Author's notes: Pretty gory one, coming up. No animals were hurt in the writing of this chapter. At least, I don't think they were...don't quote me on that.

For a moment, Michael could swear there were lips brushing against his, long before he was able to summon the strength to rouse himself. He wanted to keep sleeping. God, how he wished he could. But the second awareness came crashing back down over Michael's shoulders, he knew he had to get up and get moving. It wasn't safe to stay in one place too long. And if the feeling of bright warmth on his eyes was anything to judge by, he knew they'd already been asleep far longer than either he or Star planned. But...there was a strange smell tickling his nose. Something...savory. Intriguing. Maybe Star had driven back to the gas station and picked up some breakfast? His tongue snaked out to lick at his lips, where he was greeted by the taste of copper and salt. Still half-dazed, he licked his lips again, not sure whether he liked it...or...

Michael's eyes snapped open and he seized forward, finding himself waking to a nightmare. Entrails strung across the dashboard. Crimson and fur painted over the windshield, lending a reddish hue to the light sunlight that managed to filter through. Blood all over his hands and his shirt, hardly a spot in the car remained un-touched. His eyes quickly slid over to find Star just barely waking, her own tongue darting out to mimic his own, and that was when Michael realized he was still licking his lips.

But worst of all...propped up on top of the steering wheel, staring Star right in the face when she opened her eyes, was a deer head with it's lips torn off in the sick imitation of a grin.

Star gave a strangled cry, scrambling to pull herself out of her seat, when she realized she was still strapped down by a belt. Michael leaned forward to help her unbuckle it, pulling her into his arms and pressing his lips to the top of her head, restraining her from tearing off into the open field outside.

"Shhhh, it's okay. Just a deer. Just a deer..." Michael breathed into her hair, stroking it. At first, she struggled, but gradually she became lax, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Why?" She gasped out, gripping his shirt in her fingers. "Why are they doing this to us?!"

"Because they're monsters, Star. And we're not." He continued stroking her hair, pulling her even closer. Holding her so desperately tight, neither of them were really sure if he'd ever let go.

Pushing her away just enough so that he could place his hands on each side of her face, Michael looked down into Star's eyes. And if the blood smeared over her forehead, lips, and cheek were anything to judge by...he was pretty sure he was an equally gruesome sight right now. What's more, it was as if the scent of that awful substance was somehow calling to him...begging Michael to lick it off of her cheeks. He hadn't felt this way since...

"I think somehow, some way...one of them got some of David's blood into our coffee last night," he breathed out, the words falling like a hammer blow on both their ears.

"But...but it doesn't just knock you out like that, Michael! It doesn't make you sick, doesn't-"

"Maybe they added something else, too. Drugs. Something to keep us from getting further than we did last night, I don't know. Who gives a shit what they did? Because they're not going to win. They're not. We've been managed this long, so clearly we're doing something right. We just made a dumb mistake last night. It's not going to happen twice." Michael slowly pulled himself away from her, despite the desperate need clawing at his throat to sate himself on the blood. Not that it would turn him. It wasn't human, after all. But giving in now was not only disgusting, but it would only make the Lost Boys that much closer to whatever fucked up end game they had in mind. If anything, they'd made a big mistake today. Because now...Michael was pissed.

With a shaking hand, Star pressed her hair from her face, and leaned back in her seat...glaring at the deer head that still remained perched in front of her. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to watch Bambi again. In a sudden fit of anger, she kicked open her door and grabbed the deer head in her hands, tossing it outside with a yell, as if just by throwing it with all her might she could somehow do the same to David. Then, she took a deep breath and looked back at Michael.

"So..." Star whispered dryly, "you think we have enough baby wipes left to clean this up?"

Michael snorted. "Probably going to have to go back to that gas station...thank god we're not going back to Santa Carla. Grandpa would kill me if he saw this..."

It really wasn't easy, scrubbing the car down with baby wipes and an old roll of heavy duty paper towels. The interior was pretty much ruined. The likelihood of ever getting the smell of dead deer to go away was nigh on impossible. But they did manage to at least clean off the dashboard and windshield. So if, for some reason, anyone asked any questions...they could just pretend this was the car they took hunting. Either that, or Star was a very bad driver, and had nailed more than one woodland creature on their road trip. The sooner they found a car wash, the better.

As for their clothes, they'd been reluctantly forced to strip down in the barn and use the last of the baby wipes to wash themselves down, though they'd still have to go back to the gas station to do it again, because there was only so much you could do with a bit of disposable cloth drenched in alcohol.

"My coat is shot," Michael grumbled, tossing his green army coat aside onto a bale of damp, rotted hay.

"You've still got your jacket in the back seat, don't you?" Star asked over her shoulder as she got to work buttoning up a red plaid shirt, rolling up the sleeves to give it more of a feminine appeal. Michael watched her dress with a slight smirk. Any other woman, it would look awful on. But he could honestly say somehow, Star always managed to make just about any old rag look pretty damn good. It really sucked having to live by his 'look but don't touch' philosophy. They didn't need the extra complications right now.

"I don't really want to wear it," Michael shrugged, slipping into a fresh pair of jeans and buttoning them up.

"Michael, you're going to be cold if you don't put it on. Just wear it. I'm not asking you to put on the stupid earring," Star spun about to face him, her fists on her hip.

"I'm not cold. I'm fine," he lied, avoiding making eye contact with her as he snatched a black t-shirt out of the back seat.

"Okay, you don't have to put it on right now. But grab it and put it in the front seat with you just in case, okay? I don't want to have to pull over later when you change your mind." Star crossed over to the back seat, reaching just past Michael to grip onto the jacket. And in doing so, she found herself pressed up close against him, her breath catching in her throat. Earlier in the car when he'd been comforting her, she'd been a little too distracted to notice him. But now...god, he was still just as beautiful as the first day she'd seen him, gazing at her across that crowd while she danced to the beat of the sax man.

"I can get it myself," Michael whispered down at her, taking the jacket from Star's hand and smirking, as if he knew what she was thinking.

"Uh...right...right," Star shook her head, flattening out her shirt and plucking at her jeans as if she needed to adjust them, and hadn't just been staring at Michael as if she wanted to spread him between two slices of bread and go to town.

Michael licked his lips, giving her one quick look before he backed away and crossed to the passenger side of the car and yanked the door wide open.

"Better get moving, huh? Daylight's burning," he called back to her, buckling his seat belt and plucking a few stray bits of deer fur from the dashboard. He examined it for a moment with a bitter smirk before closing his eyes and making a wish as he blew them away.

"What?" Star jerked up. "Yeah...yeah...it's burning. You're right...Daylight. Daylight...is...burning." She shook her head, laughing at how stupid she was acting. If their coffee really had been spiked with David's blood, she could blame it on that. Besides, it wasn't like Michael wasn't really handsome. He was. Hell, she still dreamed about those lips, when she wasn't having her routine nightmares about the Lost Boys chasing her and quartering her on Route 66, of course. If, maybe, once in awhile she felt a little awkward him...she was only human. Kind of. That was a topic to worry about on another day...maybe when they weren't just recovering from a blood-soaked slumber in an old barn.

The minute they pulled out of the barn, the sunlight shining full on their faces, it was unbearable. It came as no surprise to either of them when Michael had to fish out his sunglasses from the glove compartment and pass a pair over to Star as well.

If they'd lingered much longer, perhaps taken the time to explore their surroundings, they might have noticed the Lost Boys dangling from the rafters, tucked away in the only shadowed area of the barn, so very close and yet so very far at the same time. Their bikes were parked on the other side of the building.