Author's Note: Whoa… this took a while. My b my b. I had no computer access for quite some time (my harddrive decided to crap out on me, I had to pay $250 to fix this bullshit laptop!) and then Cablevision sucks so I had no internet connection for a while. BUT everything got fixed just in time for me to start my junior year, and as we all know, school means procrastination, and procrastination means new fanfic chapters! Yay!
Also, I don't think they ever gave Steve's mom a first name, so I'm giving her one. If either I made one up in the past and forgot about it or I'm incorrect and she has one, please let me know! Thank you c:
Review Response Time!
-nikochan23: It's coming, I swear! I give it roughly five chapters before this story is a-closed. Just you wait chiquita, just you wait c:
-nooneneedstoknow: Oh, believe me, there is PLENTY of Michaela/Steve drama coming your way! Those two are just baaad news c:
In. Out. Steve exhaled heavily as he stared at his one-time home. He had hated it there, he always had, but he knew the place like the back of his hand. The faulty locks on the windows, the hole in the front step, the creaks in the floorboard. He had been able to sneak in and out of his house with no problem as a kid, and with his heightened senses, it was sure to be even simpler. In the window, up the stairs, kill the bitch.
Simple.
He had no reason to be nervous. He assured himself that he wasn't. His sweaty palms, his accelerated heartbeat- they were all products of anticipation. Excitement, not nerves. This day was one he had fantasized about for quite some time, and finally, he would be rid of the bane of his existence.
Steve stared at the house from where he sat in a tree near the street. The video he'd uploaded for his mother had gone viral, and as a result, there was a police car parked outside of his mother's house. It had been a month and a half since he'd posted it; snow was now falling from the sky, and her protection had dwindled down to one lowly officer. He'd had plenty of time to meditate over it. He knew exactly what to do and how to get it done- the only thing left was for him to act on his plans.
His eyes closed and he took one last deep breath before he leaped out of the tree. He landed at its base with a soft thud, quickly slinking around the side of the lawn to get to the back of his house. It was a quick shimmy up the drain pipe to get to the window of what had once been his room. He yanked up the window, climbed inside, and-
Nostalgia overwhelmed him as he stepped into his old bedroom. Things were scattered around, showing that people had been through his things, but that was to be expected, and it did nothing to hinder the overwhelming wave of memories that now flooded him. An unseen force drew him to his desk, and he found himself staring down at a picture of himself and Michaela.
The same longing that hit him when he'd watched his birthday video once again crept up upon him, and the frame made its way into his hand. Michaela, Michaela, Michaela. He tried to count the days that had passed since he'd last seen her and found that he couldn't. He smiled at the crazy coloring her hair once had- the blue, red, and purple was every bit as ridiculous in picture as in person. He remembered frequently teasing her for the splashes of neon that highlighted her white-blonde hair, and wondered what she looked like now. He'd been too preoccupied with rage to fully take in her presence the last time he'd seen her, but he recalled that she'd looked healthier than she had the time he'd spent the night with her.
Did Darren have something to do with that?
The very notion of Darren holding Michaela the way he once had made Steve's body shake. He slammed down the picture frame onto the desk, ignoring the loud bang and the glass that shattered. There was a long pause when he realized the possibility that he may have drawn attention to himself, but after several moments of strained silence, he knew he hadn't been detected.
With one last glance down at the photograph, he opened the door to his room and headed down the hall. Back on task, Steve. He slunk into his mother's bedroom silently, making his way towards the bed without a sound. He could see a shape next to her, which was not surprising; there was rarely a night when she was not either out or with someone. He couldn't help but let out an audible groan when he saw the police uniform sprawled on the floor next to the bed.
His mother slowly stirred upon his noise, but the police officer jolted upright. His head whipped around the scan the darkness of the room. Rather than hide within the shadows, Steve made his presence known with a disgusted scowl. "Really?" he demanded.
"Oh, my god," the cop breathed, reaching over to the ground to get his gun.
Steve snapped his foot out to connect with the man's hand, hearing a satisfying snapping of bones. "Shooting someone's kid after sleeping with them is a no-no," he chided the policeman. He then leaned down and picked up the gun, examining it with his hands. "Huh," he commented. "Never used one of these before." He grinned at the man next to his mother and added, "Up for some target practice?"
"Lucille," he said urgently. Steve's mother turned over and let out a yawn in response to his cry for help.
"She's always been a slow waker," Steve informed the officer helpfully. He leaped over the edge of the bed and sat cross-legged at its foot. "Don't worry, she can wait her turn."
"For God's fucking sake, Dale-" His mom's eyes finally opened at the jostling of her bed, and she froze when her eyes settled on Steve.
"See?" A grin spread across his face as he gestured towards her with the gun. "I told you she'd get up. Do I know my mother, or what?"
"Steve, what the flying fuck are you doing here?" his mother demanded in an angry whisper. He knew her; she was terrified, and anger was the quickest way to cover that up. It was one of the many things he'd regretfully inherited from her.
"Didn't you see my video?" he asked innocently. When he saw recognition flash across her face, he let out a mock pout. "Aren't you glad to have me home? You're always talking about how much you miss your son. I'm just trying to make amends."
"You're not my son," she said coldly.
"Ouch," Steve finally decided. He shrugged it off and added, "That would hurt, if I wasn't so used to hearing that." He paused before informing her, "By the way, it's true. The camera really does add ten pounds."
The cop leaped towards Steve, reaching for his gun. "You sick son of a-" Steve could tell that he expected to have an element of surprise; had Steve been human, the sudden attack might have worked. But the vampaneze blood coursing through his veins gave him lightning-fast reflexes, and no human would ever be able to sneak up on him again. Steve merely grabbed the man's good hand and crushed it in his.
"I told my mother she was next," he growled, squeezing until he could feel the bones crumble within his grip. The cop gasped in pain as his hand was then forced backwards, snapping his wrist as well. Steve shoved his hand back to him as he added, "Don't make me a liar."
His mother began to quake at the sight of her son's apparent superhuman strength. She no longer had a man to defend her; he was too busy cradling his hand against his chest to be concerned with her safety. Steve shook his head in mock disappointment. "The city's finest."
"Wh-what are you going to do to me?" she wavered. She scanned his face and tried a weak, "You wouldn't hurt your mother, would you?"
"I don't know." He tapped his chin thoughtfully, as though he genuinely had to ponder her question. He finally settled on a shrug as he told her, "But then again, I'm not your son- so it really doesn't matter, does it?"
She began to shake, and he pushed the gun at her. When she made no move to grab it, he grabbed her hands and placed them around the grip. The barrel was pressed against her forehead as he informed her, "It's your choice."
She immediately pulled the trigger, causing Steve to scowl in disgust. He ripped it from her grasp and snapped, "I had the safety on, you asshole. Are you really that easy? You're willing to go down without even the slightest hint of a fight?" He shook his head and threw the gun across the room, putting a hole in the wall in the process. "That's pathetic. I didn't cross the entire country for you to just give up."
She sat there, trembling, and Steve let out a sigh. "This is so anticlimactic," he complained. He gestured to the cop and went on, "At least your fuck buddy tried something! I mean, I knew this would be easy, but I was expecting some sort of rebuttal. A battle of wit, an attempt to stop me, the cavalry's arrival- something!"
"Sorry to disappoint," came her simple response.
"That's what I'm talking about!" he said, slightly encouraged. He grinned at her and nudged her with his knee. "Keep it rolling."
Her eyes were open wider than he'd ever seen them as she stared at her son incredulously. His smile did not waver as he patiently waited for her to come out with another remark at his expense. Finally, she breathed out a simple, "You're really fucked up, aren't you?"
"Fucked up?" Steve contemplated the phrase. It had been used to describe him on a great number of occasions, but he had never actually stopped to consider how well it applied. After a little while, he finally came to a consensus. "Well, come to think of it, I suppose I might be. But I like to believe in nurture over nature. It's not your fault that you're a drunken whore, and it's not my fault I kill people."
The cop finally got a grip on his injuries and forced himself to call out the obvious flaw in Steve's reply. "You can't compare the two. What you do is illegal. You take lives, Steven. Under no circumstance is that okay."
"Now, here's the thing about that," Steve countered. "You were just about to kill me. You were ready to put a bullet through me before I broke your hands. A little hypocritical, don't you think?"
"I wouldn't have killed you," he replied. Steve could hear the strain in his voice, and knew how difficult it was for him to speak through the pain. "I wouldn't have shot unless I was forced. And even then I would have only disabled you."
"And you should know that a little bullet through my shoulder or knee wouldn't have stopped me. It only would've made me very, very angry, and I would have no choice but to kill you." He scowled at the incredulous gaze the cop aimed his way and added, "Don't give me that look."
"You're going to kill us anyway." His mother's fear began to subside as her anger increased, and suddenly, she was nothing but shrill indignation. "You're getting a sick pleasure out of this, out of seeing an innocent man in pain and your mother cowering in fear. You're savoring the moment, and you're going to kill us regardless of what we say or do! Don't give this man the illusion of hope- you're just waiting to strike him down! I can see it in your eyes, Steve, the same disgusting maniacal look you used to get whenever you hit your friends. You thought that just because my boyfriends disciplined you, you had the right to do it to other people, and I'll bet this is some fucked-up continuation of that. Well, guess what Steve? You're still nothing but the same, immature, failure of a son that you were before you left. And you don't scare me! You're nothing but a bully, and I for one-"
Steve snapped out his arm, slitting her throat with his nails in one quick movement. He watched the blood pour out of the wound he'd inflicted, heard her voice cut off, saw her fall back from the force. She would die the same way she'd lived most of her life: on her back. The rage soon fell from his face as he gained his composure and turned to the officer. "I'm very tired of hearing her say I'm a defective," he explained. He saw the mortified look on the officer's face, and went on to explain. "She was wrong, you know. I'm not going to kill you. I like you. You've got spunk." He winked at the officer and got to his feet, hopping backwards off the bed with ease. "I'm sure they'll overlook the fact that you fucked the person you're supposed to protect on the job, considering you survived. Feel free to play up your bravery."
"You're a snarky little bastard," the officer breathed.
Steve nodded his head in agreement. "I get that a lot," he admitted, not bothering to face the man he was addressing. He made his way out the same way he'd come in, grabbing the picture he'd smashed off of his desk before departing.