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Brendan was beautiful when he slept.
Ste didn't think he'd seen the vampire looking quite so peaceful and rested. They had spent the day together in the dark safety of Brendan's bedroom and Ste didn't bring up Seamus. Mostly because he didn't want to damage this peace before he had to. Last night had changed the way they thought about each other. Ste wasn't just Brendan's to protect, Brendan was Ste's to mend and to cherish.
And, of course, it was his job to protect Brendan, too. And he was intending to do so. Maybe that was why he didn't try to wake Brendan as he crept out of bed and dressed the moment he felt the sun was disappearing. Nor did he tell him he was going. Because anyone strong enough to nearly succeed in doing such an awful thing to someone as strong and powerful as Brendan, would not be easy for Ste to take on alone. Luckily for Ste, he knew another person who loved and protected Brendan almost as strongly as him.
He met Seamus in the graveyard. He was wondering how on Earth he could bring up the subject of his son nearly being raped. He didn't doubt for a second that Seamus would explode with fury, but they needed to channel it, to attack the right person. Or creature.
Seamus greeted him with a gruff smile. "Ah, Steven," he said, casually, "How was it after I left?"
"Er, yeah, fine," said Ste, with a small blush. 'Fine' was not an accurate description, but it was probably the best he could use for Brendan's Dad. "Er… but… there's something…"
"Did Brendan explain his problems with me?" Seamus asked, wary eyes keeping a careful watch of Ste's reaction giving away quite how much he cared about the answer.
"Oh, no… but I want to…"
Seamus sighed a great sigh, "I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed," he said. "I was hoping to start building bridges."
"Er... yeah, that would be nice," said Ste. "I mean… he's …."
"Speaking of building bridges, Steven, I've been doing a bit or research."
Ste blinked, "What?" he said.
Seamus stuffed his hands into his pockets, casually, "I was thinking of how much I care about getting Brendan back into my life, and then about how you haven't got a father in your life."
"Oh," said Ste, not feeling entirely comfortable about where Seamus was going. He may not have a father but he wasn't on the lookout for one. However nice Seamus was, if he tried to offer to be a second father to Ste, Ste would need to turn him down in a very diplomatic way.
"So, I did of bit of research; you know, on this internet thing. And the thing is, a few years ago, this guy went looking for his son."
Ste's mouth dropped open. If he'd had a heartbeat it would have sped up.
"The boy would be about twenty three now, called Steven…"
"No," Ste gasped.
Seamus stopped, and looked at him questioningly.
"I mean…" said Ste, trying to wonder why he'd just been so emphatic, "that's… right, even if it is my Dad, what do I do? Wander up to him in Tescos and say 'Hey, Dad, I'm your long lost dead monster son!'?"
Seamus gave him a steady look, not patronising, not dismissing. He accepted Ste's feelings, but didn't agree with them. "You think that could have made me stop loving Brendan? Would that stop you loving your kids?"
"No, course not!" cried Ste, "but it's different isn't it? My Dad walked out when I was a baby! He's never met me! Why should he want anything to do with me?"
Seamus put a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Steven, he's been looking for you for twenty years. He's not going to let anything get in the way. Take it from one who knows." He smiled, "Took me a hundred years to find Brendan, but I'd have searched for a thousand if I had to."
Ste paused, thoughts stumbling through his head because of the panic that had invaded. Did he want to meet his Dad? Did he want to kill his Dad? Did he believe that his Dad was trying to find him? The Dad who hadn't picked up a phone through decades of Terry's violence and Pauline's drinking? Did he even want to hear his excuses?
"Look, I know it's a big thing, Steven. Why don't we just go and take a look? You don't have to talk to him."
Could they do that? Stare in a window at a man Ste had fantasised about all his life?
He found himself nodding. It freaked him out, but he couldn't not.
"Ok," he said, "but I need to tell you something."
Seamus frowned, "All right, tell me on the way."
So he did, as they flew side by side to the other side of the village. If he hadn't been so caught up in what he was saying, Ste would have been surprised that their destination was so close. His father lived this near and hadn't found him? Ste found that hard to believe.
Once they landed, Seamus didn't continue for a moment. He just looked at Ste thoughtfully.
"And he didn't tell ye who it was?" he asked.
Ste was surprised at how calm he was being, and shook his head, "No, but you know Bren, always thinks it's his job to be the strong, manly one."
Seamus snorted at that, but not in the knowing way Ste would have expected. It was almost derisive. But that couldn't be right.
"If he didn't tell you who it was, Steven, then there's not much you can do about it, is there?"
"Well, no," said Ste, "but I thought he probably would tell us, eventually. If we asked right."
"Do you think he wants to talk about it?" snapped Seamus.
"Well, no…" Ste replied, "but I thought…"
"You think dragging it all up's going to help, do ye?" grumbled Seamus. "If he doesn't want to talk about it, how do you think he'll react if you try and make him? Seriously, are ye a woman or something?"
Ste's mouth dropped open. Where had that come from?
"Sorry," said Seamus. "I'm not thinking straight. That's not how people behave, nowadays, is it? It just makes me uncomfortable, this touchy feely stuff. I mean, if I'd tried to talk to my father about … God, anything, then he'd have beaten me until I couldn't walk. It's hard to fight ideas like that, you know?"
Ste stared. Was it? Maybe if Terry's beatings had come with explanations then he might have changed the way he thought.
"I mean, what you just said about Brendan? It makes me physically sick with fury, but just fury, you know? That's the only thing men like me were allowed to feel. Believe me, when we find out who did that to Brendan, there's going to be hell to pay."
That was better, more like Ste had expected. Maybe he was being too harsh on Seamus; the modern world must be very confusing for someone his age. It must be just as confusing for Brendan. Who knew what it must have felt like for Ste to work out what had happened?
"But I have to control it, Steven. There's nothing I can do about it now. Unless Brendan wants to talk to me about it," he sighed, "and he's not likely to do that."
Seamus turned away, and looked at a house. Ste turned to look too. It looked completely normal. Three or four bedrooms, semi-detached, painted white. Nothing stuck out as unusual, except how exceptionally normal it was. Ste felt a twang to his heart.
"Is this it?" he asked, "my Dad's house?"
Seamus nodded, and Ste realised he felt an unbearable longing. Maybe he always had. Could he have grown up here? Away from fists, where he'd have been comforted when he cried, not ignored or shouted at. Would someone have read with him? Helped him conquer his dyslexia? Could Ste have been whole if he had grown up here?
"You wanna take a look?"
Ste jumped at the question. Did he want to go in? Did he want to see the life he might have led if his father hadn't been a coward? He wasn't sure.
"Come on," Seamus said, in a low, comforting voice, "we don't have to show ourselves."
"I don't… I…"
"Just follow my lead," said Seamus, and he was gone in a moment.
Ste panicked a moment. What should he do? He took a tentative step away from the house. Then steeled himself. His father owed him a childhood. He couldn't complain about Ste eavesdropping on him.
He followed Seamus to the window, and looked in on a family. His heart instantly twisted in jealousy.
There was a woman in her forties, blond with a confident but kindly face, two girls in their twenties, one slim and blond the other more filled out and brunette, and another, smaller girl, blond again and in her early teens. But it was not any one of those people who made Ste's soul wither with longing. It was the fact that each and every one of them was laughing loudly. It was probably a reaction to what was obviously a wonderful joke told by the handsome man in his forties, but to Ste each smile was a smirk at his misery - a jeer that he was out in the cold when they were all sat around the table eating a beautiful evening meal.
The woman put a hand on her husbands arm as he collected plates from the table. He smiled at her, and she too gathered some of the serving bowls to take away. The meandered away to the other side of the building, and Ste found himself flying around the side of the house, taking milli-seconds to reach the window looking into what was obviously a kitchen.
"Danny," he heard the woman say, "I'm proud of you."
"Proud?" said the man, Danny, Ste's father, as he put clingfilm over a salad bowl.
"Yes, proud," said the woman, "that was the first time I've seen you smile since..."
The man's face fell, and the woman stopped herself.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I shouldn't have brought him up..."
"No," said Danny, "it's just... when I've got you four around me, my beautiful girls; it's so easy to pretend he never existed, that I never had a son."
Ste's heart tore into tiny little bits. It was a good thing he couldn't enter the house, because at that moment he would have gone inside and torn the family into tiny little bits to match. His father pretended he never existed?
Danny wiped his eye. "I just can't believe how much I miss him."
Ste tried to calm himself.
"It's stupid, isn't it?" Danny asked his wife, "To miss someone you only met twice?"
"Not at all..." said the wife, and gentle hand on his shoulder.
"I should have... I don't know... forced Pauline to let me see him! Maybe if he'd known me, if I could have helped him, then maybe he would never have..."
"You can't blame yourself fo his death!" the woman insisted, "It was Pauline's fault! She was the one who kept you away, who kept him hidden from you!"
"I should have done more..."
"There's nothing more you could have done!" insisted the woman, "they were living under the name Hay, weren't they? How were you supposed to know that?"
Danny just shook his head. He was not going to accept these excuses for his behaviour. He hated himself, and Ste found himself glad of that. "Sam, my son is dead. He died never knowing how much I cared about him, and now there's nothing I can do about it."
The man's voice broke and his whole body was wracked with sobs. The woman, Sam, ran forward and threw her arms around him. "Shhh," she said, "it's OK, let it out. I'm here."
And he did. He cried hard, so hard the giggling from the other room stopped and curious faces appeared around the kitchen door.
"Mum? What's wrong with Dad?"
"Dad, are you OK?"
"Is he crying? Why's he crying?"
"It's OK, girls," said Sam, quietly, "we'll talk about it later."
"But..."
"Not now," Sam repeated, still holding her sobbing husband close. The girls did not look pleased to be dismissed, but they could clearly tell now was not the time to be bothering their parents with it. So they turned and reluctantly returned to whatever it was they were doing, though now quieter, more soberly.
"I think we should tell them," said Sam, quietly.
Danny didn't reply. Maybe he didn't want to, maybe he couldn't.
"They deserve to know," said Sam, "maybe they'll want to visit his grave or something."
"I don't know where his grave is," said Danny.
"Or say a prayer or something," said Sam, "I don't know, but they should know about him."
Maybe Danny didn't agree, but he nodded his consent, and Sam took his hand. "It's OK, I'll do the talking," she said, and led her husband back towards their children.
Ste pressed himself so hard to the window that he was surprised that he didn't fall through. He had held onto the window sill so tightly that it had left large dents in the wood. He turned away from his family, unable to look any more, and slid down the wall and closed his eye, fighting to be rid of the image now burnt into his retina. He sat there shivering for a long time, unable to move. He felt cold all over, even though he wasn't meant to any more.
Seamus seemed to be long gone, either wishing to give him peace or disgusted by his open show of longing for a family he had never known. He wondered if Seamus ever felt that way towards Brendan and Cheryl, and would his feel that way about him in a few years' time? Really he was no better than that man on the other side of the window. He had left his kids just like him and now he could only be there when the sun went down. He was a shadow of his former self; he wouldn't be there for the times where his kids really needed him. For the first time since becoming a vampire Ste wanted to die.
He flew into the air and slammed straight into Seamus.
'Steven...' he started to say.
"Tell Brendan I said sorry,' said Ste, failing to see the look of triumph in the other man's eyes. He flew with no purpose, blind almost. He landed in the church yard where he had first met Brendan and finally settled himself on the church steps. He knew what he was going to do, he was going to wait for the sun and let death take him.
'Are you okay, child?' said a soft voice from behind him.
Ste flinched, startled by the fact he hadn't sense a human behind him. He tried to push away the longing for human blood, even if he could almost feel every cell of it pushing around the older man who was standing beside him.
'I know you,' said the man, his kind brown eyes examining Ste. 'You're Steven Hay,' he looked awkward. 'I have been helping to organise your funeral.'
Ste found himself frozen. Should he kill this man or let him live? He couldn't let him find out about vampires and live to tell the tale. He couldn't leave Brendan to cope with that.
"Do not be afraid child' said the man, 'one does not work for a church all this time and fail to notice the existence of vampires.'
He smiled, but Ste decided to ignore him and continued to stare forwards, rather than look at the man.
'What are you doing here tonight?' asked the man softly.
Ste shot him an annoyed look, couldn't he just die in peace this time? 'I'm sunbathing' he said, sarcastically.
The man's expression didn't change. 'Lovely time of night for it.'
'Even better if you did one!' said Ste.
The man chuckled softly. 'You are as engaging as they have said you are. You are very much loved Ste.'
Ste glared at the ground. 'Was,' he corrected.
'Still are.' said the man. 'Death hasn't the power to stop love. I like to come here at night, it's very peaceful.' He pointed over to a grave full of flowers. 'That's my wife over there.'
Ste felt instantly guilty. 'I'm sorry.'
The man smiled softly at him. 'Don't be, she lived a very fulfilling and wonderful life.'
'Lucky her' muttered Ste bitterly.
The man turned his soft brown eyes onto Ste again. 'Lucky you,' he said, 'you get a second chance to get things right.'
Ste snorted at that 'As a monster.'
'No,' said the man, 'As someone who still loves and is loved, what could be more human than that?'
He glanced up and Ste did the same. The two of them were no longer alone; Brendan was standing over them almost looking lost.
The man patted Ste on the shoulder, and stood up. 'I think it's time I went to bed,' he said, and nodded kindly at Brendan. He disappeared into the church without another word.
'Bren.' said Ste softly, feeling tears in his eyes.
Brendan held out his hand to pull Ste up. 'Let's go home, Steven.'