peel away bits of dirt and cobweb residue.
"Probably but I like this, never really thought to clean." David chuckled softly.
Michael sat down at the edge of the fountain, "I'm not your maid. It's not going to be a regular thing, dude."
"Never said that, meant that it's easier to keep something clean if it is clean." He settled into his chair, "Nice, wheels roll better than before."
"You get bored tomorrow, I could make a grocery list for ya, Mikey," Paul snarked, sitting down beside Dwayne and throwing his head back.
"Speaking of, I'm hungry." Marko whined.
"You're always hungry, besides, it's Michael's night to choose."
"Choose what?" Michael glanced over at him suspiciously, and David didn't need to read his mind to know what he was thinking. It was written on his face.
David smirked, "When we're laying low we take turns deciding what we're going to do for the night. It keeps us from going nuts because it does get boring. Of course what can be done, we can't go enjoy our beach parties after all."
"So how long do you have left? Two years? Twelve? People still remember you guys?" Michael quirked an eyebrow. They hadn't really done much talking in a pretty long time. This was honestly the first opportunity they'd had to really sit down and hang out. They'd been a little too busy the night before to do much besides turn in the second they got back to the hotel.
"We usually take off for at least 10 years at a time, for whatever reason people seem to forget after that."
"Helps if you eat the people who do pay attention to you. Everyone else, the ones who stay to the side or avoid us...they don't stare long enough to really remember our faces, not after ten years. Then you've got people who just don't want to believe we're the same. Enough time passes, it's easy to trick yourself," Dwayne threw in his two cents.
"...I haven't...been to a bar in a while…" Michael trailed off. Honestly, he hadn't had a drink since he'd figured out early on how much easier it was to lose control of himself after knocking back a beer or two. If grandpa hadn't been there that night, he didn't know what would've happened. One drink couldn't hurt though. Not one.
"Sure, let's go to a bar." Marko grinned, looking excited.
David got to his feet, "Next town over though, for safety sake." He headed for the door, "Might wanna take that bandana off, Michael, have to instill a little fear at least." The brunette reached up and patted at his head, hurriedly tearing the bandana away. He'd clearly forgotten he was even wearing it.
They were all excited as they got on their bikes, David letting out a howl as they took off, the others following in kind. They could get out, have a little fun, show Michael what he's been missing. He was already starting to loosen up a little, judging by how enthusiastically he took to riding with them tonight.
It wasn't close. Pretty far, actually, compared to the places they tended to frequent on the outskirts of Santa Carla and just beyond. But that was because they'd scouted this bar out before, found the right place where an incident wouldn't go noticed immediately, and cops wouldn't swarm the place after a phone call. Not that they weren't going to snip a few wires once they were inside anyway, for good measure.
"There's dives, man...and then there's dives," Paul whistled once they'd pulled up to the bar. Michael lingered behind them, crossing his arms and nervously tapping his fingers against his elbows.
"I've changed my mind…" he said quietly, leaning against the side of the building. "I don't think I want a beer anymore." He uncrossed his arms and reached under his jacket to grasp at the flask he'd kept tucked safely away, fiddling with the cap as he waited for them to go inside and take care of...what they probably planned to do in there. He should have just picked something far away from people. Like going for a ride and leaving it at that. Or clearing out the rest of his stuff from his apartment. Anything to keep him busy, to keep him from feeding. With that thought in mind, Michael took a swig from his flask and cringed at the taste. It was getting worse and worse.
David opened the door for them, motioning him in, "You'll be fine, I'll even take a little more of your hunger than I usually would, how about that?"
He tucked the flask away, "yeah...I guess that works…"
It was the kind of place that should've been shut down years ago. Not just for health code issues, but because the business couldn't possibly have made enough money to keep going without driving the owner down a hole of climbing debt. The stench of old rot-gut pervaded the air, but there were at least enough patrons there tonight to keep the boys busy. Even a couple of trashy old divorcees with years of poor choices painted on their faces, nursing their shared misery at the rims of lipstick-stained whiskey glasses.
All eyes were on them as they strolled in and settled down in a booth. David sitting in the center with Michael beside him so he could help him keep control. He hadn't lied outside. Michael could actually feel some of that burden easing somewhat. Enough for him to relax a little in his seat when a waitress approached them with a tray and a stack of cocktail napkins.
"Can I get you boys anything?" She asked them, pointedly ignoring the funny grins Marko and Paul were shooting in her direction.
It wasn't until Michael had his beer safely delivered and resting in front of him, that Dwayne picked that opportunity to climb out of his seat and saunter towards the door. A few minutes later, an old trucker tried to nudge past him, only to find himself flat on his back and cursing and crying out while Dwayne delivered a few vicious kicks to his side.
David chuckled, smiling out at them, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our little party. I'm so glad you could join us tonight." He got to his feet slowly, stretching, "We've been a little bored lately and, well, I'm afraid you're going to be tonight's entertainment." He moved forward, approaching the biggest guy in there, "Here, I'll even let you throw the first punch."
"What the hell is wrong with you boys?" The man demanded, grabbing David by the collar and giving him a good shake, "you tell your friend to stop beating the shit out of Roger, and maybe I won't wring your scrawny white neck tonight."
Michael took a swig of his beer and rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat as he watched 'the show'. Marko and Paul had scrambled out of their seats in the meantime to join the two women at the bar, looking at the scene with horrified expressions, though one wouldn't know by the sheer scale of their heavily penciled eyebrows.
David grinned at him, chuckling softly, "I'd like to see you try." He wrapped his hands around his wrists, pulling them up to wrap around his own throat, "Come on, let's see you try."
"Listen, just stop this. You leave now, and I won't call the cops," the bartender pleaded, drawing towards the phone just beside the scotch box behind him.
"I got this, Louis," the man gripping David's throat shouted, "stupid little punk, you really want to do this? Alright, dipshit, you brought this on yourself." With that, he began to squeeze, "you over there, you get away from that god damned door!"
He laughed, his grin never fading. He let him squeeze a moment longer before pulling his hands away, keeping a firm grip on his wrists, "Michael, would you kindly stop him from getting to the phone for me." He snapped his head forward, his forehead cracking into his nose, breaking it.
Michael sighed, heading towards the bar, where the man had snatched up the receiver and immediately began to dial. "No hard feelings," he apologized dryly as he reached forward and grabbed the man's collar, yanking on it until he had him pulled halfway over the bar, and the brunette used his free hand to grab the receiver and yank it away, snapping it in half to let the broken pieces fall to the bar top.
Marko and Paul had already pulled their selected targets up close and personal, which set the women to screeching as they tried to break the iron grips on their torsos.
"Don't be like that, baby," Paul whined, nuzzling his victim's neck, letting his tongue dart out to lick at it, only for him to gag, "little less makeup next time, huh?"
Dwayne smirked, grabbing the man from the floor and pulling him to his feet, "Come on, no more lazing around." He pulled the man close, grinning through his fangs, "Man, come on, fight me, make this a little fun."
Roger moaned, trying to push Dwayne away, "you broke my rib!" He cried out, trying to throw a punch with one of his thrashing arms to land right at the side of Dwayne's head, forcing his jaw to snap to the side.
He licked his lips slowly, capturing a drip of blood before punching him in return. Blood splattered across the floor in thick drops, "Now look what you did, wasted perfectly good blood." He shook his head, driving his fangs into his throat and tearing, grinning as blood gushed out of the wound.
David was having his own fun, letting the man get in a few more punches before deciding it was time to feed. Right before he sank his fangs in he met Michael's gaze over the bar. A funny thought struck him, then, watching David tear into his meal.
He didn't care. Really. He'd always thought there'd be a spark left, at least something, faced with the actual act of feeding on people again...but there was no feeling inside except the deep sense of injustice that he couldn't and wouldn't let himself succumb to do the same. For what? Principle? So when he went to visit his mom, he wouldn't be lying about where or who his meals came from? Michael glanced back at the man he was still holding by the collar, who was frozen with shock and fear as the nightmare in the bar unfolded about him.
He'd have to die tonight, anyway. There was no getting around it. The boys wouldn't want to leave any witnesses. This guy was just going to end up with a broken neck anyway, his life pretty much going to waste. Wouldn't it be worse to kill him like that? Then it was just murder, nothing but sport. The frenzied sounds beside him of Marko and Paul indulging in their own meals finally made him decide to take that final step.
Because...why not?
It felt like the way his fangs tore through his gums tonight was far more painful than it had ever been before, perhaps because he hadn't really used them, had tried his best to still keep them safely hidden even when he drank from grandpa's home-mixed batches of critter blood. But...pain aside...it felt pretty incredible, too. Like stretching a weary muscle or limb to finally hear that satisfying 'pop' ring through the air. Only this was so much more, even better when he pulled the man closer and breathed in the scent of his skin and fear. Once his fangs were buried in flesh and muscle, he couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe it tasted this good!
Any small worries tucked in the back of his mind, any fears, any thoughts about principle or reason, finally faded away. So too, he realized, did much of his hunger, with each satisfying gulp of hot, living blood. Michael finally gave in. He finally finished dying. Yet, for the first time in eight years, he lived.
David licked his lips as he pulled back, watching Michael feed, watching him dig his fangs in deep and drink for the first time. The others pulled back from their meals to watch the event with reverence. This was something that needed to be witnessed and praised. David moved forward to stand beside him, his fingers reaching out to slide down his back.
"Tastes good, yeah Michael?" He purred, "Looks like you're sorry you waited so long, eight years is a long time to go without it, isn't it?" Michael groaned in response, holding his meal even closer, wringing out every last available drop.
David chuckled again softly, "I think he's all tapped out, what do you think boys?"
"He's a mummy, dude," Marko snickered, having already let the woman he had been dining on fall to the ground in a heap.
Michael very reluctantly pulled back from the remains of the bartender and pushed the corpse away, throwing his head back and closing his eyes to bask in the feel of what could only be the best meal he'd probably ever had, judging by the look on his face. David took that moment to lick up a stray trail of blood that had slipped down his throat, growling softly in pleasure. Blood tasted even better off his skin. Yes, eight years of waiting had been far too long.
Paul took that moment to scramble over the bartop and collapse on the other side in a graceless heap, "drinks on the house!" He crowed, climbing to his feet and snatching up bottles of liquor, sliding them onto the bar-top for the others to grab at, saving a handle of vodka for himself to swig like a jug player.
Cracking an eye open, Michael looked at David, an expression of surprise crossing his features, "it's...wow…" he shook his head, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, "nothing hurts anymore."
He grinned, "Nothing ever will. You'll get to enjoy life to the fullest. Nothing but pleasure in your future, Michael."
The brunette snorted, "the way you're lookin at me right now, I'd think you were gonna eat me or something."
He smirked darkly, "Mmm, would love to, maybe even more than that." He pressed closer to him, "I can think of all kinds of things I'd love to do with you."
Michael quirked an eyebrow, grabbing one of the proffered bottles on the bartop, and slowly unscrewed it. "I'll..have to think about that one." He took a long draught, pulling back, "so am I gonna get drunk on just as much as I would've before, or is it different now?"
"Take some bottles home, and test it," Dwayne snarked, busily wiping off his hands with a cocktail napkin.
David chuckled, "Sounds like a plan. Take as much as you can carry, boys."
"Who's on cleanup duty tonight?" Marko surveyed the bar, sliding off of his stool and lazily stretching his arms above his head.
Michael shook his head, "I already took care of the lobby. Not me."
"Sounds like you volunteered, Marko." Dwayne leaned against the wall beside the door.
Marko's grin fell, "that's bullshit!"
Lucy settled in her bed, tucking a pillow gently behind her back, as she glanced down at the magazine splayed over her lap. Sam should be back soon. He and his friends had spent the day together, then he'd given them a ride back to somewhere on the outskirts of Luna Bay. Apparently they'd had to leave their car by a ditch somewhere, for reasons she didn't care to know. As far as Lucy was concerned, the less she knew about the circumstances that led to the terrible mess they'd gone through in the past few days, the better. She had far worse things on her mind right now, and knowing that Sam was...normal again...at least did something to take a load off her mind.
She examined the article in question, almost laughing at the headline: 'Coping with Loss and Grief'. That was something Lucy was sure she'd been struggling with for eight long years. She had lost Michael, in a sense. It was like one of those daytime television soaps she'd watch on her days off, he got into an 'accident', she'd tell people...and sometimes even herself...and he was never the same. She'd always love him, but there was a limit to what she could handle. Even dad liked to tell her every once in awhile that she'd have to let go, if the unthinkable happened. If he decided fighting his sickness wasn't important anymore, and neither was his family.
Thank god Sam didn't have to do that, too. Thank god for him it had only lasted a few days.
A gentle knock startled her from her thoughts, and Lucy closed the magazine before setting it aside on her bedside table, "come in."
"Mom? Hey, are you...are you alright?" He stepped inside. A grown man, twenty-one, and almost capable of making his own choices. But to her, he still looked like the awkward little boy stumbling out of bed in the morning to weasel his way under the covers and ruin his father's sleep seeking comfort from a bad nightmare.
"Of course I am, honey. Are you?" Lucy leaned over and patted the empty side of the bed.
He wormed his way in beside her, "I think so."
"Did your friends get home okay?"
He leaned his head on her shoulder, "Yeah, I got them back to their car."
She hummed, running a hand through his hair, "I'm glad you're okay. Please don't do anything crazy like that ever again, okay?"
He nodded, "Mike made me promise, I'm gonna go back to school, no more hunting."
"You have no idea how happy that makes me, sweety," she sighed. "Is there anything else? You seem like you've got something on your mind."
"I'm just...worried." He sighed, "I'm worried about Mike and I'm worried about whatever he did to fix me."
"You never did explain that to me. How would Michael do anything to fix you if he can't fix himself?" She looked down at him, confident that there was at least half of a missing puzzle here. The boys always seemed to think she was oblivious, with all of the things they tended to keep to themselves. She supposed she hadn't made it any easier on them, as easily as she seemed to get worked up these days.
He looked away, taking another deep breath, "The guy he pinned to the antlers, that we all thought was dead, he's not."
"Wh...what?" She blinked, "I don't understand. That boy...is he the reason Michael is the...is like that?"
He nodded, "Yeah…" He paused, "Ed told me that that blonde asshole made some kind of deal with the other vamp, I don't know why he would even do that for me unless Mike did something."
"Language, Sam," she chided. "Maybe you should go talk to Michael tomorrow, if you're this worried about him."
He nodded, "Maybe I will." He snuggled in against her like he was a little kid again, "Tomorrow."
They weren't out of the woods yet, Lucy thought privately, but she'd be happier to have Sam worry about Michael now, than worry about her later. She still hadn't told him. She'd wait until the Spring. There was plenty of time.
The first few hours of drinking was fairly relaxed. It was right about 3 in the morning, when Paul decided it would be a brilliant idea to dive-bomb Dwayne while he wasn't looking. Dwayne snarled, tackling him to the ground and reversing their positions, pinning the other vampire under his weight. Then Marko dog-piled them both.
Michael watched the scene, half-asleep and dazed as he reclined on the couch. He hadn't touched liquor since...well, he couldn't remember when. Right now he just wanted to relax, though. He didn't even care that he had his head propped up in David's lap right now. David's fingers slid through his hair absently as he tipped his bottle back and took a drink. The blonde was totally relaxed, looked completely at peace, comfortable with Michael's position over his lap.
"Mmm, you know Dwayne's gonna kick your ass again, right?" David asked, tipping his head to the side, continuing to card his fingers through Michael's hair. The brunette relaxed even further, having had enough tequila to poison a small elephant by now. If they were human, they'd have all passed out or died long before they got to this point.
"Don't care," Marko declared, "I'm king of the hill!" He cheerfully crawled onto Dwayne's back and stood up, stomping his feet as he did so.
Dwayne grabbed his leg and pulled, "You little bitch." He growled, alcohol seemed to shorten Dwayne's fuse by a lot.
Marko yelped, falling onto his face with a grunt, "You're the little bitch!"
David chuckled, "Shouldn't have done that."
Paul scrambled away as Dwayne focused his attentions anew on Marko, who was hissing and slapping his face like mad. He slammed into the couch, knocking into Michael and David, wringing an angry growl from the blonde.
Michael jerked up, giving Paul a good shove in the back with one of his feet, just as Marko was crawling away from Dwayne, the taller vampire's fangs dug firmly into one of his ankles. David growled, landing a punch firmly across Marko's face.
"I was comfortable, why'd you have to go play king of the mountain?" He landed another, sending Marko sprawling and tearing the wound in his ankle wider.
Marko pouted, eyes narrowing, "Paul started it." He grumbled.
Paul managed to stand up, stumbling forward and slumping over a very flustered Dwayne, "I win," he groaned, rubbing at his back where Michael had kicked him. Dwayne licked at the blood dripping over his chin, contemplating whether or not to beat the shit out of Paul, but deciding instead to reach for a half-empty bottle of whiskey laying on its side, defeated in battle much like the rest of its comrades.
Michael yawned, settling back down on David's lap and squinting, "you guys are dipshits."
David immediately went back to petting through his hair, grumbling, "They're assholes."
Alan let out a sigh of relief, coming back to Ed's trailer was not his first choice but after what he had gone through it was a good feeling. Maybe it would be a better idea to just quit hunting, he'd live longer and honestly he did not want a repeat of that performance. If being half was bad what would happen if he really lost it or was forced to feed or just straight up died. He didn't want to die, not really. He also didn't want to ever see his brother acting like that again. Ed was a jerk most of the time, maybe even a melodramatic hypochondriac, but Alan much preferred that to an evil vampire's loyal butt-monkey.
"Ed, I think I'm done." He said, stepping inside, "And I think you should be too."
Ed grunted, though whether that was a 'yes' or 'no' was debateable. Probably a no. He was hard-headed enough to generally only agree with things if he'd experienced them first-hand. Since the worst thing he'd dealt with so far was a near constant state of hypnotic bliss, he'd hardly experienced anything at all.
"Got some take-out in the fridge," Edgar told him with a thin-lipped smile, "you just relax in the kitchen nook, and I'll take care of everything, Alan," he rushed into the kitchen, yanking open a drawer as he fiddled with silverware and dishes. Obviously he was overjoyed to have Alan home, judging by the lack of plastic packaging being ripped open. Metal forks were for special occasions.
Alan sighed and shook his head, sliding into the chair at the cramped kitchen table and freezing, eyes going wide, breath coming in a sharp gasp when he noticed who was sitting in the living area, "Ed…" He swallowed hard, "ED!"
Quenton was seated in the only clean chair, one leg crossed over the other, "Oh, do keep it down, no need to cause such a fuss."
The clinking of metal suddenly stopped, as Ed pulled away from the counter with a fearful squeak, arching his head into the space between the sink and cabinets to catch a glimpse of the kitchen table, "...Al...Al...Alan?!"
The vampire got to his feet, "I thought we could have a nice little chat."
"You let us go!" Edgar shouted, yanking the drawer out of its compartment and scrambling around into the dining nook, "you said it…" he looked Alan, "didn't he say it? He let us go," he looked back at Quenton, "you let us go," then back at Alan, "HE LET US GO!" He was jibbering now.
"It suited my purposes at the time, besides, David doesn't care about what happens to the pair of you. In reality the deal was for Sam after all." He chuckled softly, "You entertain me, there are so few in the world that can claim that." He sat down across from Alan, glancing back at Edgar, "Do try not to cause a ruckus, Alan and I need to have a little heart to heart."
"How about stake to heart?" Alan suggested, standing up and slamming his hands on the table. He wasn't his 'fledgling' anymore, not his 'creature'. He was human now. A hunter again. The only thing the vampire would get from him was a noble self-sacrifice, and maybe even a scathing speech. "Get out of our house...mobile home...trailer...get out of it!"
Ed drew his shoulders back, wielding a very threatening pastry fork as he stood beside his brother to defend him. The vampire sighed, meeting his gaze, "Do sit down and behave yourself. I'm not going to leave, in fact, your future is looking very bright indeed."
Without another word, Edgar whimpered and flopped down to his knees, admiring and idolizing the vampire with just a word. The silverware drawer and pastry fork spilled from his clutches out onto the floor, sparkling under the dim lighting in the trailer. Alan groaned, leaping out of his chair to snatch up the pastry fork with one hand, keeping his eyes averted from the vampire's gaze at the same time, "we've got nothing to talk about, bloodsucker! Shadow-pig!" He could say what he wanted, but Alan actually liked the term. It suited Quinton the vampire perfectly.
He sighed, getting to his feet again, "I suppose we have to do this the hard way, don't we?" He lashed out, grabbing Alan by the throat and slamming him to the floor. Edgar was already under control, now it was time to show Alan his proper place. Alan choked, kicking up his legs and flailing his arms as he blindly tried to fling the pastry fork out, throwing it uselessly at the vampire's shoulder. He groaned when it fell down right beside his head, narrowly missing clipping him in the eye.
These were hunters? The sorts of men placed on this earth to eradicate his race? What a joke. He used his knees to pin the young man's arms down, keeping him firmly on the ground. He had spirit, he'd give him that, "Perhaps we shall do more tonight than just talk. I like you, Alan, so I'm going to give you a gift."
"Had it. Hated it. Don't want it." Alan turned his head to the side, foolishly submitting his neck in the process.
A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he trailed his fingers down his throat, "I was thinking about having Edgar be your first kill." He paused, watching him, waiting for a reaction. When it happened, it was violent. As violent as it could be, at any rate. Alan cussed beneath his grip, kicking his legs and flailing his arms, doing his best to throw the vampire off. No, killing Edgar would perhaps be a little too much. If he forced that on the man, it wasn't unlikely Quinton would find himself awakening in a century or two with a stake in his chest, once his guard was sufficiently dropped.
"The only kill I'm gonna make tonight is you!" Alan snapped back, still keeping his head turned to the side, refusing to cease his pointless struggling.
"No, your brother won't be your first kill, you need not worry about that. In fact, I won't separate the two of you either." He brought his wrist up to his mouth, sinking his fangs into his wrist, "But, you are mine and will be forever." He forced the wound to his lips, "So, drink."