"Ed," Alan whispered. "Edgar."
Sitting up in bed, Alan looked over at his brother. The gruffer Frog opened one eye to peer back at him, lips pursed in sleepy agitation.
"Hm?" Edgar grunted back.
"Would you really do it?" Alan asked, reaching over the side of his mattress to tug on the cowboy lamp on the bedside stand separating them.
"Do what?" Edgar asked, stifling a yawn with the back of his palm. He remained tightly bundled in his sheets.
"If I got turned, would you really stake me?"
"In a heartbeat," Edgar replied without skipping a beat.
Alan settled back against his headboard, very aware of the popsicle stick cross taped to the wall above him. He knew that's what Ed would say. Obviously. It was the right thing to do.
"Like Cassidy?" Alan surprised himself by saying her name aloud. They hadn't talked about her for a long time. It hurt too much. The funeral was closed casket for a reason. He still remembered the smell, though there was no way it could still linger. He hadn't had the nerve to look inside, but Edgar swore she was cooked. He still couldn't believe she'd tried to eat Edgar when they were sleeping. How did a vampire even get to her? They were always so careful.
"Yep," Edgar replied, "that's what we do."
"What?" Alan asked, shaking his head. He'd forgotten the question briefly, lost in thought.
"If you got turned, I'd take you in an instant. Like Cassidy." Edgar repeated himself.
This was almost like a script between them. Except Alan never brought her up. Seeing their new, and frankly only friend possibly going through the same thing was getting to him.
"If Sam needs our help…?" Alan pressed on.
"I'll do the honors," Edgar replied. "Don't think we can trust him to do what needs to be done."
The way he said it bugged Alan, but that's just how his brother was. The tough one. Well, tougher. Alan was pretty tough, he reminded himself. He had the camo pants and green beret to prove it.
"I don't blame you," Alan went on. "You're right. You did what you had to, and she would've wanted that." She'd always latched onto Edgar when they were little, followed him everywhere. If either of them was going to give her peace, Alan could at least take some small comfort that he wasn't the one who had to do it.
He remembered the cops. Their parents. Nobody cared when they found Cassidy. Nobody would care about Sam, Michael, Alan, Edgar. Nobody cared about anyone out there in Santa Carla. Just them.
Alan fiddled with a thread on his sheet, not quite pulling hard enough to unravel it, just needing something to do with his hands. "What do we do if I see him again?"
"Get him to hand out flyers," Edgar suggested.
"No, not Sam. His brother," Alan pressed, knowing Edgar too well not to roll his eyes.
"Stake him."
"We need a plan."
"We'll figure it out. Hey, what if we wore matching armbands or something with a cool design on it so people know we're hunters?" Edgar changed the subject.
Alan shook his head, "that's dumb. I don't want bloodsuckers picking up on that. It'll be like putting targets on our backs."
"Our arms," Edgar insisted.
"It's the same thing, Ed."
The others had left, and David remained behind in the water with his thoughts. Privacy was an illusion they rarely crafted for themselves, but his mood had soured. He wasn't sure what exactly he was feeling but he knew what he wanted. He could admit he had a brief moment of panic when it seemed as though Michael was denying his very nature but that was fleeting, now he was more concerned with Michael rebuffing his advances and he was going to be making more direct advances since the subtlety of the past one seemed to escape the brunette's notice. Why he was attracted to someone so strongly oblivious he would never know. Maybe it was the challenge.
They didn't come to the pit to swim very often. It was easier to swim on the beach or at the odd motel when the mood struck them, but occasionally a trip into the deepest point in their hotel was worth it. The places that were more nature than man-made, the nooks and crannies scarred by erosion alone were the parts their old pack leader never visited. Touched. Invaded. This place was sacred to them.
David felt something brush over his foot. A fish, maybe. It didn't matter. Nothing under the surface of the water was nearly as dangerous as the residents above. He didn't remember much about what it was like to fear anything. Even when he'd been alive, and Max had hovered over him with bloodied claws, David only remembered bitter resentment that he hadn't managed to get a punch in first.
He didn't get a choice. Max ripped his throat out, made an 'offer', forcefed David some of his blood, and that was it. As for Dwayne—he'd been dying anyway. At least Max turned them both. Maybe on some level he knew David would have figured out a way to stake him otherwise.
"Shit," he thought to himself. He hadn't intended to spend tonight in a bad mood. Nor did he want to dwell on things he couldn't change. He didn't regret what he was. He quite enjoyed it. That didn't mean he couldn't occasionally get a little irritated when he thought about how it all started.
"You ok?" Dwayne's voice cut into his mind, soft. Cautious. The illusion of privacy gone again.
"I'm fine," David snapped back.
"Liar."
David didn't dignify that with another response.
"Get out of the water and come rest," Dwayne advised, "or you'll fall asleep there. The sun is rising soon. Remember what happened to Marko last time?"
David wasn't in the mood for cool reasoning right now. He wanted to stew in his bad mood for a while.
"David," Dwayne repeated himself, his exasperation apparent.
The pack leader continued to remain silent, knowing very well how childish he was acting. For no good reason.
"David?" Michael called out. That got his attention.
David tilted his head up and saw Michael descending in the air with his coat, shirt, and a fresh pair of black jeans sling over his arm.
"You coming up or what?" The brunette asked, his concern a very small balm to David's pride. "Figured you'd wanna get changed," Michael added, looking around awkwardly. His hair was half dried, curls brushed back from his face in a messy fashion.
David didn't want to admit he was beginning to get a little uncomfortable in the water. Some of his irritation ebbed a little. Just a little.
"Aren't you tired?" David asked, rising slowly from the water.
"Aren't you?" Michael shot back at him.
David shrugged noncommittally, shaking his head a few times and sending droplets of water flying about him.
Michael squinted, wiping at his face where the water hit him, "thanks," he drawled as he held out David's clothes to him. The older vampire quickly began to unbutton his damp jeans, now all too happy to change. There was no sensuality to the move or subtle smile playing on his lips. There wasn't much point.
"What's up with you?" Michael asked, "you're acting weird."
David raised an eyebrow, reaching for the clean pants offered to him. It wasn't especially easy pulling them on whilst hovering in the air, but he managed well enough. He didn't miss when Michael averted his eyes quickly as he changed.
"Nothing," David replied, his voice softening a little. His hands brushed over Michael's when he grabbed his shirt next. "It's been a long night."
"Yeah," Michael agreed, nodding abruptly, "not a bad one, though. It was a nice night. Mostly."
Perhaps it was just his predatory nature, or maybe the younger vampire just brought it out of him, but David couldn't help getting just a little bit closer once he was ready to take his coat. "Thanks," he said, voice halfway between a whisper and a purr.
"Right, yeah," Michael replied. He didn't have a heartbeat, so his pulse couldn't race. He couldn't blush anymore. That didn't stop David from picking up on other clues, and all at once his mood was better again.
"Michael," David said his name, leaning in until their faces were nearly touching. Michael, for his part, didn't flinch.
"David?" He whispered back, confused. Always so fucking confused.
"Let's get some sleep," David said, patting Michael's cheek.
"Sl—" Before he could get a word out, David pressed his lips to Michael's mouth, stealing them from him. It felt good. As good as the hunt, even. Just a taste, he told himself as he pulled away, nipping at Michael's full lower lip before parting. David floated towards the opening in the cave wall that led back to the rest of the hotel, a smirk plastered on his face.
How was that for subtle?
"Now, you see, with birds, you gotta make sure you leave the beak intact. Get rid of the meat," Grandpa Emerson explained, and Sam instantly regretted eating dinner or lunch that day. He didn't want to hear this. Now if he got any sleep at all tonight, he'd have visions of beakless birds haunting his nightmares scratching off their own skin and feathers to mount themselves.
"Dad," Lucy chided softly, giving her youngest son a gentle smile.
"So," she began, "you'll be back to classes tomorrow. Your friends go to the same school, don't they?"
"Yeah," Sam replied sullenly. He wasn't prepared to have any deep talks tonight with his mom. He'd been terrified, frankly, of even bringing Mike up or any of what they'd all been through together. He wanted to protect her, and he was afraid any day now she was going to just fall and shatter. She and grandpa were all he had, and the thought of letting his mom break was too much for Sam.
"I got a call from Phoenix," Lucy continued, resting her hands in her lap to twist at her yellow Bakelite bracelet. She'd developed a restlessness these days Sam couldn't help but worry about. "Your father is fine. He wants you and Michael to visit. I told him that maybe once school starts you can take a trip or he can come visit. When your grandpa told me Michael got a job in the next town over, I'll admit I was a little worried. Why didn't either of you speak with me first? How is he doing?"
Sam nearly jumped in his seat, startled, "job? Mike?" He asked, stunned. He turned to his grandfather, who nodded.
"You remember, boy, he was in a big rush when he left. Can't figure why he's not smart enough to pick up the damn phone when your ma isn't working."
This was news to him. Sam lit up, looking back and forth between them, "he didn't tell me! He's such a buttwipe!" And here he'd been freaking out thinking Michael was dead or a vampire or something. Why hadn't grandpa told him anything before?
"Don't talk about your brother like that," Lucy chided, shaking her head. "I know he's going through something. We all are. I just hate that he left like that. I'm hoping your grandpa takes a message next time he calls." She gave her father an accusatory look.
Grandpa Emerson shrugged, "figured he'd told you first. Your kids are a handful, Lucy. God knows who they got that from."
They spoke well into the night, well past when Sam knew it was the point of no return and he'd probably be a zombie at school the next day. It was the first time he'd had fun since, well–everything. He could almost believe the world was a safe place again. Well, everywhere but Santa Carla maybe.
It wasn't until he was in the car with his grandfather on the way to school the next day that the old man shattered that illusion with a scowl.
"You do a good impression of your brother?" He asked, taking a sharp turn from the driveway.
"Huh?"
"Gonna need you to make a call. Tell your ma everything is ok. Or pretend he said it to you."
Sam's stomach twisted painfully.
"You lied?" He asked, and not for the first time he questioned whether his grandpa was even human.
The old man frowned, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. "It's better this way."
"Is it?" Sam demanded, "what kinda shitty excuse is that?"
The rest of the drive they rode in silence. Sam just watched the road ahead, chewing ferociously on his bottom lip. No way in hell he was going to make a phone call like that. He didn't even know how he'd do it if he wanted to.
