Yeah yeah, took too long to post, etc. I blame the long absence on summer and phone internet. Anyway, here's the next chapter. I think I'm going to move this over to fiction press, since it was brought to my attention that it would be a better fit there and would be better received. Still not sure how that works, since this fic isn't entirely of my own creation (you know, being based on previously created characters and events and all), but whatever. Here's the next chapter, expect the rest of them over at fiction press…and just so it's not too confusing, I'll start posting the last two chapters up over there too. Just to test the waters, so to speak.

Time passed, as it has a tendency to do. Pete's friends had started to worry when he didn't come back from his trip to the convenience store, and they started looking for him the next day. Of course, everyone they talked to told them to stop searching; the town was just starting to get overrun by vampires, and disappearances were commonplace. "I'd give it up if I were you," a man at the gas station told them. "You won't find him now – he's gone. And if you do…" He stopped talking, but the rest of his sentence was plain; if they did manage to find him, he wouldn't be Pete anymore. Not the Pete they had grown up with, anyway.

"I don't care what that guy said," Patrick told them later, after they had returned to their hideout. "We have to find him. We just have to."

Joe nodded, but Andrew looked skeptical. "You heard what he said though; either he's bat food or they've turned him. There's no point."

Patrick glared at him. "I don't care." Andy glared back, but Patrick continued. "He'd do the same for any of us, it's only fair."

Andy deflated, but kept his scowl. "Fine. But if any one of them bites me, I'm going to haunt your ass forever. And it won't be fun."

Joe raised an eyebrow, but let the comment go. Some things just weren't worth it.

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"Fuck you, I'm not doing it," Pete growled.

The Baron sighed, trying to maintain his patience. "You will if you want to live."

Pete snorted. "Yeah, we all know how high that is on my list of priorities." The Baron was reminded of Pete's recent…incidents, ranging from tearing his veins open with his own teeth and hiding from him in hopes that he could exsanguinate himself before the Baron found him (which didn't work), to an attempt to ash himself in sunlight while the Baron was asleep (one of the servants found him before he had gotten more than a hand in the beam of light he had managed to uncover) to an effort to stake himself. That was an amusing one, to say the least.

Pete had been sitting in the drawing room, being his usual petulant self. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be learning all the things the Baron wanted to teach him, and he definitely didn't want to be a vampire. But, unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do about the situation. He couldn't leave because the Baron ran him ragged all night and during the day he couldn't leave the house without becoming a pile of ash. He could only hold out so long against the Baron when he was determined to teach Pete something, and there was absolutely no way he could go back to being human. None that he knew of, anyway. And his previous efforts to gain control over the situation had backfired. Suicide attempts weren't normally his thing, but neither was being undead, so…

He saw a wooden chair sitting in the corner. Well that's just ridiculous; why would a vampire have a chair made of something deadly to vamps sitting right in the open? He wondered just how right Bram Stoker had been in his story. Maybe wood was no more deadly to vamps than anything else; it seemed a random substance to be fatal anyway. He wasn't sure what made him do it, any more than he knew what had possessed him the past two times. Probably a combination of wanting to see how far he could push the Baron, and feelings of frustration at his new situation and a self-loathing that was slowly creeping into his subconscious. Whatever it was, he approached the chair and broke off the leg, then drove it into his chest. Unfortunately, all he got for his trouble was a searing pain in that area, which only intensified as the seconds passed and he didn't become a pile of ash. He staggered against the wall, swearing under his breath at his immense stupidity. What was he thinking?

He pulled at the piece of wood sticking out of his chest, but his fingers were starting to go numb, and his efforts were useless. Blood slowly gathered around the edges of the makeshift stake, pooling until gravity finally took hold of it and pulled it in drops towards the ground. It was at this point that the Baron entered the room, having become mildly concerned when it became very quiet in the parlor. He stood in the doorway and took in the scene, seeming to find the entire thing quite humorous, if the quirk in his lips was any indication. He approached Pete, who was by now slumped on the floor, leaning against the wall, fingers loosely clutched around the wooden stake. The Baron crouched down next to him, taking care to skirt the small puddle of blood on the floor. He grasped the stake and pulled, slightly harder than was truly necessary, which elicited a slight groan from Pete. The Baron grimaced in distaste, then sighed. "A little more to the right, Peter," he said, sounding a little disappointed. "Why does no one seem to pay attention in anatomy anymore? The heart is more towards the center of the chest, but nobody ever seems to know that these days. It's a little pathetic, to be honest."

He turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand. It was beginning to be something of a nuisance. Pete's attempts were actually the reason they were here; with his insistence on trying to kill himself and subsequent failures, he needed to feed way sooner than if he had just accepted his new existence.

"Yes, well, it isn't my fault that you are having trouble adjusting. I have done my best to make the transition as painless as possible for you, and I cannot be held accountable if you insist on being juvenile about the whole thing."

"Juvenile?" Pete let out a harsh laugh. "I'm sorry if I'm not exactly tripping over myself to thank you for turning me into a bloodthirsty freak. I didn't ask for it; you could have just killed me then and there, or, better yet, let me go home. Your life, or, should I say, death, would be much better because of it."

The Baron sighed again. "Just go feed. There's a girl over there, she shouldn't be much of a problem. And remember what I taught you; it will go much smoother if you do."

Pete scowled. Unfortunately, his stomach was protesting enough that he couldn't argue. "Alright, stop your lecturing," he muttered.

He walked casually over to the girl, pretending he was just a normal guy. Yeah, a normal guy walking around town at midnight. Real normal. "Hey," he said.

She smiled shyly. "Hey." She stumbled a little, and reeked of alcohol. So she was drunk. Not too bad; shouldn't be too hard, then. He struck up a conversation, nothing too deep. Made her laugh a few times, put her at ease. That was the main thing the Baron stressed; keep the intended victim at ease enough (or catch them unawares) so they won't put up a fight when they realize what you're doing. Or at least, by the time they put up a fight it's too late.

Before he knew it, she was right next to him, the scent of her perfume in his nose, the sound of her veins pulsing in his ears. His breathing picked up, his body anticipating the meal, but the girl misinterpreted it, not knowing the danger that was right in front of her. She kissed him, pushing him up against the wall, the alcohol dulling her inhibitions. He moaned softly, the contact proving too much for his vampiric nature. He broke the kiss, moving towards her neck, simultaneously switching positions so it was he pinning her to the wall, the voice in the back of his mind screaming at him to stop. She giggled as his fangs scraped her neck. "Nice fangs. Where'd you get 'em? I've always had a bit of a-a thing for vampires in the movies. But I can never find good ones; they never stick."

Pete swallowed thickly, trying to hold back. "Th-thanks," he muttered, trying to think of anything other than why he was here. But the call of the blood was too strong, his need too great. He buried his fangs in her neck, drinking deeply of the blood that was forced out with every beat of her heart. She started to struggle, finally realizing what was going on, but by now the bloodlust had kicked in, and his inner protests were forgotten. He drained her, shaking the body a little as the flow slowed, instinct telling him to drink every last drop.

When no more blood would come, he dropped the body, the bloodlust already dissipating. He slowly backed away, realizing the extent of what he had done. He felt sick. Blood was everywhere; it was all he could smell, all he could taste. He wanted to puke, but he knew that would defeat the purpose, and his stomach wouldn't let him.

"What did I do…" he ran a shaky hand through his hair, backing up further, unable to keep from looking at the lifeless body in front of him.

A hand was placed on his shoulder, causing him to jerk away and turn, hissing. "Shh, no need for that," the Baron said soothingly. "Nicely done; a clean kill. Most make a huge mess their first time; get into a struggle, kill the victim before they even get a chance to feed, get blood everywhere, cause a scene that then needs to be taken care of...But you – you are a quick study, young Peter." He smiled in pride. "I can see I certainly chose well."

Pete scowled. "How can you live with yourself?"

The Baron smirked. "Whatever do you mean, Peter? You seemed to be enjoying yourself over there…"

Pete growled warningly, and moved as if to tackle him, but when he reached where the Baron had been, he had disappeared. Pete landed hard on the ground, groaning. The Baron chuckled from behind him. "Tsk tsk, Peter. When will you learn? You mustn't rely on brute force alone; you need subtlety, finesse."

Pete scowled, grumbling as he stood up. "If you would just stay in one place, brute force would work," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Peter?"

"Nothing. And it's Pete. Pete. Not Peter; if I wanted people to call me Peter, I would introduce myself that way."

"Pete sounds like a street urchin. Peter sounds noble, kingly."

"'Cuz I'm the epitome of nobility…"

"You could be. Join the Dandies and you could have anything you want; power, respect, anything. Like I said, you have potential."

Pete snorted. "I think I've made it pretty clear that I'd rather die. Or, even better, see you dead."

The Baron's eyes narrowed, his voice going cold. "Yes, you have at that. Well, don't say I didn't offer."

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The guys were working on a tip. A phone call they had gotten in the middle of the day, telling them to go to such and such an address as soon as they could. They found the building, an abandoned warehouse. It probably would have been considered creepy if it was dark, but the sun was high in the sky, and they were all too curious about why they were there to worry about it.

Joe was the first to get to the door. He knocked on the side of the building. "Anyone home?" Andy smacked him on the side of the head. "Ow! What was that for?"

"It's an abandoned building, dumbass…who do you think is going to answer you?"

Joe shrugged. "Dunno. It was worth a try…" Andy shook his head and pushed past him to roll up the aluminum door.

It was considerably darker inside. Everything was covered in white sheets to keep out dust, and most of the things inside looked like they had been there for years. Patrick turned on a flashlight and played the beam over everything, trying to figure out why they had been told to go there.

There was a noise coming from nearby, a quiet clunk that echoed off the walls. They all turned in that direction, and Joe started moving towards it. Patrick grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. "What are you, crazy? You don't know what's over there!"

"You got a better idea? At least I'm trying to figure out what's going on here; you never know, it could be Pete."

"I seriously doubt Pete spends a lot of time hanging out in abandoned warehouses. But you could be right." Patrick let go of the sleeve, and Joe started creeping towards the source of the noise.

When he got there, he found a long box, the only thing in the entire warehouse that was uncovered. It looked like it had been placed there fairly recently. "Hey, guys! I think I found something!"

Patrick and Andy moved towards him, picking their way around the various obstacles that tried to trip them. But when Patrick saw what Joe was standing near, the blood in his veins turned to ice. "Joe, back away from the box," he said, voice even.

"Why?"

"It's a coffin. And there is only one reason there would be a coffin in an abandoned warehouse. Boys, I think we've been set up."

"Shit!" Joe yelled, and backed away from the coffin as quickly as he could, tripping over it in the process. His foot got caught on a hose that had been carelessly dropped on the floor, and he lost his footing, falling to his knees and knocking into the box in the process. It slid off the coffee table it was resting on, hitting the floor with a jolt. It bounced, then overturned. The lid opened, and, to their shock, a very pale body rolled out onto the floor.

"I-Is that who I think it is?" Andy stuttered.

Patrick nodded dumbly. "Yeah, I think it is." Pete.

"Umm…what's he doing in a coffin, if I may ask?"

"I don't know, Joe. I think we're all wondering that."

Pete's eyes fluttered, and he groaned. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What is this, some new form of torture? Like 'musical chairs' only with coffins and no music and -" He looked around, and was surprised to see Joe, Andy, and Patrick looking at him in a combination of confusion and horror. "Hey, guys, you found me," he said, a hesitant smile on his lips. He stood up cautiously, stomach dropping when they instinctively backed up a few steps. "What's up?" he asked shakily. He tried to hide his fangs, but it was a lost cause and he knew it. The damage had been done the minute he had fallen out of the coffin.

"Pete? What…happened? You went out for a beer run, and, well…you never came back." Patrick was making an effort to show that it was alright, Pete was alright.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he said, staring at his feet. "There's this new vamp in town, the Baron, and I was just leaving 7-11 to go back to the apartment, and…he kinda…bit me."

"Yeah, we noticed," Joe said before thinking. Andy smacked him again, and there was a low "ow."

"I tried to get back, honest, but he just wouldn't let me leave. And then the sun came up, so I couldn't, and well, here we are. How'd you guys find me, anyway?"

"We got a phone call a few hours ago that we should check this building out…the guy said it would be 'worth our while'."

Pete swore under his breath. "The Baron. The sneaky bastard. Nice way to get rid of me, I guess…"

Patrick gave him a weird look. "Mind letting us mortals in on what's going on?"

Pete winced, a movement that didn't go unnoticed. "Well, the Baron knew I hated him, not surprising, really, and he was going to let me leave, since he figured I was prepared enough, or something. The only problem was doing it so I wouldn't kill him before I left…So he gets one of his goons to bring my coffin here and calls you guys to come get me. I can't hunt him down while the sun's up, now can I? And by the time I can, he'll probably have moved already, so I can't find him right away." He yawned. "What time is it, anyway?"

Andy looked at his watch. "3 o'clock."

"Four hours 'til sundown then. Great."

"So what do we do in the meantime?" Asked Joe.

They all looked at Patrick. "What?" He asked, incredulous. They looked at him meaningfully. He sighed. "Why does it always have to be me?"

"'Cuz you're the smart one…?" Said Andy.

"Well, there's a lot of stuff in here we could use back at the apartment..." He paused. "Actually, this would make a really cool lair…It's even big enough for a machine shop. And no one else is using it…" His voice trailed off as he thought of all the improvements they could make on the space.

The rest of the day was spent moving stuff from the apartment to the warehouse and making the space more livable. They worked late into the night, erecting walls and putting everything away just right. Finally, after two days of work, they were done. It was home.