Author's notes: When I say 'present day', I'm not referring to the year 2016, I'm just using it to make it clear it's not the flashback portion of the story.
Present Day
The car was in park, and the lights from the gas station were blinding. They had a limited time to get in and get out, both Star and Michael knew that, so there was no room to talk much.
"Do you want to hang out here and pump, or you want to go inside?" Michael turned towards Star, who was busy fiddling with her door handle nervously, afraid of even letting her foot touch the concrete, much less spend the precious minutes it would take standing outside to fill the tank.
"It doesn't make much of a difference, does it?" She smiled weakly at him and brushed her hair from her face. She was right, of course. If the Lost Boys were about to catch up to them, they could easily take both Michael and Star out no matter whether they were inside the building, inside the car, and especially in the open air of the parking lot.
"I guess not. Do you want any coffee?"
Star shrugged, "might as well. It's my turn to drive, anyway."
Michael nodded, quickly pushing open his door and grabbing a crumpled handful of bills from the passenger side glove compartment before swiftly closing the door behind him and taking off towards the gas station. He didn't run. Didn't want to draw attention. But he wasn't walking, either.
When he reached the entrance to the store, Michael paused and shook his head. He'd swear he saw a flash of sparkling metal and bleach blonde hair out of the corner of his eye. But that wasn't possible. There weren't any bikes in the parking lot...just the one car. Sometimes he wondered if he'd gone crazy, and took Star into that pit of madness with him.
"Evening," an older woman with stringy gray hair rasped from the front counter, not looking up at him as she flipped idly through a dog-eared catalog.
"Hi," Michael replied automatically, glancing around the store just to make sure nobody else was in there with him, before he strolled to the counter and placed a few bucks down in front of him, "how much is coffee?"
The woman indicated a small hand-written sign beside the register with the general prices on them, still focusing on her catalog. People working graveyard shifts didn't tend to be too social, and this woman was no exception.
"Okay...uh...twenty on pump 3, and two coffees..." Michael counted out his change and took a receipt from the woman's hand before he slipped over to an island counter on the other side of the store. As he filled two Styrofoam cups with some dark roast slop that looked like it had more coffee grounds than water in it, a soft ringing rang through the air. Michael quickly spun around to face the door, but there was nobody there.
"You're jumpy, aintcha?" The woman at the counter asked with a soft smile, glancing over at him.
"A little," Michael shook his head and smiled bitterly at how paranoid he must look.
"I think I'm going to get some chips too," he told her crossing towards a rack to snatch up a bag of funions. "How much?"
Money was exchanged, and with the bag tucked into his teeth, Michael went back to the two abandoned cups of coffee to stir in a bit of sugar and powdered creamer. Funny thing, it looked like they'd been moved just a little further from where he'd set them. But maybe he was just tired.
"Have a nice night. Be safe out there." The woman waved to him as Michael left, pushing the door open with his back and striding towards the car. Star was already sitting in the driver's side, tapping on the steering wheel with a nervous energy about her.
"Miss me?" Michael asked after he was back inside and handing her a cup of coffee, dropping the chips into his lap and buckling his seatbelt.
"You took too long," Star chided quietly, pealing out of the parking lot a little too fast, making the wheels screech in protest. They didn't have much time left to waste. Not that they ever did, anyway.
"Sorry."
They drove in silence. But that wasn't anything new. It was hard to think of much to say on the longer drives these days. One would think halfway through the bible belt, there'd be more churches around.
"This coffee tastes funny," Star complained, taking a sip from her cup.
Michael was inclined to agree, but he quickly downed his own before shrugging it off, "shitty batch, I guess."
"...You used too much sugar."
He leaned back in his seat and watched her drive, smirking softly. "Maybe next time you can get the coffee, then."
Sympathy for the Devil crackled through the car radio, and neither Michael nor Star could avoid laughing at the insanely poor timing, even as they picked up speed on the road and the sound of engines behind them seemed to roar into life once more.
2 Years Ago
"...Michael, do you know what time it is?" Grandpa Emerson rasped as he shoved his bedroom door open and squinted at his eldest grandson.
"Uh...can you come in the kitchen? I need to talk to you." Michael rubbed his hands together nervously, shifting from foot to foot.
"Couldn't trouble yourself to put a shirt on, could ya?" The old man asked, stepping out of his room and closing the door behind him, as he walked with labored steps towards the staircase.
"Yeah. Sorry," Michael shrugged. Star would be there any minute. And they were both probably going to have to ask the old man a lot of questions, since he seemed to know a lot more about vampires than he was letting on. Maybe he'd have some kind of excuse or reason for what was happening, and it would turn out to be something stupid. Like maybe they were just having flashbacks from the blood they'd drunk, or something. He'd heard acid could be the same way. Months, even years after you took a hit, it would come back all at once to remind you. And it wasn't like those comics Sam read had all the answers in them.
By the time they'd settled in the kitchen, grandpa had decided to brew a pot of water for instant coffee. Something told him he was going to need it tonight.
"What's this all about? Had a bad dream?" The old man asked warily, pulling open the refrigerator door and pulling out a package of Oreos.
"Uh...kinda. Something like that." Michael licked his lips, looking down at the table and scratching at tiny spot of caked-on food. Maybe a drop of mashed potatoes or something...he couldn't tell. But it suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world, if it meant avoiding eye contact with Grandpa Emerson.
"Go on, then. Tell me about it." The old man shoved an Oreo in his mouth and leaned against the refrigerator, brows furrowed as he waited for Michael to spill the beans.
"Grandpa...you, uh...you know all about vampires, don't you?"
"Not everything."
"How did you know they...how did you know they came to the house?"
The old man shrugged. "Instinct, I guess. Smell of death, maybe. Kinda smelt it on you too for a bit there."
"Uhuh..." He didn't really want to keep talking. It felt as if just voicing his next question would make it somehow more real, make it even worse. But if Star was seeing them too...he just had to make sure they weren't real. He had to.
"So, let's say we killed all of them, right? If...if I started seeing them around places, flashes of them, stuff like that...I mean...what does it mean?"
Grandpa Emerson grunted, crossing the kitchen to grab the screaming kettle from the stove and pouring a hefty amount of boiling water into two cups.
"It means they're not dead, Michael. What kinda stupid question is that?"
Michael's face paled as he pushed away from the table, when there was a sudden knocking at the front door. Shit, he hoped it wasn't them...he didn't have a stake or anything on him, and he definitely wasn't strong enough to take David on anymore...if they really were back...
"Ain't you gonna answer the door? Or are you just gonna stand there playing like a deer in headlights?" The old man grunted, dusting a bit of crumbs from his bathrobe.
"Yeah...sorry..." Michael rushed over towards the front door and steeled himself before yanking it open. A whisper of fabric and the jingling of metal rushed by him before he slammed it back closed.
"Oh god, Michael, I saw them again! Outside!" Star gasped, clutching at her chest as he hurried to lock the door behind her.
"What?!" His eyes widened and Michael darted back towards the kitchen to begin digging through the kitchen drawers. He needed to find something. Anything to protect them. Would a butcher knife work? No, he was sure wood was better...that's what Sam and those stupid Frog brothers always said, whenever they had their little living room meetings and bullshitted about making a living out of clearing out Santa Carla. Maybe...maybe he could break a wooden spoon...
"Michael, boy, get away from that drawer and sit your ass down. What are you getting so worked up about?" Grandpa Emerson demanded, opening another cupboard to pull out an extra cup. "Would've been nice to know you had that girly coming over tonight before I started boiling the water," he grumbled, shuffling the cups around and measuring the water out evenly between them before he reached for a jar of instant coffee on the counter and a spoon.
"They're outside! David and the others!" Star rushed towards Grandpa Emerson, her voice cracking as she panicked, worried tears streaking down her face. "We don't have much time, we-"
"Both of you. Sit down. We're going to talk this out, and we're not going to get our panties in a knot, neither." Grandpa Emerson stated firmly, grabbing a spoon to stir the coffee.
"But-" Michael began to protest before the old man gave him a stern look, and quietly slipped back towards the table to take a seat. Star joined him...and they both felt like small children, for all their trouble, the way the old man was acting towards them.
"So," Grandpa Emerson hobbled towards the table, putting a cup of coffee in front of each teenager and then taking a set in front of them, "tell me when you started seeing them, and what they did when they caught you looking."
Star reached forward to grip the cup that was offered to her, and pulled it close to her chest, nibbling at her bottom lip and looking down, "nothing. They just...disappear..."
The old man then looked at Michael, who shrugged. "Yeah. That's all they do..."
"Uhuh..." Grandpa Emerson took a gulp of coffee and grimaced at the taste. Nowhere near as good as root beer. "You know something? I think they was trying to get you in the same room before they decided to come deal with you two." He leaned forward, "and I think they ain't gonna stop following you until you got your guards down. That's when it's gonna be more than just a look here and there. A lot more. That's the funny thing about vampires. They don't like to let anything go. Especially when they got it in their minds it already belongs to them."
Michael slumped in his chair, scowling down at his cup of coffee. Great. Just what he wanted to hear. He was never going to get away from David and the others. Never going to be through with this bullshit until they got bored and decided to chow down. Fucking. Great.
"So, here's what you're gonna do. When dawn hits, if they still ain't in the house, you're gonna go out to the garage. You're gonna take the keys to my car, and you're gonna get the hell outta Santa Carla. You're gonna drive, and keep driving, until you don't see them no more. Then you're gonna stop at a church, and that's where you stay till nightfall. And you'll start the whole thing over again the next night, because the minute you stay still is the minute they'll get you. When you can't find no churches around, you just drive all day. The more road behind you, the better off you're gonna be. You don't trust no one who can't say a prayer, and you don't let no one know who you are, neither. You understand?"
Each word that fell on Michael's ears was worse than the last. He didn't understand. He just didn't understand any of this.
"How are they even alive?!" He blurted out angrily, pushing himself away from the table and standing up. The old man just watched him calmly, hands clasped over his stomach, an irritated frown on his face.
"Because, somehow, one of you didn't finish the job. If any of them are still alive, ain't no reason they can't figure out a way to bring the others back. So, Michael. Good job. You fought a pack of bloodsuckers, and you got sloppy. Now you're gonna have to start running before they decide to return the favor."
"How..." Star spoke up finally, setting her cup down on the table, "...are we going to pay for gas? Or food? Or anything, if we can't ever stop going?"
The old man sighed, taking a gulp of coffee before he answered, and slamming the cup back onto the table, "there's a few thousand in the dashboard. If you're smart about it, should last you long enough to figure out a way to get more. But you wanna know the truth? I'm only buying you some time. Sooner or later, they're gonna catch up. And it ain't gonna be pretty when it happens, neither. The real reason you're running ain't to keep you safe, it's to protect the rest of us."