Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this— I appreciate the feedback! This chapter contains another one of my sad attempts at darker writing, so I apologize for that(: There's a few f-bombs (as per usual), and there's a little bit of sexuality. :P In addition, we learn a little more about Michaela's past and her relationships with the other characters. Thank you all for your time and let me know what you think? (:

"Shh. Mike. Calm down… it's alright. Really. Everything's fine."

Michaela rested her head on Steve's chest. She fought to quiet her sobs and stop the tears, but she honestly couldn't bring herself to care enough to force them to stop. Nothing, not even trying to be strong, meant anything right now. All that mattered was the fact that her only friend in the entire world was about to be put six feet underground. She wrapped her arms around Steve's waist and let out a long, shuddering breath. "I just… I can't…"

Steve loosened his rigid stance and put his anger past him; he could hide his rage at least for the moment. He sighed and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer into his body. "I know, babe."

"I can't even begin to… to think about… he's fucking gone. I don't know… I… I…"

Steve looked at the hole that Darren's grave would soon be lowered into and nodded. "Yeah. I know what you mean. It's hard to believe that he's really dead," he managed to respond monotonously. He was pissed off, but not enough to ignore Michaela's feelings. He knew that her fragile mind would not yet be able to comprehend what his was barely able to grasp: that Darren was alive. He was lying in his casket, probably laughing at them all. He would rise in a few hours, and he would roam the night as a vampire. It should have been Steve. Darren should have never stolen his place, and Steve would make damn sure that he lived to regret it.

Michaela looked up at her boyfriend's face trustingly. "I'm sorry, baby… I'm being totally inconsiderate. How are you doing, Steve? You knew him longer and you're just standing here being all stoic and… Well, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he lied.

"Your best friend died, and you honestly expect me to believe that you're fine?"

"I'm not upset. Really," he responded honestly.

She frowned but decided that she shouldn't press the issue any further. He would talk to her when he was ready; he always did. There's reason enough to pretend to be okay, she told herself. Do it for Steve. The only person in the entire world that you have left. Instead of arguing with him, she got up on her toes and gently pressed her lips to his. "Can your awful, inconsiderate girlfriend ask you for a favor?"

He rolled his eyes at her failed attempt at humor. "Yeah, sure. Anything you need."

"Would you mind staying the night with me? Please?" When he raised his eyebrows, she whispered, "I really don't want to be alone…"

He involuntarily let out a small smile. "Yeah. Anything for you."

Recalling the fact that she wanted to be strong for him, she forced a smile onto her lips. "Are you trying to be nice, or do you just think you'll get lucky?" she joked, and once again lifted her head to meet his eyes.

"Maybe a little bit of both," he admitted with one of his signature half-grins.

"Well then… maybe you'll get a little bit of both, hmm?" she responded, and raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"Really?" He was shocked, and not only because of her sudden change in mood. He wasn't used to her actually wanting to have sex, and the fact that she would bring it up at their best friend's funeral made her behavior even odder. But, hell; if it got him laid, he wouldn't complain. She had been seriously lacking in that department—mainly because she kept ranting about 'morals' and refused to get in bed—, and most nights spent together were just spent sleeping.

"No." She caught sight of his face and almost laughed at his expression. "Okay, maybe. We'll see. But only because you're being all adorable and supportive, alright?"

"Are you sure it isn't because you're sick of holding out on me?" he asked hopefully.

"Mmm… No, I like holding out on you. That part's actually been pretty fun."

He frowned at her, and she gave him another small kiss before she grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the area they'd chosen to sit near while they buried Darren. She wasn't exactly disgusted with herself for her behavior, but she knew she was being untrue to Steve. Michaela hated when she was the main focus of concern (which happened often), and she especially hated that Steve felt the need to put all of his emotions behind him so that he could deal with hers. It took all of her strength to refrain from crying when they buried Darren. But, hey; anything for Steve…

Michaela was standing by a dirt road with her arms crossed over her chest. She was leaning against a tree and squinting at distant lights that twinkled back at her mockingly. Before her laid the town next to the one she resided in, and behind her laid a darkly wooded forest. She didn't know what to do, which way to turn— and so she just stood there against the lone tree, trying to relish to stillness of the night. She tried to convince herself that the silence was a good sign, and that it was peaceful— but she had an overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. Her mind kept reminding her of the still before tornadoes; she tried to assure herself that it was just her cynic pessimism.

When she heard the mindless chatter of men, she looked first to the right and then the left. She let out a small sigh when she saw a group of five drunken men. Her body went rigid when they began to stumble their way over towards her. They were only a few yards away when she heard one of them say, "There's someone against the tree."

"It's just a chick," a second man dismissed.

"Alone?" the third man rasped suggestively.

"At night," the fourth man added.

The fifth remained silent, assessing Michaela before halting the group in front of her. He was obviously the leader— and the scummiest— of them all. He grinned after his short analysis and decided, "I'll be damned if we're gonna let that slide."

"You do realize I can hear you all just fine," Michaela decided to speak up bitterly.

"But nobody else will be able to hear you." He gave her a sinister grin and took a step closer to her.

"Your friends can," she pointed out.

"They don't mind. Right, guys?" Upon seeing their nods of agreement, he added, "You can stand guard while I have my way with this bitch."

"Damn straight, Johnny," one of them agreed.

Michaela glared at the inebriated Johnny with stone-cold eyes, refusing to let her screaming fear reveal itself. Maybe if you act brave, they'll leave you alone, she told herself uncertainly. She decided it was worth a try and responded with a simple, "Fuck off."

"Bitch got a temper," Johnny said appreciatively. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them back against the tree before leaning in about three inches away from her face and whispering nastily, "I like that."

Michaela began to screech as she struggled against his grip. She fought him for a little bit before kneeing his groin. He released her immediately, and she began to run away. She would've made it, too, if it weren't for his hoard of assholes. They grabbed her and shoved her back against the tree. When Johnny had recovered, he staggered to his feet and slapped her across the face. He went back to the position they were in before, with her being pinned against the tree and him glowering at her. "Don't you even bother trying to get away. This is happening, dollface, whether you like it or not."

Johnny's grip on her tightened, and she cried out with pain. He grinned sadistically and pressed his body against hers. Michaela could feel his lips pry at her unresponsive mouth. She let out a scream, but that was like an open invitation to Johnny. Tears rolled down her face and she whimpered pathetically as he kissed her. She closed her eyes as Johnny began to pull at her clothes, accepting her fate.

Just as soon as he'd managed to tear her shirt off, his grip suddenly ceased and his body was violently ripped away from hers. At the sudden lack of pressure, Michaela slumped to the ground and curled into a ball. She didn't know what was happening, but she didn't really care, either. She had a feeling that Johnny would be coming back to her, and so she completely shut out the world around her. She didn't even bother to open her eyes, for fear of what she would see. Please end soon. Just kill me and get it over with. Please. I don't want to have to deal with this for the rest of my life…

Steve lifted his head from the last of the men he had sucked dry and let out a small, content sigh. He didn't care that he'd just killed five men— they all deserved it. Assholes. He left three bodies full of blood, knowing that Murlough would want them when he came to follow Steve's trail later. He wiped the blood from his face on one of the men's shirts, and then approached Michaela's shuddering body. He sighed and forced her into a sitting position, being as gentle as he possibly could because he didn't want to hurt her. His vampaneze strength often came out at random moments when he didn't expect it to— that was how he'd accidentally killed his mom's boyfriend. But he didn't care much about that, either; he had been an asshole as well. An asshole who didn't deserve to live.

Steve took his shirt off and put it over his (ex?)-girlfriend's head. She refused to lift her arms to put them through the holes, so he just yanked it down over her whole upper body. He scowled when he noticed that despite her arms being inside of it, the shirt was still loose over her; if he'd tried this before he'd left, it would have definitely been a snug fit. He cupped her face and lifted her chin up and to the right, examining her injuries. She would have a bruise on her cheek. He knew it was no big deal and definitely nothing he should care about— it still pissed him off, though. He was glad he'd killed the little bitch who had dared to do this to her. He would gladly murder anybody who ever hurt her. Ever. Then again— that's all you are nowadays, he reminded himself bitterly. A murderer.

He waited for a moment before deciding that she wouldn't open her eyes, stop crying, or uncurl from her fetal position. So instead of sitting there with her, he lifted her into his arms and began to walk over to her house. He would have run to their destination, but he wanted to hold her as long as he could and opted for the slower pace of walking. As much as he hated to think so, he knew that he'd missed her a hell of a lot more than he should have. He shouldn't have missed her at all, and he knew that. He should have forgotten about her immediately after he'd been blooded—or, better yet, the day he'd chosen to run away in search of someone willing to turn him. He'd achieved his dreams, and he'd become what he'd always wanted. The vampaneze didn't have times for feelings other than hate, humans other than who they fed on, or regret other than not having their Vampaneze Lord yet. He would fix that, though. He had every intention of laying in that fire coffin and showing his people what destiny had in store for them. He planned out what he would do as lord of the vampaneze as he turned the corner onto Michaela's street.

Michaela had fallen asleep on the way over to her house, but as soon as Steve laid her down on her bed, her eyes flashed open. She sat up and turned on a light before looking at her shirtless boyfriend. "Steve?" she whispered.

"Yo," he managed, ignoring the way his throat tightened when he looked at her.

"What are you… why are you…"

"There were guys being assholes. I brought you home," he stated simply. He didn't want to go into what had happened; it had disgusted him. He knew that if he tried to talk about it he would wind up getting pissed off and accidentally hurting her in his frenzy of rage.

"You…" He saw a tortured look of remembrance on her face, but when she lifted her head and their eyes met she suddenly brightened. "You saved me."

"Um… yeah, I guess…"

"You came back. You came back and… and saved me."

"I wouldn't go that far…" he mumbled. He couldn't do this. He couldn't get her hopes up; couldn't let her get attached again…

She looked at him and frowned. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"What?" he asked in shock. He hadn't been expecting that reaction at all.

"I'm dreaming again. I can tell. After all, you left me. Why would you come back now? And, I mean, you saved me. Stereotypical teenage fantasy. You were never that cliché in real life. It's just my stupid mind playing tricks on me…"

"Actually, Mikey, I'm here. I'm real. And I did save you, if that's what you want to call it. I would call it more punching out some assholes that really deserved it, but… whatever floats your boat, kiddo."

She slowly got to her feet and looked him over. "So… you're real," she clarified slowly.

"Real as I've ever been."

She stared into his eyes, and he was glad that it was too dark for her to notice that his eyes had changed colors since they'd last been together. Michaela studied him before she leaned in slowly, pausing when her lips were about an inch away from his. "This is usually where I wake up," she whispered.

He looked down at her, feeling the tension between them. He knew that if he was smart he would run away right now. However, he'd never been known for his intelligence— he was frequently referred to as an idiot savant. He closed the space between their lips by grabbing her face and pulling her closer to his body. Their kiss only lasted for a few seconds, but it would have been so much longer and progressed so much further if he hadn't pulled away. He cursed himself for his stupidity; he'd known that was a dumb idea! He was only going to get himself more attached, and make it harder for them both to say goodbye…

He looked at her trusting face and turned away in shame. He forced out a muttered, "I, uh, have to go…"

"You have to leave?" she asked, her face falling. "Again?"

"Yeah," he coughed out. He couldn't succumb to her wills. He couldn't let himself…

"For… for how long?"

"Probably forever." He had to be cold. He had to tell the truth. He had to let her know that there was no hope, before he did something stupid like change her. He instantly brightened at the idea—he could change her! Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it before? Then they'd be together forever!

He bit his lip as his momentary joy was replaced by scorn. He couldn't do that—not only was he still only a half-vampaneze, but he would never hurt her like that. He scowled at himself for even thinking the thought. He just needed to get her out of his head.

"Can you at least stay the night?" she asked. When she saw the incoming refusal in his eyes, she added, "Please?"

He was all set to deny her request when he saw the look in her eyes; the one that was pleading him to consider it. One night can't hurt anyone… can it? he wondered. He knew the answer: yes. It would kill them both. But he wanted to stay, so bad. He sat down on the bed and began slowly, "Listen, Mike—"

"I know," she said softly. "I know you're going to leave and even if I do ever see you again, it won't matter because we can't be together. Whatever's different about you—don't even bother trying to lie to me, because I know something's changed— makes it impossible for you to be with me. Right?" He nodded slowly, and she went on, "So I know things will never change between us. You'll move on with your life, and probably get more scars." She pointed to his scar-covered upper-body and added, "I don't even want to know how you got them. I'll probably start crying. But, listen… I don't mind that you don't care about me or love me anymore. I get it. I just… I want you to stay anyway. I know it's fucked up, but I really want you to stay, despite everything. Can you? Please?"

He choked on his words, not sure what to say. She had misinterpreted him so badly! He cared for her, and he loved her, and… She was right. They could never be together. His changes made it impossible to even hope for a future. He paused before deciding on a simple, "Sure, Mike. Anything for you."

"Thanks," she whispered softly. She sat still for a moment and memorized his face—his new, oh-so-different face— before she crawled into the bed and turned to her left side, just like always. Steve got in bed and lay right behind her, draping his arm over her waist and gently pulling her in towards his body so that her back rested against his stomach. Their breathing became synchronized, and Michaela fell asleep almost instantly, feeling safe in his arms. Steve stayed awake throughout the whole night, watching her peaceful slumber in awe.

Just like always.

Darren frowned as Mr. Crepsley lectured him about their upcoming journey to wherever the hell it was. Crepsley wouldn't let him know where they were going, but that wasn't what was wearing on Darren's nerves at the moment. What was ticking him off right now was how obnoxious Mr. Crepsley's speech was, being as he never stuttered or fumbled while he talked. It made Darren feel like a rambling moron every time he opened his mouth. When he saw the Crepsley had shut his mouth, Darren let out a yawn.

"I am not kidding with you, Darren. There are many dangers and we must prepare you for each one, as I am responsible for your actions and will not tolerate any shameful behavior."

"Mr. Crepsley. Just shut it, alright? I'm really not in the mood for—"

Crepsley raised his hand as if to backhand-slap his assistant. Darren took a quick step away from him, and he found himself with his back against a wall. "You shall not disrespect me. I am your master, and you shall treat me as such. There will be dire consequences for misbehavior, do you understand?"

"Sorry," Darren managed to gasp out. He knew Crepsley could do some serious damage if he wanted to.

"Your apology has been accepted," Mr. Crepsley responded curtly, and retreated from Darren's body. He watched the boy take a breath of relief before adding, "However, no more outbursts shall be tolerated. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes, Crepsley."

"Mister Crepsley," he corrected with a tone of authority that Darren couldn't help but be even further annoyed by.

Darren rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yes, Mr. Crepsley."

Mr. Crepsley nodded and sat back on his coffin. "Now— what has you feeling troubled?"

"It's just…" Darren hesitated, not being too keen on the idea of discussing feelings with his new mentor. However, there was nobody else he could talk to about his issues. There was always Evra, but Darren felt guilty weighing down his lighthearted friend with his sorrows. Crepsley was a better option than his other candidates, so he decided to go on. "Well, I just kind of really miss my home. My friends and my family, y'know? And I know you warned me about that, so I had braced myself for that. But I wasn't expecting to feel so… guilty. I wasn't prepared for it. I feel like I abandoned them, almost."

Mr. Crepsley considered this before nodding again. "I recall this experience. It is quite normal to feel badly about leaving— however, you should not. Had you stayed, you would have wound up killing them all. They are much better off without you."

Darren sighed. "Yeah, but I still feel like scum for leaving them all by themselves."

"You may feel this way, but they are not alone, Darren. They have other people to depend upon than just you."

"Not all of them," Darren argued.

Crepsley studied Darren's expression before deciding that it would be safe to ask, "You are speaking of your friend Michaela, are you not?"

Darren's face went white. "How… how do you know about Mikey?"

"You mention her often in her sleep. Additionally— she spent the night at your residence once or twice while Madame Octa was in your possession, did she not?"

"Um… yeah," he said uncomfortably. "How did you—"

"I had my eye on you and my spider. Do you not remember? That is how I became intrigued in your existence and decided I wanted you as my assistant." He paused before continuing, "I found it quite interesting that you allowed her to take to the bed while you slept on the floor. I recall following her home that morning— I take it your parents did not know she was there, for she left while you were still asleep at approximately four o' clock in the morning. She arrived at what I presumed to be her own home before the sun had risen, but there was a rather loud argument and she left almost immediately following. She made her way over to the cretin known as Steve's home, but she stopped once she reached his property and left. She wandered for a while before growing tired and making herself a resting area inside of an abandoned construction site."

"And then what happened?" Darren asked with eager curiosity, noting the distant expression on his mentor's face. "Did you leave her, or what?"

"I struck up a conversation with her. She is quite interesting. I was quite taken aback by her initial unpleasantness, but she eventually grew to appreciate my company and we talked through the morning."

Darren's jaw dropped. He wondered why Michaela had never mentioned any of this— from sleeping in a construction site to arguing with her mom (or maybe it was her older brother) to meeting a fire-headed stranger in the dark. Wondering what else Michaela had kept from him, he hesitated before curiosity got the best of him and wondered aloud, "What did you talk about?"

"We discussed a multitude of topics. I had wished to find out information on you, but she refused to comply. She would not reveal any information pertaining to or regarding you."

"Why not?"

"She refused. I asked about you, but she denied knowledge of your existence. I informed her that I was aware of your friendship, but she would hear none of it. She refused to admit that she knew anything about you. She is a loyal friend, that one."

"I know," Darren said with a frown. "She had two people in the entire world, and I up and left her. I am such a jackass."

"She did not have others?"

"No. Her dad died when she was ten, and her mom was always either drunk, in jail, or out with one of her 'uncles'. Her older brother left the family when he was, like, sixteen— he comes around every once in a while, but they aren't on good terms. Steve and I were her only friends, and I…" Darren felt his eyes mist up, but forced himself to be strong. He didn't want Crepsley to see him break down.

"Ah, yes— Steve Leonard. I wonder how the beast is faring."

Darren frowned, recalling how his best friend had threatened his life at the cemetery after his un-burial. "I hope that he's doing alright… He has Mikey to keep him safe, at least. She would never let him do anything stupid. She'd keep him sane."

"If she has her cretin with her, she cannot be too alone, can she?" Crepsley pointed out. "They can seek solace in each other. There is nothing for you to feel guilty about."

"Yeah, I guess," Darren decided uncertainly.

A/N: This took a little longer than expected to get posted, so sorry about that; I don't have internet at my dad's place so I couldn't put it up. The fourth chapter should be up either tonight or tomorrow, so there's gonna be a little less of a wait for that(: