Okay, finally I'm posting the next chapter...it's been done for a while, but I don't know, I just never posted it...

Just to clear something up: the main characters in this story are NOT the band members of Fall Out Boy, much as people in movies who have the same character name as they do in real life are NOT the actors. And since there is really no other place to put this fic, it is in the category it is in despite the fact that it doesn't really belong there because it was the best place to put it. If anyone has a better place for it, other than "somewhere else" as that is not very helpful, please, by all means, tell me where and I will move it.

All the usual things apply; I don't own the characters or the events of the video that are referenced/described...so don't sue.

Pete woke, and immediately wished he hadn't. His veins were on fire, his mouth felt like it was giving birth to an alien lifeform, and he could swear he was in a box. He tried to sit up, and, sure enough, he hit his head on the inside of the lid. He reached up to rub his injured forehead. "Ow…" Now that that was established, he focused on getting out of the situation. The pain in his mouth and veins wasn't likely to go away at the moment, so he just ignored it the best he could and shifted his attention to getting out of his prison. He pushed on the lid, but nothing. He pounded on it, but it didn't yield even an inch. He yelled for help, but no one answered. He decided to switch tactics.

So why was he in the box to begin with? He thought back to the last thing he remembered. He was at the 7-11, and there was this crazy guy…and the guy bit him. No, people didn't bite people…unless you counted little kids, and the guy definitely was not that. Wait, the guy had fangs…oh, fuck. He had managed to get himself bit by a vamp. This day just kept getting better. That would explain the pain…He reached up to investigate his mouth, and sure enough, there was a set of shiny new fangs in his own mouth. Four pointed teeth, two on each side of his mouth, all on his upper jaw. "Great, just great…"

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the lid to what he now realized was a coffin opened. He sat up, and stared at the man who had opened it, the man who had turned him. "What the fuck did you do to me?"

The Baron raised an eyebrow. "I should think that clear by now, Peter."

"Okay, why me, then?"

"Well, I needed to feed, you were there, and I figured I'd repay you in kind. Oh, and by the way, Peter, you have a little something, right there…" He gestured to his own lips. Pete rubbed a hand across his mouth, and his hand came away with blood. "It happens to all of us, Peter; when your mouth adjusts to the teeth you'll stop biting your lip when you talk."

"Well, I don't want to adjust," Pete snarled. "I didn't ask for this. Take it back…or something…" His voice trailed off when he realized how ridiculous his request was.

"I'm sorry, Peter, but it doesn't work that way. In time you will accept it, and learn to enjoy your new existence."

"Don't call me Peter; it's Pete. And I'm not going to accept it, nor am I going to learn to enjoy it; what are you, insane?"

"I will teach you how to survive, and after that it is up to you to make of it what you will. I cannot force you to do something you don't want to do."

"How noble of you," Pete said sarcastically.

The Baron gave him a pointed look. "Anyway, first off, you need to feed."

"No."

"What do you mean, no? Do you want to die?"

"I'm already dead; what does it matter?"

The Baron sighed. "You still need to feed. I'll make it easy for you the first time; I've managed to procure a few bags of blood from a blood bank, which will tide you over until I have the opportunity to teach you how to hunt."

Pete glared. The Baron grabbed a bag of blood off the table and tossed it to Pete, who intentionally didn't catch it. "Pick up the bag, Peter."

"No."

"Pick it up; you need to feed. You are weak at the moment; you've just gone through the change, and your energy reserves are low. Pick up the bag."

Pete glared at the Baron again, but reluctantly picked the bag off the floor. "There. You happy now?"

"Don't be childish. Now, it is very simple; all you do is bite the bag, piercing the plastic with your fangs, and drink the blood that flows out. Instinct will take over from there."

Pete gave the bag a look of disgust. He looked back up at the Baron, who looked bored. He sighed, and brought the bag up to his lips. "Bottoms up," he muttered, and did as instructed.

His brain was screaming at him that this was wrong, it was unnatural, and he didn't argue. But the more he drank, the better he felt. He didn't mind the taste as much as he thought he would have; sure, it tasted like copper coins, but it was like he was a starving man – it didn't matter what it tasted like, as long as it was food. He drained the bag in under a minute, and was sucking at it long after it was empty, trying to get the last few drops. The Baron touched his shoulder lightly, and handed him the second bag when he looked up. He nodded his thanks, and drank it greedily, growling low in his throat when the Baron tried to take the bag away from him when it too was empty. The Baron swatted him on the nose like a disobedient dog, which surprised Pete enough that he let go of the bag, and bared his fangs at him when he realized the bag was gone.

"That's enough. You don't need any more at the moment." Pete looked at him like a kid whose toy had just been taken away. The Baron looked at him in amusement. "And just a few minutes ago you were refusing to drink it." He chuckled.

Pete shook his head, clearing the fog that had clouded it after he had started feeding. "Ahh yes, the bloodlust," the Baron said after watching Pete's action. "I forgot to mention that."

"Bloodlust?" Pete asked, wiping his mouth and wiping the blood disgustedly on his pants.

"Yes. Once you start feeding, the bloodlust kicks in, and the more you feed the more you want to feed. It's insurance, of a sort; not many actually like the taste of blood, so there is a biological response to ensure that enough is consumed to actually do some good. Of course, there are a few who do like the taste, and those are the violent ones, since the bloodlust only makes them more aggressive. And if you drink too much blood you end up that way as well, since it is cumulative, but that almost never happens. Only if you go too long between feedings, and even then it rarely occurs."

"Duly noted," Pete said. "Anything else you forgot to mention? Like, how you become a psychotic bastard?"

"Tsk tsk, Peter. There is no need for namecalling. And I haven't finished teaching you. I would assume most of it you know already; allergic to garlic and holy water, stay out of sunlight, and main causes of death include stake to the heart or beheading and burning of the body. Most injuries will regenerate on their own, but for major ones, I would suggest an extra feeding to speed up the process. What else, what else…a secondary ability may manifest; teleportation, turning into a bat, controlling bats or wolves, that kind of thing. Also, I would suggest sleeping in a coffin, as it is the most effective way to keep the sunlight out during the day. Other abilities include increased speed, and heightened senses and reflexes."

"Sounds like the warning in a drug commercial," Pete observed.

"Are you this amusing all the time, or is this just a special occasion?" The Baron asked dryly.

"Nope; my gift to you," Pete said perkily, a fake grin on his face.

"Oh, how marvelous," the Baron returned, rolling his eyes.

The next chapter will be up as soon as I finish it, provided I get enough of a response...